I want to savor it. Want to keep holding her like a glutton, my self-imposed rules be damned. But the rain isn’t stopping any time soon.
Reluctantly, I drop my hands. “You’re going to grab what you need for tonight and tomorrow, then you’re going to go sit in my truck while I take care of this.”
She frowns. “I’m going to help you.”
“By sitting in the truck,” I re-emphasize, hoping she listensfor once.“With your current track record, you’ll probably get struck by lightning outside. And then I’ll be stuck dealing with a new social media girl, and I’ve just figured out how to deal with you.”
“You’re ridiculous,” she replies, though she gives in and starts rummaging around the cabin.
“Who rents this thing to you?” I ask as she packs.
“Some guy named Gary,” she answers, opening what I’m pretty sure is a bin full of underwear. I divert my eyes before I can discover what’s inside, not needing that kind of torture. “He was planning to use it this summer, but gotcalled down to Florida or something for a few months to take care of his sister.”
“You have Gary’s contact information?”
She nods toward a flimsy binder splayed on the bed. “He didn’t pick up.”
What kind of person rents their boat to someone with zero boating knowledge, then isn’t available for emergencies? A stupid, self-serving one, that’s who.
She starts shutting off the lights, but I stop her, telling her I’ll take care of it before ushering her out into the storm.
“Jacket?” I prompt.
She glances down at her soaked shirt, glued to her pert breasts. “Kind of pointless now, isn’t it?”
The rain is unrelenting as we splash across the deck and make our way to my truck. A pair of headlights cut into the lot just as I toss her bag into the backseat and open the passenger door.
“Who is that?” she asks, slipping inside.
“Anson.”
Her eyes widen in horror. “You called myboss?”
I level a flat look her way. “I called mybrother, who was happy to drop off the portable pump so I could get to you sooner.”
“It’s almost midnight, in a storm.” She runs an agitated hand through her hair. “Your brother is going to think I’m an idiot.”
“Hey.” I grab her hand before it can make another pass, wanting to keep all the pretty hairs on her head. “He’s only going to think you’re an idiot if you run out there and try to help. You have nothing to do with the scuppers being fucked and the bilge pump shitting out on you.”
Her shoulders marginally relax, some of her resistance fading. Gravel kicks up nearby as Anson parks.
“Now stay in the truck.”
She looks like she wants to argue, but after a moment, she sinks back into the seat. “You are so bossy,” she grumbles.
“I have a feeling you might like that trait in a different setting.”
Knowing I shouldn’t have said that, but not giving a shit, I close the door before I can see her reaction and head over to Anson, a navy-blue shadow unloading something from the back of his truck.
“I got it,” I tell him over the rain, helping him set the pump on the ground. “Can’t thank you enough.”
“You really think I drove all the way out here just to leave?” He straightens, hitting me with his signature scowl, which suggests he’s either about to rain down hell, or is working through how stupid I am.
“You’ve got Lala,” I reason.
“I do, and she’s passed out in the back. Didn’t even wake up when I carried her out,” he says. “Now do you want to keep standing here in the rain, arguing about it? Or go help out the Social Media Director that you clearly don’t hate as much as you want to?”
Shaking my head, I haul up the pump and head down the dock.
