Dirty Game

I stood and balanced myself before taking a step toward the stern. I had to prove to myself and to the guys that I could be casual about this. What happened all those years ago didn’t matter anymore. I had accepted our fate.

Blake and I weren’t meant to be. He was successful and famous. I was living my dream in Dallas. We were never going to be right for each other.

“Can I sit here?” I pointed to the seat Cole had vacated next to Blake.

“Go ahead.” Blake sipped from his beer and cut the engine to an idle. “We can slow it down in these calm waters. No danger of hitting sandbars tonight.”

I lowered myself onto the narrow bench next to him. He kept his eyes straight ahead, concentrating on the channel markers. As he clutched the steering wheel with one hand, I noticed the muscles in his arms flexing with each movement.

“That’s good.”

This was fucking awkward.

“I can just drop you off. Cole’s drunk. This was his idea. Not mine.”

I saw his cousin propped against the bow. His eyes were closed.

“I’m fine.” I felt as if I had to say it aloud. He needed to hear it. I needed to hear it. It was a complete lie.

“Sure you are. Always fucking fine,” he grumbled.

I stiffened next to him. Maybe I just needed to get off this boat.

“Hey, what was that old story you used to tell?” I asked. I recognized where we were for once. “Was it the swimmer something?”

“Fuck, Sierra. You don’t remember? Seriously?”

I shook my head. “Not really.”

“I could tell you, but I wouldn’t want to scare you.”

“You can’t scare me,” I taunted.

“You sure about that?” Blake smiled. It was sexy and smoldering. Enough to make me shiver.

He eased closer and rested his arm on the ledge above my shoulders. The breeze swirled through my hair, and I wondered if he could smell my shampoo, because I was drinking in every ounce of him—even though I tried not to.

“Try me.” I turned toward him, fully aware that his arm was almost touching me. Almost.

“See that light out there.” He pointed to a faint flashing yellow light in the distance.

“Of course,” I responded. It was as clear as any of the other markers dotting the dark waters.

He pivoted toward me. “Even if I wanted to, I can’t take us to it. As soon as we head toward it, it will move.”

My eyes grew big. “Oh wait. I think I remember that story.”

I never believed in ghost stories or legends. “It’s not real, Blake.”

“It’s real. The way my dad told it, a sailor was stranded on the shoals after a shipwreck about a hundred years ago. He was able to get out of the ship with a lantern and tried to swim to shore, but the currents out here are unpredictable and he never made it to land. The next day, they found his lantern, but never the body.”

I shivered and inadvertently scooted closer to Blake.

He continued with the tale. “So, the legend goes that the blinking yellow light is him still trying to swim to shore, but no one can ever catch up to it because of the currents.”

“Holy shit. It’s still the creepiest thing I’ve ever heard.” Ok, maybe I was a little scared. I had forgotten all of the tragic stories from the ocean.

“You want me to show you?” Blake placed his hand on the gearshift, ready to maneuver the boat toward the lantern’s light.