“I keep getting older and they all keep getting younger.” I tilt my head toward a boat full of babes that’s passing by.
Boat full of babes. I sound like a prick even in my own head.
“Look, as long as they’re of legal age, what does it matter? This is your time to shine among the younger babes, Caleb. When it doesn’t matter as much. When you’re forty-five with a beer belly and bald head still trying to hit on eighteen-year-olds? Then you’re going to look like a dick, my friend,” Aidan explains, as if he’s so freaking wise.
But he’s making a valid point.
I get bored fast watching the decorated boats pass by. The dock is starting to fill up with people who want to sit on their moored boats to watch the parade and the upcoming fireworks, and Aidan ditches me in an instant when a group of girls he graduated with approach him, all of them flirtatious as they greet him in sing-songy, high-pitched voices.
Not a one of them even glances over at me.
Irritated, I hop off the bench and stride into the dock office, not even realizing Gracie is in there until I spot her sitting behind the desk, going through paperwork. She glances up the moment I walk in, that familiar frown on her face.
I’m tired of that frown. I’m tired of us barely tolerating each other. I need to make a move, say something, end all this bullshit.
“We need to talk,” I tell her, shutting the door behind me.
“So talk,” she says slowly, setting the thin stack of papers she was holding onto the desk. Her expression is even, and she seems completely unruffled, while I’m over here feeling like I’m going to erupt into a panic attack at any given moment.
And I don’t have panic attacks. Like, ever.
“You’re pissed at me.” May as well cut right to the chase.
“I thought you were pissed at me,” she says.
I rest my hands on my hips, taken aback. “Why would you think that?”
“You’re the one who got mad that we kissed, Caleb. You stormed out of your car that night like I was a disease you were trying to outrun, only to come back—reluctantly, I might add—because I guess at the last second, you realized it was the gentlemanly thing to do, helping your drunk roommate get back into your apartment in one piece,” she explains. “You haven’t spoken to me since.”
“I have so,” I say, dropping into the empty chair in front of the desk.
“Not really.”
I blow out an exasperated breath. “This is stupid.”
“What? The way you’re behaving?”
“The way we’re both behaving! When was the last time you had sex?”
She rears back a little at my change of subject, leaning away from me in her chair. “How is that any of your business?”
“It’s been over a month for me. I think. I can’t remember the last time I did it. I don’t even remember who with.” I ponder it yet again, but come up with nothing.
“That’s—unusual for you,” she admits. Even she knows my sex habits.
“Right? More like fucking unbelievable. So tell me.” I lean forward, trying to get closer to her, and drop my voice lower. “When was the last time you had sex with someone, G?”
Her brows draw together as she considers my question, her gaze growing distant. As if she’s completely lost in thought. I wait, my right leg bouncing, making the floor rattle, swear to God. Sometimes it feels like one swift wind could sweep through this place and take the tiny office shack out.
“It’s been…a while,” she finally admits.
I curl my hands around the edge of her desk, gripping it tight. “I have a suggestion.”
“No, Caleb. I’m not having sex with you,” she says, not even letting me ask her.
God, this woman exasperates me. “Why the hell not?”
She glances around as if someone’s nearby who might overhear our crazy conversation before she returns her gaze to me. “I’m not about to have sex with a guy who claims he doesn’t like kissing.”