Going Under (Wildfire Lake 2)

She laughs, and we follow on the docks. “He’s certainly one of a kind.”

I want to refocus on the setting, sights, sounds, and feel of the place where Kat has spent so much of her life, but there’s a lot going on—inside and outside of me. “When did you two meet?”

“Must have been six or seven years ago. We were both headed into a marina, and he cut me off, then took my slip. We fought for two hours, police were called, spectators chose sides and cheered us on. I think we were in Capri.”

I try to place the city but can’t. “Where’s that?”

“Italy. I was in between assignments, sailing on my own. The argument turned into a comedy show, and everyone was laughing by the time we shook hands and went for a drink, even the

cops. We’ve been friends ever since.”

She would only have been twenty-three or twenty-four. So young, yet even back then, so together, so confident. Talk about one of a kind. Kat continues to floor me every day. The more I know, the more I want to know. But on the flip side of that, the more I know, the more I doubt our long-term fit.

“When’s the last time you saw each other?”

She thinks a minute, her gaze on the girls ahead. “I guess two or three years ago. Got together with mutual friends when we ended up in Saint-Tropez at the same time.”

I realize that what’s really bothering me isn’t the fact that they slept together in the past, but not knowing if they will sleep together in the future. In this moment, the expectation that Kat would stay monogamous seems pretty fucking unreasonable.

“How do you maintain friendships with that lifestyle?” I ask.

She shrugs. “We all understand that if a friendship is going to last, it has to be the kind that doesn’t need constant attention. The kind that can be sustained with an occasional visit, some texts and social media chats. It helps to have both a unique lifestyle and the love of travel and boats in common. You must have friends like that from medical school or residency.”

I nod. “I do.”

“It’s like Laiyla and Chloe. Until six months ago, we hadn’t seen each other in seven years, but they were my best friends all that time. We bonded in Niue and touched base after that when we could, but we all had such crazy travel schedules that we couldn’t meet up in person. They were my best friends when I left them in Niue and are still my best friends now.”

I’m trying to apply that theory to a romantic relationship as we catch up with Jaime and the girls.

“Jaime,” she says, hands on hips as he’s leading them onto a yacht the size of my house. “You’re supposed to start small and go bigger so they don’t see every boat after this as a cracker box.”

He grins. “Always start at the top, mi querida.”

“We met in Capri, right?” she asks before he disappears inside. “When you cut me off and stole my slip.”

“¡Ay bendito! This again. It was Ibiza, and you cut me off and stole my slip. How could you get Capri and Ibiza confused? Arroz con culo, querida, arroz con culo.”

He’s gone before she can respond, but she mutters, “Prick” with a smile and no heat.

“What did he say?”

“That I have it ass backwards.”

I smile. “Where’s Ibiza?”

“Spain.”

“Is there anywhere you haven’t been?” I ask.

She thinks a second and smiles at me. “North Korea.”

That makes me laugh.

“You want to go in?” she asks.

“No. I like your idea better. Start small and work our way up.” I want to touch her. Slide my hand into hers. Wrap my arm around her shoulder and pull her into me, but the girls are running out on decks at various levels, waving to us. “Can you come over tonight? After the girls are asleep? Or stay until after they go to bed?”

Her smile is hot, and I want to kiss it off her face. “Can’t wait.”