“I met a couple of girls today,” he says, pulling me from my thoughts.
I look at him, raising my eyebrows. “And you’re telling me this because…？”
“Well, they were looking for a boyfriend while on vacation, and I decided that seemed a lot more fun than fixing boat engines, so it looks like I’ll have a new job soon, too.”
I give him the finger and slurp some more noodles. “Seriously, Nico.”
Grinning, he winks at me before pushing his empty plate away. “Seriously, Lux, I met these two girls. Americans. East Coasters.”
He says that with enough disdain that I lift my eyebrows. “We can’t all be gods of Southern California, Nicholas.”
I expect him to laugh, but I spot a little irritation in the wrinkle that appears on the bridge of his nose. I don’t know if it’s the gentle teasing about his background or the use of his real name, but in either case, I wave my hand, not wanting an argument. “Sorry, go on.”
He lets it drop. “Well, they were looking to charter a boat for a few days, but the dude they were supposed to talk to wasn’t there, so we got to chatting instead. I think they might hire me.”
I’m not exactly the jealous type—with a boyfriend who looks like Nico, you kind of learn not to be if you don’t want to lose your mind—but I still feel a weird flutter of apprehension. “Hire you to sail a boat for them? Take them around the island?”
He shrugs, leaning back in his seat. Outside, it’s started to rain, a soft drizzle that I know will be over in a few minutes and leave the air thick and sweet smelling. “I guess? They asked if I wanted to get drinks tonight and talk it over, and I told them I’d bring my girlfriend.”
“Look at you, you loyal motherfucker,” I tease, and he grins at me again, reaching across the table to take my hand in his, kissing my knuckles.
“More like terrified you’d cut my dick off in my sleep if I met two girls at a bar without you.”
“Loyal and smart.”
The rain picks up, slapping hard against the roof, and Nico glances outside before turning back to me. He has beautiful eyes, deep brown, and they crinkle at the corners as he smiles.
“I figure if they don’t hire me for the job, they might at least buy us a couple of beers, and it’s not like I have anything else going on tonight.”
“Same,” I say, then laugh. “I mean, fuck, now I don’t have anything else going on at any point, ever.”
I hate that it doesn’t sound like a joke.
THREE
The girls picked a tourist bar, because of course they did.
Pineapple Pete’s is too crowded, and I can smell that particularly noxious mix of sunscreen, beer, and duty-free perfume that always hovers over these kinds of places. With my luck, I’ll run into the Haleakala guests who got me fired today.
Nico had gone back to work after lunch, cleaning up and changing at the marina and leaving me to get ready back at the house. But since our roommates were also going out tonight, I had to fight for shower time and a space at the mirror, which means I’m running late and my hair is still wet in one spot in the back. I don’t know why I even made an effort to look nice—Nico will just be wearing the extra shorts and T-shirt he keeps in the bag he takes to work. It’s not like I care about impressing some rich college girls on vacation, but I still found myself pulling out my favorite dress, the yellow one with the halter neck and tiny embroidered birds along the hem, the one that swirled around my knees and always made Nico’s eyes linger a little longer on the curve of my hip, the hollow of my collarbone.
I’ve always loved when he looks at me like that. I’ve loved it from the first night I met him, in a bar not that different from Pineapple Pete’s in terms of low lighting and shitty beer, but a whole world away, otherwise. I’d been waitressing at a place near the beach in San Diego, and Nico had walked in one night. He’d just bought the Susannah, and was fixing it up, before sailing to Baja, then down the coast of Mexico, off into the Pacific, to who knew where. Hawaii, Tahiti, maybe even as far as Australia.
We’ll still get there, I tell myself as I weave through the crowd, searching for Nico. This is just a little hiccup, and then we’re on our way like he promised.
I see him standing near the back at one of the high tables that doesn’t have any chairs. He spots me and lifts a hand, already holding a beer, and the two girls standing across from him turn to look at me.
They’re not scowling, which I guess is a good start. In fact, their smiles seem genuine, not sugary sweet and fake as fuck. They also don’t look like most of the wealthy college girls we tend to see here. No floral prints, no shiny lip gloss. The one on the right has dark hair gathered up in a messy bun, and the one on the left, her hair several shades lighter, is wearing jeans and a tank top, her face bare of makeup.