“I’m way too intrigued now.”
“Good. Because I think you’ll enjoy this.”
We only drove a short distance before Penn pulled over and then marched us onto a dock. My eyes widened in surprise. This wasn’t the dock where Lewis had kept his enormous yacht that felt more like a cruise ship than the boats I was used to in Charleston. This dock felt much more familiar. Still wealthier than back home, but at least in a similar league.
“Have you ever sailed before?” Penn asked as he stopped us before a beautiful sailboat.
I shook my head. “Nope. But I’ve always wanted to try.”
“Today is that day.” He hopped onto the boat and offered me his hands. “Come on board.”
I reached for him as I stepped down into the sailboat. “Wow, this thing is gorgeous.”
“Thanks.” He tossed me a life jacket. “Put that on.”
“Super sexy.”
He glanced up at me from the front of the boat where he was checking the sails and grinned. “Orange is your color.”
“I feel ridiculous,” I told him.
“Better safe than sorry,” he said as he hopped back down and began to move us out of the dock.
He’d been right. It was a beautiful, windy day with a perfect, clear sky that I could only imagine made for good sailing weather. And Penn had obviously done this before…many, many times. He walked back and forth on the deck like an expert, pulling lines and hoisting sails and steering. It was hot as fuck to watch him.
I’d never cared much for boats or anything like that. It was Melanie who loved boats. She went out nearly every weekend with her friend Marina, whose family owned a boating company. I’d gone a few times, but I preferred the beach with a good book.
I thought, if I’d gone sailing with a guy as hot as Penn Kensington, I might have a different appreciation for boats.
“So…you sail,” I noted the obvious.
“Little bit,” he agreed, sinking back down to steer us.
“Did your dad teach you?”
His mouth tightened, and he glanced down. “Yeah, he did.”
I could tell that was a sore subject. I didn’t know why I kept bringing up his family. He clearly didn’t want to talk about it. And we were casual. We weren’t dating or anything. He didn’t need to talk to me about his parents. I just wanted to know, and I couldn’t help wanting to know.
I’d say it was the writer in me, trying to find out all his secrets and figure out how to piece him all together. But it was just something about the pain and anger that crossed his face when the parents were brought up that made me want to help put him back together. But…not today.
I changed tack. “So, how long have you been doing this?”
“Basically, my whole life.”
“That’s incredible.” I leaned back, tilting my head into the sun and smiling. “This is almost as good as the beach. I can see why you like it.”
“It’s relaxing. It usually keeps my mind off of things.”
“Like what?”
“Life. Everything. I don’t know,” he said. “It quiets everything that I have going on and that I have to deal with. So, it’s just this moment.”
“I get that.”
“Hey, come over here,” he said, gesturing to where he sat as he steered.
“Are you going to teach me?” I walked over to him.
“Do you want to learn?”
I shook my head. “Maybe another time. Right now, I like you in charge.”
He pulled me down onto his lap. “Just right now?”
“Are you fishing for compliments?”
“Do I need to fish for them?”
“Oh my god, are you going to answer every question with a question?”
“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”
I pushed at his shoulder, but he just laughed and pulled my lips down to his.
“Tell me more about yourself,” he instructed.
“Like what?”
“What’s your favorite food?”
I slid off of his lap and quirked my eyebrow at him. “That’s so generic. We went from your deepest, darkest secret in Paris to favorite food.”
He kissed my shoulder. “I know so many intimate things about you. I want to know the rest. The mundane things.”
“Why?” I couldn’t keep the word from leaving my mouth. I wanted to tell him the mundane things. But it was hardly casual-sex material. It was more…first-date fodder.
“Is it so hard to believe that I enjoy your company and want to know more about you?”
“No,” I said softly, “but…”
“Just answer the question and stop overanalyzing everything with your writer’s brain.”
I stuck my tongue out at him. “I can’t help it.”
“Trust me. I know.”
“Fine. Pizza.”
“I should have guessed. You practically drooled when I told you I was ordering some a couple of weeks ago. Guess I know what we’re having for dinner. I know this place in East Hampton that’s sinful.”
That sounded like…a date.
No, it wasn’t a date. It was just…friends hanging out. Friends with some pretty incredible benefits eating food. Normal. Chill.