Chapter 18 Under Our Lights
Under Our Lights
The pontoon was halfway into our arrival lane before Poppy raised one hand and stopped twelve people colder than Lake Patrol ever could.
"Hold off the dock, please."
The guy at the wheel looked over his shoulder at the bodies packed behind him, then back at the small woman in the yellow sundress standing at the end of our main dock.
Three coolers filled the aisle. Four cases of beer sat against the stern bench under a blue-and-gold towel that didn't make them invisible.
He throttled down, but he kept drifting toward us.
Luna stepped in front of the nearest cleat. I moved beside her, ready to catch the rail if the captain misjudged his momentum. Poppy stayed where she was with the confirmed list clipped to one board against her hip, her smile sweet enough to serve with breakfast.
"We're good," the driver called. "We're with Delta and Kappa."
"Congratulations," Poppy said. "You're still not docking until I find you on my list. What's the registration name?"
That took some of the grin off him.
"We didn't register. Harper told us this was open."
"Harper registered before the deadline. If she's arriving with you, I'll find her name."
"She's already here."
"Then she's enjoying the party she paid to attend."
Someone behind him laughed. The driver didn't.
Poppy lowered her eyes to the clipboard anyway, ran one pink nail down the page, and gave him every chance to produce a name that belonged there. Her dark hair was tied high off her neck. A light breeze moved the skirt around her golden thighs, but the rest of her stayed planted.
I knew exactly how soft she felt curled naked across me in bed. I knew how quickly that firm little mouth turned filthy when I called her Baby Girl. Watching her hold twelve people outside a line she'd built made my body remember all of it at once.
"We're just here to hang out," one of the women said. "We brought our own beer."
"The beer isn't the problem," Poppy said. "The twelve unregistered people carrying it are."
Luna coughed into her fist. I looked at the water before Poppy caught me smiling.
"Come on," the driver said. "We came early. There has to be room."
"Paid guests come first. We have hard caps on land arrivals, water arrivals, and vessels. We had a deadline, then a waitlist. Your group used neither."
"You can't squeeze in twelve?"
"No."
She delivered it cheerfully. The word still landed hard enough to bounce.
The woman in the bow leaned over the rail. "Is this because we're not Delta?"
Poppy tipped her head. "You just told me you came with women from both houses. Which sorority would I be discriminating against?"
"You know what I mean."
"I do. That's why the answer is no for everybody."
The boat drifted another foot. Luna put out her palm.
"Reverse, please," she said. "You're entering the loading space."
The driver finally nudged the throttle and held position. "Can we talk to somebody who owns the place?"
I shifted beside Poppy. "You're talking to the person who owns this answer."
Her eyes flicked to me. The pleasure in them was quick, hot, and gone before anyone on the pontoon could catch it.
Dad came down the path behind us, wiping his hands on a towel. He took in the boat, the beer, Luna blocking the cleat, and Poppy with her list.
"Problem?" he asked.
Poppy answered before anyone else could. "They're not registered. I told them they can't dock."
Dad nodded once. "Then they can't dock."
"That's it?" the driver asked.
"That's it," Poppy said. "Brewster Bay is full tonight. You can join the next waitlist when it opens. I hope the rest of your night is fun, but it won't happen on this dock."
No threat. No apology she didn't owe. Just the answer.
The driver stared at her for another beat, then put the engine into reverse. Nobody handed us a cooler. Nobody stepped onto the dock. All twelve people and every case of beer moved back toward open water together.
Poppy kept smiling until the pontoon cleared the arrival lane.
Luna picked up the fender she'd moved out of reach. "I would rather argue with Lake Patrol."
"That's because Lake Patrol carries fewer hair products," Poppy said.
Dad's mouth moved under his mustache. "Good work, Pops."
"Thanks, Big Papa."
He headed back toward the grill. Luna followed the dock toward the next open slip, calling over her shoulder that our first registered arrival was coming around the point.
Poppy set the clipboard on the bench.
Then she ran at me.
I caught her under the thighs. Her legs locked around my waist, the short skirt riding high against my forearms, and her arms went around my neck.
She kissed me before I finished getting my balance.
Her tongue pushed into my mouth, sweet and hungry, and the last of her command voice dissolved into a needy sound against my lips.
My hands filled with her ass through the thin dress. She ground down once, found how hard I'd gotten watching her, and giggled into the next kiss.
"Tell me," she whispered.
"You were fucking gorgeous."
"Better."
I kissed the corner of her mouth, then caught her lower lip between mine. "I loved watching my Sugar Pop hold that line."
Her whole body softened and pressed closer at the praise.
She kissed me deeper, fingers tightening in my hair while I carried her the two steps to the bench and sat with her still wrapped around me.
The clipboard waited beside us. Another engine approached somewhere beyond the point.
For ten seconds, Poppy let herself want only my hands and mouth.
"Authority looks good on me," she said against my lips.
"Everything looks good on you."
"Correct answer, baby."
She rolled her hips again, slow enough to make the seam of my shorts hurt, then pulled back with flushed cheeks and wet lips.
"Later, you can give your Baby Girl a full performance review."
"That sounds like work."
"It'll be hands-on."
The registered pontoon rounded the point.
Poppy sighed, kissed me once more, and slid off my lap. She smoothed her dress, picked up her clipboard, and became the woman in charge before her next breath.
"Welcome to Brewster Bay," she called as the boat entered the lane. "Registration name, please."
The captain gave it. Poppy found the group, checked every person aboard, and waved Luna and me forward.
This time, we took the lines.
The party arrived in steady pieces after that. Coolers crossed the dock. Wristbands went on. Guests followed the new path lights up toward a deck that looked like our hands had been all over it because they had.
By early evening on Friday, July 31, every registered slip was spoken for and Poppy's arrival line kept moving.
I carried two bags of ice up from the service shed and nearly lost both when Kit stepped into my path.
She wore a fitted Brewster Bay polo tucked into cutoff shorts, the same resort logo Dad had worn for years stretched across a body I knew far better than any uniform had a right to advertise. Her blonde hair was pulled off her face. A smear of barbecue sauce marked one wrist.
"Big Papa needs you at the grill," she said. "Propane line. Also, your mother wants you to eat before Poppy notices you haven't."
"Poppy already noticed."
"Then you have maybe four minutes to live."
Kit took one ice bag from my shoulder, rose onto her toes, and kissed me. Her tongue swept over my lower lip before she eased back. The contact was brief. The familiarity in it wasn't. She rubbed the sauce from her wrist across my shirt and smiled.
"Now you match the staff."
"You're a menace."
"Your menace, baby. Grill."
She carried the ice toward the outdoor bar while I went to save Dad from a connection he'd already taken apart twice.
The deck held the crowd without a shudder.
Warm string lights reflected off the fresh stain.
Someone leaned against the rail Jeremy and I had reinforced and it didn't complain.
At the branded social spot, Jessa directed a group of Kappa and Delta women into a photograph, then jumped into the center before the timer finished.
"Less posing, more bad decisions," she yelled.
Tina Rose moved the next group out of the path before their bad decisions blocked food service. James carried a fresh tray of buns from the lodge. Bella worked the grill beside Dad, feeding guests and sending anyone with empty hands toward something useful.
The propane line needed a new seal, not a new regulator. I fixed it while Dad held the light.
"Eat," Bella said, shoving a burger at me the second the flame held.
"Yes, Mom."
"And drink water. I raised you better than this."
Grace passed with two cabin guests and their luggage. "She says that to Jeremy too. It doesn't work."
Jeremy followed with a case of bottled water against his chest. "Nobody asked you."
"I live to contribute."
They kept walking, shoulder to shoulder and laughing.
I finished half the burger before Sally appeared, stole the other half, and handed me a stack of clean bar towels in exchange.
"Sam needs ice at the pool station," she said around my dinner.
"That was my burger."
"Family tax."
Sam jogged up behind her carrying an empty cooler. Sally held my burger to his mouth. He took a bite without breaking stride.
"Boyfriend tax," he said.
"You people are criminals."
"And you're late with the ice," Sally said.
I took the empty cooler.
The pool and hot-tub lounge had become its own bright little country. Lucy stood at the center in a blue athletic tank and white shorts, brown hair high in a ponytail, directing a floating relay with enough authority to rearrange traffic on the lake. She blew her whistle once.
"If your tube crosses the rope, you start over. Complaining adds a lap. Looking pretty gets you absolutely nothing."
Half the women in the pool objected.
"Two laps," Lucy called.
Sam took the ice from me. Sally looped an arm through his and pulled him toward the towel station before he could get drafted into the relay.