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“Sin, put me down, please! I did what Royce wanted! I came!”
I can feel Orson’s shoulders shaking beneath my weight. “I know, but you see, we have a teeny problem…”
“And what’s that?” I ask, though my eyes are swinging all over the place to take in who is all here. I can see a lot of people sticking to their crews, with almost everyone already parked up in the water. The bay had rafts stretching out long, with boats upon boats parked in every spot. Music was pouring out of them, with sounds of glass bottles clinking and laughter. The coast guard hated all of us, and depending on who was on duty, they usually just leave us alone.
“Well, we have to make sure everyone here knows that you’re spoken for.”
I roll my eyes. I always got stuck coming out. Although I wasn’t old enough to get my boat license yet, I know how to operate one and I never drink, so it’s convenient for all three of them to have me here. Usually, Sloane would cash in on it too.
“Duchess!” Royce calls out, whistling.
I tap at Orson’s back again and he finally—fucking finally—places my feet back to solid ground. “What?”
Royce grins at me from over his arm as he continues to reverse the boat into the water from the ramp. “Might need you to hop on and scream some orders.” People don’t even breathe at Royce’s banter, but I roll my eyes and slip off my flip-flops, tossing all of my things into the back of the boat. I move through the water and fling myself up inside from the little ladder at the end. Royce continues to back up into the water until I stop him. He busies himself with unlatching the boat from his vehicle when Orson, Storm, and a couple of other girls climb onto the boat.
I grind my teeth, swinging my bag under the hood of the boat where there’s a bed, a small kitchen, and a bathroom. Royce jumps on last, throwing his shirt at my face.
“Smile, Dutch.” He leans forward, pressing the cushion of his thumb against my bottom lip. “Wouldn’t want this pretty little face to stay like that.”
“Royce!” Annette Bird, aka Royce’s current plaything, waves him over to the front seat where her, Bianca, and Natasha Daniels are perched, bikinis tied and bodies oiled.
I run my tongue over my teeth. “You know, I really wish I just stayed home.” And maybe text played with Robbie. I would have preferred that than sit here and watch all three of these boys play with their latest Barbie dolls.
“Aww.” Royce ruffles my hair. “You gonna act like you don’t want to go out on the board?” I couldn’t even fight my smile. He gestures over to the neon green wakeboard. “Saddle up.”
I dance over to the back of the boat and latch myself on to it. I’m strapped in, Royce has Cypress Hill “Rockstar” pounding through the speakers and we’re almost at our favorite spot (which is pretty much in the ass crack middle of Ocean Tavern), I throw up the hang loose sign and toss myself backward. The water cracks from beneath my weight and I feel the rush from nature sink through my fingertips, pumping into my veins. I’ve always been an outdoor girl. Never the girly girl, so I guess in a sense, Royce did sort of get the brother that he wanted in me. At least for now. It’s wearing off with age. I still don’t like pink.
I resurface to the top with a smile on my lips, swiping my long brown hair out of my face.
“You little fucking shit!” Royce yells, flipping me off from the boat.
“What’d I do? I always go off like that!”
He waves me off, his mouth in a flat line. Tense bastard. He gets grumpy when we’re about to shred, well, especially when I’m about to go shredding. I gaze around us to see another four or five boats parked up, with others climbing off, swimming, drinking, and chilling. This is our usual convey. Instead of cars, we all take the boats out. It’s like an extracurricular activity for the rich and bored.
“Duchess.” Orson blows me a kiss while tossing the handle into the water. “Try not to break a bone this time?”
“Stop jinxing her!” Storm shoves at Orson, leaving his shirt unbuttoned but keeping it secured. Storm never goes without a shirt. He doesn’t talk about it and Royce said I’m never to ask, but he always wears a shirt. Even in the water. Even shredding.
I take the handle and throw up hang loose again, my tongue sticking out at Royce.
“Because you look extra mischievous today, I’m going to go slow!” he yells, the boat slowly pulling away from me. I feel the tug on the rope and chuckle.
