Dirty Game

“Definitely.”

He laughed and gave me a killer smile that made me glad I’d boarded his boat.

“Hey, Cole.” He called up front, but his cousin was busy sleeping off his beers.

I lightly bit at my lower lip. Something about the way Blake took command of the boat as he stood and steered toward the golden light without reservation made me look at him the way I used to. It was kind of hot.

“Almost there,” he shouted over the wind.

I peered over the console, trying to keep my eyes on the target. The closer we got, the weaker the color was. I squinted harder as Blake slowed the boat.

“Where did it go? It should be here.” I stood, looking over the side of the boat.

“Over there.” Blake pointed three hundred yards east.

Blake reached down and let his hand rest on my shoulder. “I think that’s enough ghost hunting for one night. What do you say I take you home?”

Surprised by the heat that stemmed from my shoulder, I smiled. “Sounds good.”

“Hold on up there!” Blake shouted before throwing the boat into full gear and pointing it toward Aunt Lindy’s pier.

6

Blake

I dropped Sierra off on her aunt’s pier and didn’t even look over my shoulder. I wasn’t supposed to care if she made it inside the house, or if she even fell over into the dark waters.

It was stupid relieving old high school pranks about ghost stories and shit that was from the past.

I chugged the last of my beer and steered us back. Cole could wake up in the morning to a neck full of mosquito bites. I left him snoring on the bow and hopped off.

I didn’t know if I could shake it. If I could pretend she wasn’t here. I drove home with fireworks exploding overhead.

My palm slammed into the steering wheel. My summer was fucked. The peace I needed off the field to be the warrior I needed to be on the field was fucked. The last shred of solitude I had found in my life was fucked because Sierra Emory had decided to come home.

It didn’t matter she hadn’t been seen here in eight years. She never visited her aunt. I heard she didn’t even make the funeral.

And now what? She thought she could parade that tight ass into one of Shirley’s parties and all would be forgiven?

No one around here cared she was some kind of hot as shit reporter in Dallas. Money didn’t impress islanders. Neither did fame. Hard work did. Loyalty. Family. She’d fucked all that up.

And it was time someone told her she didn’t belong on this island.

I drove deeper through the winding streets until I parked outside of the two-story Victorian house.

It had been in Sierra’s family for over a hundred years. The islanders said Aunt Lindy’s father was crazy when he built it. They said it wouldn’t withstand a hurricane or even a nor’easter, but here it was, still standing.

I glared at the white siding and the drain pipe next to the upstairs bedroom. I’d helped Sierra sneak out more than once using the metal as a ladder.

I slammed the truck door, marching up the back stairs. They creaked under my weight.

“Sierra!” I pounded on the door. “Sierra. Open up.”

I heard the lock rattle and then she appeared on the other side of the screen. Her face glistened with tears.

What the fuck?

“What are you doing here?” She wiped at her cheeks with her fingertips.