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“I’m in your memories, right?” Dare asks, and each word is sharp.
“Yeah,” I answer. “Usually.”
He starts to answer, but I interrupt him, because he has taken off his shirt and his skin is getting a bit red.
“You’re going to get skin cancer,” I stare at him.
“I’m not,” he answers. I don’t argue because I like his bare chest, and the way the muscles ripple across his shoulders as he moves. I pause on my way to the helm, long enough to run my fingers over the letters of his tattoo. His skin is hot beneath my fingertips, and the friction makes me grit my teeth.
“I’m going to show you someplace new,” I tell him, guiding the boat out of the bay and toward a small rock pier down the beach. It only takes ten minutes to get there, and I urge the boat aground so that we can step out onto land.
I hold my hand out to Dare and he takes it, climbing down next to me. We walk all the way out to the tip of the land finger, where the fingernail would be.
Dare sits,
and I sit next to him, our feet splayed out in front of us on the rocks.
We’re surrounded by nothing but the air and water, we’re utterly alone out here, with no one to overhear or watch us like we’re fish in a bowl.
The salty breeze blows Dare’s hair around his face and I turn to him.
“I’m ready to use another question,” I tell him. He grins.
“So soon? It’s only been days since the last one.”
I ignore that. “Why are you such a gentleman?”
Meaning, why are you so resolute to keep your distance until I figure my shit out?
He shifts his weight and crosses his feet at the ankles. “So you’ve noticed.”
His tone is wry. I roll my eyes.
“Seriously. Why are you trying to force me into doing something for my own good that I don’t want to do? All for the sake of being a gentleman? Maybe being a gentleman is overrated and archaic.”
He scoffs at that, shielding his eyes from the sun with long fingers of one hand. I stare at his silver ring glinting in the light.
“It’s not, trust me.” The way he says that is so knowing, so strange.
I raise an eyebrow and he sighs.
“My step-father, while refined and rich, was not a gentleman behind closed doors. From the time I was very small, I decided that I would always be the opposite of him. I used to read my mother’s journals, because that’s all I had left of her, and she always spoke of wanting me to be a gentleman when I grew up. She spoke of those traits with such…reverence that I knew that’s what I wanted to be.” He pauses. “Are you going to make fun of me now?”
He stares at me, his jaw so sculpted, his eyes so guarded. I find all I want to do is reach out and stroke the coarseness of his stubble with my hand. “No,” I tell him. “Not at all. Why did you have to read your mother’s journals?”
“Because she died when I was small.”
God, he has made that hidden part of me ache, the maternal place, the place that wants to protect him from everything, even if that means from me.
“What did your step-father do?”
My question is quiet in its simplicity and Dare sighs again.
“You’re really burning through your questions today.”
I nod, but I don’t back down.
“My stepfather was unfortunately, very much like his mother. A very calculating, controlling person. He had to have everything his way exactly and those people who didn’t comply were punished severely.”
