Chapter 19
nineteen
ORION
She ignores me for a week after the kiss on the beach. She’s re-finding her equilibrium, and I understand that even if it annoys the fuck out of me. She doesn’t realize how quickly she’s become the center of my everything. The way she’s depriving me of her presence makes me feel like I’m collapsing in on myself.
We had a problem with the catamaran today—the engine wouldn’t start. It was a fucking nightmare to explain to the clients that yes, sailboats have engines and no, we couldn’t leave the dock without it. It’s technically possible, but it’s much more difficult to get in and out of the marina with just the wind. I can do it, of course, but the wind can change at any moment and it’s not worth it for a charter. I booked the group with another company. That didn’t save me from a woman yelling at me for thirty minutes about how I ruined her vacation.
I sprawl on my couch because I don’t want to move, don’t want to think. The doorbell rings. Instead of answering it, I open the app on my phone to see who it is. It’s Carina. I shouldn’t be surprised. I still don’t want to get off the couch but she’s the only person I would for. I’m tempted to text her the code. In the future, if I go out of town for a few days, I’ll give it to her so she can watch the place. She wouldn’t overwater the little orange tree.
“Fuck,” I say, getting up.
She blows past me into my kitchen before I say anything. I take in her outfit—loose joggers and my favorite cardigan. She was probably working from home.
“Your hedges are overgrown,” she declares.
They’re not. But that isn’t the point. I’m too tired to fight. Some days it gives me life and energy. Today I don’t want this.
I just want her.
But I’ll play along because it’s what she wants. “As long as they’re on my side of the property line, then it’s not your problem.” If I give this to her, she’ll realize she needs to let me in. I’m sure Carina would love it if I told her I could solve her problems.
“They’re putting pressure on the fence and the fence is mine.”
“What would you like me to do about it, princess?”
Her eyes flicker. I hope she can tell my heart isn’t in this today. I hope she’ll back down.
“I would like for you to give a shit about your property.”
That’s not backing down. She knows what this house means to me. She’s out for blood today, and I can’t give it to her the way she wants it. “I’d like for you to stop assuming the world revolves around you and that everyone will drop everything to do your bidding.”
“I don’t think that,” she says.
“You don’t? It’s always about what you want. Your fence. Your quiet time. Your rules for whatever the fuck we’re doing.” A part of me is angry. I’m annoyed at how much I depend on her, and I can’t have her the way I want her.
She’s staring at me as if trying to figure out if I’m saying the truth or if I’m fake fighting with her. “I wouldn’t need to be on your case if you weren’t so selfish all the time.”
I don’t know what she’s talking about anymore. I don’t want to play games. Fuck it. I’ll tell her what I really want. I run my hands through my hair. I’ll give her what I think she needs.
“I’m not fighting with you today. You can either get naked in my bed and wait for me to have the energy to fuck this attitude out of you or we can go out on the boat for a relaxing sail. Those are your options if you want to involve me.”
She freezes.
The boat is filled with memories of us fucking so it’s not safe anyway.
“Well. What’s your answer?” I command. She could walk away. I’m prepared for her to walk away.
“The boat.”
“Fine, give me thirty minutes. Bring food since we’ll be out over dinner.” I’m disappointed. I want her in my bed. Even if we didn’t have sex. I want her there.
She nods and turns away before saying anything else.
Exactly thirty minutes later, Carina reappears in my driveway in shorts and a tank top, holding a small cooler. “I hope sandwiches are okay,” she says.
“Perfect.” The buzzing in my chest won’t go away until I’m on the boat.
Does she realize my bad mood isn’t her? That I’ve had a terrible day and I’m letting her see my full range of emotions, something she isn’t aware is an option for herself. I open the garage door and unlock my car. We don’t speak as she puts the cooler in the back and slides into the passenger seat.
As we’re waiting for the light at the top of our neighborhood, I feel the tension radiating off her. “I’m not mad at you,” I say.
“But you are mad?” she asks.
“No, it’s been a rough day. I’m assuming same for you?”
“Yes.” She struggles to admit it. Like she’s never been able to admit she’s not okay.
“The water makes it better.” I reach for her hand and give it a quick squeeze, some assurance everything will be all right.
We arrive at the marina, and it doesn’t take us long to ready the boat for departure. She helps me where she can, and I comment that I’ll turn her into a sailor in no time.
She visibly relaxes. I don’t ask what was on her mind. I want to know, but I want her to stay this way. That has always been my goal, I think. Just to make her feel better. If that’s all I can have, I’ll take it.
I don’t want to talk about what’s on my mind. I might have started out annoyed at my clients. Now I’m aching that I can’t have her.
Once we make it out into the gulf, she disappears below for a moment. I don’t think anything of it. When she comes out to the deck again, she’s wearing one of the shirts I store on the boat. It’s a white short-sleeve polo shirt. It reaches down past her shorts, so it looks like she’s not wearing any. She’s also holding the collar and looking so content and satisfied, I almost wonder if she masturbated while she was changing.
“What are you doing?” I growl.
“Wearing clothes that don’t have my name on them.”
“Oh no, what if someone sees you?” I say in mock horror.
“Aren’t we in international waters or something? It doesn’t count.”
“No.” I should lecture her about international waters, but I don’t.
“It’s just you and me out here. I can relax,” she says.
That shouldn’t mean so much to me. I want to deny my world revolves around her. But I couldn’t even if I tried. Every part of my life here has been through her. I get how important it is that we stay in each other’s good graces. If this falls apart, I have far more to lose than she does.
A part of me doesn’t care. I’m fine with her being the center of my everything. It won’t be me that ruins it. I’ll do anything to hold on to her—I want to take the risk.
We pull out the sandwiches she packed, and eat while the sun sets behind us. She sits on the bench directly in front of the helm, like she did on that first sail. I watch her and the sails and the waves while I wait for her to tell me what’s on her mind, as patient as I can be. She’s come to me before and she’s here now. I hope I’ve proved to her that I am someone she can confide in.
I’m so much calmer now. The tightness in my chest is gone. No more racing heartbeat. It might be that I’m at sea, or it might be her. I think it’s both. She’s calmer too. Maybe this could be something we share—we both love the water. So this boat could be our safe place.
“I had an investor call today,” she starts unexpectedly. “The same one as before. And even though I have ten years of data to show him, and an MBA, he shot down every idea I had.”
“Did he call you ‘little lady’?” I ask.
“No. He did call me ‘kid.’ He’s been investing longer than I have been working, but he doesn’t have any experience in clothing. Especially not athletic or athleisure. It doesn’t occur to him that I might be competent.”
People think owning a company means you don’t have a boss. It’s much more complicated. She reports to people as with any regular job.
“Will he force changes?” I ask.
“Not yet. He wants me to work closer with his protégé.” The way her face scrunches tells me she doesn’t like the person.
I want to ask about other investors, brainstorm ways she could cut this guy loose and survive. But she doesn’t need my help. She needs me to listen. So I take the opportunity to ask about something else.
“Do you do branded gear, by any chance?” She looks confused at my question. “My crew’s sun shirts and polos are terrible. I want to outfit them with new ones. I thought it could be your shirts and get them printed with our logo.”
“It would be expensive,” she says.
I shrug. “We can sell them in the gift shop too. People get to the dock all the time and realize they’ve forgotten something. Or they think they’ll use them back home.”
“I mean it, Orion. My margins are slim. I can’t give you a discount.” But she looks at me like she wants to. Or she wants something I can’t pinpoint.
“I wasn’t expecting you to. Okay, fine. If not yours, what’s another brand you’d recommend?” I ask.
She glares at me, and I have her. If another brand made good enough sun shirts, she wouldn’t make them herself. “Fine, I’ll draft a proposal. Would you want to be a regular wholesale dealer as well? Sell some leggings while you’re at it?”
“Sure, why not?” I don’t tell her I now recognize when people wear her clothes out on my boats, or the people who mention seeing her at the yoga studio the day before. She’s famous, and people like her. She deserves all the praise for the work she’s done.
But we’re out on my boat and none of that matters to me. Not when I have her undivided attention. “Can I ask you a question at the risk of upsetting you?” It’s something that’s been bugging me for days, and I want an answer.
“When has that ever stopped you?”
“You’re right. The thing you said at Paradise about being ‘body inspiration.’ What do you mean by that?”
She looks at me thoughtfully. I hope she’s not about to filter her response. I want the whole truth. “The fitness industry can be incredibly toxic and harmful. For as much as we promote a, quote, unquote, ‘healthy lifestyle,’ people will shame anyone who’s new or doesn’t fit conventional beauty standards. I have immense privilege because I’m white and skinny.” She pauses for a moment. “I want a better message for the future.”
I nod. I can see that in Nebula Athletics’ marketing and the models they choose. Only a few look like her in the ads I’ve seen. As much as I applaud her taking care of everyone else, I’m worried she’s trying to undo all society’s flaws at once. It’s too much for one person.
But I support every fight she takes up.
An hour later, after the sun has set, we pull into the marina and her tension returns. I assume it’s because she’s never done this at night before, but I’ve done it a thousand times and the wind is calm, so it’s an easy docking. Which I tell her in a slightly taunting way. We have a “no fighting on the boat” rule. I thought she’d loosen up. She smiles but doesn’t take my bait.
She’s constantly touching me when we’re close to each other. I’ve never met another person so tactile.
“Give me a second to change,” she says when we’ve docked and everything has been stowed. I almost tell her to keep the shirt. But I know better than to suggest she wear something that isn’t hers in town. Even for the short drive to our houses.
I gather the rest of our things and am ready to head to my SUV. But Carina hasn’t appeared. I almost yell for her, but I’ve enjoyed the quiet we’ve shared. I head to the cabin where I’m sure she is.
The door is ajar. I push it open.