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I call out, “No more kissing until the wedding day. And three seconds is long enough.”
He sits on his backside and slips on a sock. He doesn’t turn to me but replies, “Sure thing. If there’s any kissing between now and the wedding day, it will be because you’ve initiated it.”
“Well, that’s not going to happen.”
“We’ll see.” He says it with annoying confidence. Confidence that sells million-dollar deals. But money won’t buy me. Quality time is my currency.
8
LAUREN
I hold the blue inflatable boat firmly by the rope as the next lot of tourists slip into position. I tread further into the rushing creek and board last. Sitting on the end, I collect my oar. Water seeps into my bather shorts, but the sun heats my legs.
I’m wearing a white helmet, and the six tourists wear blue. We all have red lifejackets. Three boats line up to launch one at a time. The tour guides must watch out for each other, so we don’t play bumper boats.
I point to the men sitting to my right. “Okay, right side, row backward one stroke.” The boat parallels the curve of the river.
“Now together, forward once.” The current takes us several yards. “Forward, once,” I command over the noise of the river. “Forward, two.”
We roll over a dip but catch on a smooth rock. “It’s okay.” I hold up a palm. “Wait a minute.”
Another group passes us as we’re resting on the side of the river. I gesture to the man with the mustache and trimmed beard. “Can you push off the rock with your oar?”
“Sure can.” He does as I say.
“Move forward two.” We drift into the middle of the stream and float downstream for a bit.
“Forward once.” I row in sync with the others.
The boat increases speed.
“Oh, boy,” Mustache Man calls. “Here comes a big rapid.”
Water splashes high on either side, hitting my cheeks.
“Woah,” a guy in black sunglasses yells.
They haven’t seen anything yet. We ride the current and drift to the side where two boats filled with passengers have paused.
I rest my oar across my knee. “Next rapid has a waterfall drop of about seven feet.”
“Heck yeah!” says the dude in a muscle shirt.
I hold back a laugh. “You’ll love this.” I row us away from the boats. “Forward three.” They obey my command.
I lean forward, yelling over the rushing waters, “Guys, lean into it.” I demonstrate a stroke.
Mustache Man grins at me. “Yes, boss.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” I tease back. “Let’s go forward two.”
Our speed increases as we approach the rapid. “Forward one.” The boat dips over the rushing waters, and it angles left. We bump into a rounded rock and down the next dip. I lose one passenger. Fan-freaking-tastic.
“Go to shore!” I call out to him.
“Left, two strokes.” The boat swings around, and we veer to the side of the river. I turn over my shoulder, and another boat heads over the rapid.
“Get out of the water! You’re going to get run over.” I call to the overboard muscle-shirt dude who’s now near the sandbank.
