Page 100 of Finding Storm

“A marina?” Storm asks as we get out of the car.

“Ever been on a boat before?” I ask him, heading to the trunk of my car.

Then, I hear my words back.

Of course he’s been on a boat before, dummy.

God, I ask the stupidest questions at times.

“Yeah … I’ve been on a yacht.” He seems to wince. Like he’s embarrassed by this. He shouldn’t be. Having money is nothing to be ashamed of. “Not mine,” he adds quickly. “It was this guy’s yacht. He’s a big deal in the music industry.”

“Please tell me it had a helipad. Because I’m not calling it a yacht if it didn’t.” I pop the trunk and get out the picnic basket and bag with our swimming gear.

He chuckles. “Actually, it didn’t.” He takes the picnic basket and bag from my hands.

“Pfft. Doesn’t count then. Not that Dad’s boat has a helipad.” I start walking toward where the boats are moored on the jetty. Storm follows. “Or its own bathroom,” I add. “It doesn’t even have a downstairs, and it has a permanent fishy smell to it ’cause Dad mostly uses it to go fishing. So, actually, your music man’s yacht sounds a lot better, even without the helipad.”

He’s laughing the whole time I’m talking. “Have I ever told you that you, Stevie Cavalli, are the best kind of nuts?”

I grin up at him, feeling this warm glow in my chest. “Eh, once or twice. But feel free to keep saying it.”

We walk down the jetty to Dad’s boat. I climb onboard first. Then, Storm hands me the picnic basket and bag before getting onboard.

“You ever driven a boat?” I ask Storm, moving toward the front of the boat.

Dad’s boat is an open bow, meaning it has a seating area at the front of the boat, which I mostly use to sunbathe when I do come out on the boat with Dad. I set the stuff down on one of the two padded bench seats.

“Nope. Never.”

“Well, I’d offer to let you have a go today. But I don’t feel like dying.”

“Hey.” His eyes spark with mischief. “I’ll have you know, I’m a fast learner. And I’m good at most things.”

Hands to my hips, I cock my head to the side. “Only most things?” I tease.

Something hot and dark flashes in his eyes. “Things that matter. I’m really fucking good at the things that matter.”

Oh. Wow.

Shit. Wow.

What do I say now?

Breathe. Swallow. I’m totally flustered. “Well, if you’re really good at the things that matter, maybe I’ll trust you to have a try then.”

“You should.”

And there’s that dark, heated stare again.

And I’m also sure that we’re not talking about boats anymore.

I’m pretty sure he’s hinting at me letting him drive me instead. Or drive into me. Or I need to stop with the shitty analogies and say that he’s basically hinting at fucking me.

Sweet Lawd.

“Okay then. Cool.” I’m walking toward him, but I can’t look at him. If I look at him, I might die. Or jump him right here on the boat, on the jetty. “You can have a go. I mean, drive the boat. Later. On the open water.”

Jesus. Shut the fuck up, Stevie.