Fuck It (Yama Yama)

Anderson snorts, some of the laughter catching volume now, reminding me that power I was trying to steal is now fully his.

With only one option in my bag, I stand, smile tightly, and say, “Mark sent it to me—research purposes. I didn’t know what it was or I wouldn’t have opened it.”

Anderson’s laughter dies as his head snaps up, and his eyes narrow on me. Even though I’m still humiliated, it’s nice to know I got at least that much power back.

Turning to go to my car, I hear Roman incredulously inquire, “Mark the IT guy?”

I don’t answer.

Instead, I head to the dock, feeling the embarrassment ebb more and more as time passes. It’s almost twenty minutes later when everyone else shows up.

“No Lydia?” I ask.

“Broken dick,” Kasha reminds me.

Bobby Jo is officially way more badass than me. She’s strutting her stuff in a sexy one piece and a frilly skirt. Way different than her Kitty Playhouse shirts.

Anderson brushes against me when his hand lands on the small of my back, guiding me onto the boat we’re using for the day. I try to pretend I don’t notice the way he touches me.

“For what research purposes is Mark sending you porn?” he asks, helping me onto the boat.

“I’d like to know the same damn thing,” Roman says, but I ignore them both.

“Grab the sunblock!” Monica yells as she joins us, breaking up the porn conversation, thankfully.

Anderson and I get separated in the shuffle when everyone else joins us, and the porn conversation gets forgotten. About a third of the way into the trip, Heath Harper starts dragging everyone around on a two-person tube.

It looks…awful. Water splashes people in the face. You have to hang on for dear life not to be thrown off. You’re being dragged behind a boat that could easily kill a person—even if the rope does keep it way away from the actual boat.

Oceans have sharks too. Let’s not forget about that.

Though we’re far enough from the shore that the waves aren’t an issue, what happens if a wave grabs you, drags you out to sea, and spits you out into a shark’s waiting mouth?

“Who’s next?” Monica asks while Kasha helps Bobby Jo back onboard.

Everyone chatters a little, trying to decide, as Roman sits down beside me. “Hey, seriously, what’s up with Mark the IT guy? Are you two talking or something?”

Ignoring him, I stand and decide to be shark food. I love Roman, but since our parents were always a team against us, we always had to be a team for each other. And right now, I feel like I’m hiding something crucial and important.

I’d rather be shark food than have this conversation on a boat with Anderson so close.

“I’m next,” I say and toss my cover-up off me, forgetting the very skimpy bikini I’ve been hiding.

When his eyes land on me, Anderson stumbles, almost falling off the back of the boat, as he pulls the two-person tube up to the platform. My lips twitch while I try to pretend the slinky black bikini with scraps of fabric covering up all my most intimate bits is no big deal, and strut like a boss to the life jackets.

“I’m going next too,” Anderson says, too obviously, as his eyes rake over me.

I glance back to see Roman’s brow crinkle when he glances back and forth between us. He’s not an idiot, and Anderson is not being nearly subtle enough.

I fasten my lifejacket into place, and Anderson steps up behind me, telling me what to do as I climb onto the tube. He climbs on behind me, ass in my face for a second, then shoves us away from the boat. The second we start drifting, Heath starts the boat again, and slowly idles away, letting the rope stretch tight gradually so he doesn’t jerk us around.

“Could you be more obvious?” I ask Anderson quietly, smiling a little when he stares over at my ass, which is barely clad in the thin black fabric.

“Could you not give me a hard-on in front of everyone so I don’t have to be obvious?” he drawls, winking at me.

Roman has shifted his attention to Kasha while she animatedly discusses something with him, though I can’t hear them. If I can’t hear them, then they clearly can’t hear us.

The rope gets tight, and Heath stays slow, dragging us at a reasonable speed. I clutch the handles, lying flat on my belly, and grin a little as the ocean mists me, cooling me down from the unbearable heat.

This isn’t so bad.

Anderson’s leg presses against the side of mine, and his arms flex with that arm porn muscle of his, gripping the handles like he’s worried he’ll fall off. Very emasculating, if you ask me, considering how slow we’re going.

He gives me a sideways grin before he yells, “Ready!”