Going Under (Wildfire Lake 2)

He’s in Dockers and a button-down dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up on his forearms. I have no idea how he makes such boring clothes look so damn sexy, but somehow, they hang differently on his muscular, fit body. I’d trade three bad boys for a night in his bed any day of the week and ten times on Sunday, but based on how distant he’s been since I had dinner at his house, I’m not holding my breath.

Our gazes meet, then his darts to the men I was talking to, and back to me, and he mouths, Sorry. Which makes me realize the guys are waiting for me to return my attention to them.

I glance over my shoulder. “Great talking to you. Excuse us.” I drop into a crouch in front of Violet. “Let me see this beautiful dress.” She spins. “And your hair. I’ve never been able to do the fishtails. These are gorgeous.”

Violet’s face is glowing. “Daddy did them. He’s really good at it. I bet he’d do them for you.”

That image makes me laugh. I would have guessed the braids were done by her aunt or grandmother, but Ben has impressed me yet again.

I take her hands in mine and inspect her fingers. “Were you able to get the grease out from today?”

“Yeah, Daddy used a scrub brush.”

Daddy, Daddy, Daddy. This kid is all about her daddy. It warms a deep place in my heart. I guess I see some of myself in Violet. A Daddy’s girl, through and through. I have no freaking idea how Ben does it all on his own.

“What are we gonna do tomorrow?” Violet wants to know.

“I think that will have to be a surprise,” I tell her. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Ben comes up behind Violet. “Hey.”

“Hey.” I look at Poppy and Jazz. “You two look gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” Poppy offers with a shy smile, then pulls on Violet’s sleeve. “Let’s do crafts.”

They’ve set up kids’ craft stations around the room. When Violet looks at me, I nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The two run off, and Jazz wiggles to get out of Ben’s arms. “I ’na go.”

Ben makes an exasperated sound as she slips to the floor. I step out of the way, pushing my hands into the back pockets of my jeans with an understanding “Go.”

He turns away and follows his girls through the crowd.

I’m watching them, my heart strangely heavy, when a guy comes up to me and puts out his hand. “Toby.”

I shake his hand. “KT.”

“I’ve been hearing about you. I’m thinking of becoming a marine technician and would love to talk to you about it.”

It only takes ten minutes of conversation to realize he doesn’t even know what a fucking marine technician is. He just used it as a line to get into a position to ask me out.

I’ve had it with this crowd. And I’ve almost convinced myself I’m done with this entire situation. I can always leave my money in the investment and go back to a ship. At least there I can control when I get hit on. At least there I can get sex without complications.

I head out onto the back deck and welcome the crisp air and silence. Tension fades, and I feel lighter, yet my heart is still as unsettled as my mind.

I lean against the railing, tip my head to the sky, close my eyes, and breathe deep. Yeah, it’s me again, all you crazy angels. Can you let me know if I’m in the right place? I don’t know if I should stay here or move on. I could use a sign.

I release my breath and look out at the road lined with cute little shops. All-American shops. Restaurants with American food, clothes, gifts. Not made in America, mind you, but shipped from overseas to appear as if they are American made. No cultural variety. No international color. I miss the prevalent bustle of cities and towns overseas. The people and the open-air markets. I miss the varied languages swirling in the air, the vibrant and diverse foods.

Maybe I wasn’t as ready to leave the ship as I thought.

A door opens behind me. Voices and commotion pour into the quiet night before it closes again. I grit my teeth. If I get hit on one more time, I’m so out of here. Laiyla and Chloe can kiss my ass the next time they want me to—

“Hey.”

Ben’s voice dances up my spine. Joy bubbles in my heart. I should trust this. I should see him as the sign I asked for, right?

I look over my shoulder. “Where are the girls?”