Ashlei #2
“I went back,” I say, voice soft. Then, I shrug, running a hand over my high pony tail. “It’s just been a really stressful couple of weeks, and I needed to blow off some steam. I suck, though,” I say quickly. “My body is out of shape. I have a lot of work to do to get back to where I was.”
“You are not out of shape.”
“You didn’t see me try to climb a pole.”
“I’d like to.”
I clench my teeth together to keep my mouth from gaping open again, and Brandon just watches me, his gaze smoldering.
“What’s wrong?” he asks after a moment.
Um, besides the fact that you just said you’d like to see me climb a pole?
“You said you went to clear your head,” he clarifies when I don’t respond. “What’s wrong, what’s been going on?”
I sigh, turning so I don’t have to look at him when I lie. “Nothing. I’m fine. Just a little stressed from work and stuff.”
“Just because you’re not looking at me doesn’t mean I don’t know when you’re lying.”
His voice is lower, and when he takes a step closer, my facade breaks. Tears prick my eyes, everything I haven’t been facing welling up at the absolute worst time possible. I sniff, holding it all in, trying my damnedest to pull myself together even as my vision floods.
“Really, I’m fine,” I say, but my voice is weak — pathetic.
Brandon reaches for me, but stops himself short, tucking his hands back in his pockets as he watches me. My eyes stay focused on the sidewalk, and I sniff again.
“What are you doing today?”
I glance at him then, but then my gaze is right back on the ground. “I don’t know, I have some homework.”
“Can it wait?” he asks, almost hopeful. “I want to show you something.”
And when I pull my eyes back to his, watching him through my wet lashes, I know there isn’t a chance in hell I could say no. The way those dark pools swallow me is just all kinds of wrong. I feel like a tiny little guppy trying to swim upstream in white water rapids — completely helpless.
“What do you want to show me?”
***
“Oh, my God. You’re kidding, right?”
I gape at the monstrous boat in front of us, taking in the crisp white build of it, contrasted by large, dark, tinted windows.
The railing spans the top deck, silver and shiny, complementing the wood flooring and accents.
It’s the kind of boat I’ve only seen in movies, the kind I’ve only dreamed about ever being this close to — let alone being on.
Brandon hands his bag to one of the crew members who just met us at the bottom of the ramp, ignoring my question.
My eyes widen even more when he says something to the woman in Spanish, and she nods with a bright smile, taking the bag and greeting me with a shy smile before she heads back up the ramp.
Brandon smirks when he sees my mouth hanging open. “What?”
“Don’t what me,” I chastise. “Usually when someone says they want to show you something, it’s an old family photograph, or a cool, limited edition comic book, or maybe even a secret place where they go to think. They literally never mean, ‘Let me show you my yacht.’”
He chuckles, rolling up the sleeve of his loose, white, button-up shirt and revealing a dark, toned forearm.
That button-up shirt is paired casually with a pair of baby blue shorts that end just above his knee, his boat shoes pulling off the sailor look he has going.
It was the outfit he changed back into after leaving the suit for the tailor, and I wonder if he had plans to come out here before he saw me or if he was just dressed and ready.
“Are you just going to stare at me or can we get on board now?”
“I think I’ll just stay here and stare.”
He smiles at that, showing me his perfect teeth as he gestures one hand toward the ramp.
“Seriously, I don’t have a swim suit or anything. I wasn’t prepared for a boat day.”
“We have everything on board.”
I scoff, crossing my arms over my chest. “Oh, so you’ve just got swim suits waiting in every size so you can entertain whatever lady you have with you, huh?”
“Maybe.”
Anger flares deep in my belly, boiling my skin. “That’s disgusting.”
He laughs, stepping into my space as his eyes descend on mine. “I called ahead and asked Marietta to go down the street and grab you one from one of the tourist shops, okay? Now, stop being such an adorable pain in my ass and get on the boat.”
I chew my lip, which makes his gaze fall to my mouth.
And if the sun was hot before, it’s absolute fire now.
Brandon keeps his eyes fixed on my lips as he swallows, stepping back and gesturing toward the ramp again. This time, I step onto it, making my way toward the boat with him following close behind.
I can’t take everything in, it all happens so quickly.
My eyes try to take in every accent, every luxurious corner of the yacht as the captain and crew greet us.
They each shake Brandon’s hand first, and then mine, and the next thing I know I’ve got a glass of champagne in my hand, a beach towel laid over one arm, and directions to a room inside that has a swim suit waiting for me.
Well, this day turned around quickly.
“Why don’t you go get changed,” Brandon says, nodding inside. “I’m going to speak with the captain, and then I’ll meet you on the top deck?”
I shake my head, still looking around. “This isn’t a boat, this is like a… home. A mansion.” My eyes widen when I glance over his shoulder. “Oh my God, is that a pool? A pool, on a boat.” I press a hand to my forehead. “What even.”
Brandon watches my little meltdown with amusement, standing just as confidently and casually as he had on the sidewalk outside the tailor.
“Trust me, it’s a lot more exciting once we get out on the water. Go, change, then meet me up top.”
I think I nod, though I can’t be sure. I just let my feet guide me inside, following Marietta’s instructions until I find a beautiful bedroom.
It’s like the master bed and bath of a mansion, a grand California king bed sprawled out in the middle of the room with gorgeous views out the large tinted window.
A tiny, white bikini is laid out on the deep burgundy comforter, and I hold up the top with one eyebrow quirked.
“Nice,” I murmur, realizing how much my tits are going to spill out of the fabric. I may not be a super curvy girl, but I’m blessed enough for my athletic figure.
When I hold up the bottoms — which might as well have been just a thong — I laugh.
But once I’m dressed in the suit, staring at my reflection in the full-length mirror fixed to the wall opposite the foot of the bed, I smirk.
“Damn, girl,” I say, turning to see my tan backside before taking in the full-frontal view again. Thank goodness Erin has been obsessed with getting sun lately. The suit reveals a little bit of my tan lines from my other suit, but it fits perfectly, almost as if it was tailored for me.
Thanks, Marietta.
Tossing the towel back over my arm, I take a sip of my champagne and carry it with me as I make my way up to the top deck.
Of course, I can’t get to the top deck without first passing the massive dining area, the living area — complete with the biggest flat-screen TV I’ve seen in my entire life — and that damn pool.
There are chairs lining the edge of it, but I find Brandon casually reclining on a couch on the very top deck, his bare feet kicked up on the table in front of him and his arms lining the back cushions as he stares out at the water.
I didn’t even realize we were moving, but up here on the top deck, it’s easy to see the water spreading for the nose of the yacht. The blue is reflected in the lenses of Brandon’s dark sunglasses, and I watch him for longer than I should before finally dropping my towel next to him.
He glances up, and when he does, I swear I see his eyes widen even through his dark shades. But he doesn’t let his neck move, doesn’t give away whether his gaze is roaming my body or staying fixed on my face. My cheeks warm regardless, and I cross my arms over my middle with a shrug.
“Thank you for the suit, Mr. Church.”
He just stares for a solid thirty seconds more, and then he clears his throat, patting the cushion next to him.
“It’s no problem. Here, sit.” When I do, he holds up his glass of champagne toward mine. “And you can call me Brandon, Miss Daniels.”
My heart leaps into my throat, but I hold my glass just a little away from his. “Is that only for today?”
His smile falls a little at that, and in lieu of answering, he just clinks his glass to mine.
“To secret getaways.”
I swallow, holding his gaze as we both take a sip of the crisp bubbles.
And for the next hour, not another word is said.
Brandon asks Marietta to put on his playlist, which includes everything from Chance the Rapper and Kendrick Lamar to The Dirty Heads and Sublime.
He sings along to every song that comes on, tapping his feet on the table, and I sprawl out on the circular couch next to his.
As the sun warms my skin, and the champagne warms my blood, I let out a content sigh and soak in the day.
Sometime after I flip onto my stomach, I doze off, and Brandon wakes me with a gentle sweep of my hair off my slick forehead.
“How do you feel about some lunch?” he asks, the sun serving as a halo around his silhouetted frame.
My stomach grumbles before I have the chance to respond, and we both chuckle.
“There’s my answer,” he says, holding out a hand to help me up off the couch.
When I slide my fingers into his palm, he tugs me up, catching me in his arms once I’m standing.
His Adam’s apple bobs hard in his throat, and he lets me go slowly, stepping back with a hand gesture to the lower deck. “After you.”
I debate wrapping my towel around me, but leave it behind, saying a little prayer to the cellulite gods that my ass looks good as I strut inside. Brandon follows behind me, and when I stop at the sight of our lunch spread with a gasp, he runs right into my backside with an oof.
“Sorry,” I murmur, but I still can’t move. “You said lunch. I thought, like, sandwiches.”