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Alright. Fine. I’m happy to see everyone. Most everyone.
Leela opens her mouth to address Herc, then. I brace myself.
“So, Herc. Why, exactly, does Meghan have to sit up here?”
Herc doesn’t miss a beat. “In case of an emergency, she is licensed to operate the vessel.”
He sounds convincing and authoritative.
It’s a fucking pontoon boat that doesn’t reach 15 miles per hour. In the unlikely event that Herc has an aneurysm, a toddler could drive this bucket of bolts. And if not, well, we’re never that far from shore, and there are life jackets.
Leela nods. “Makes perfect sense.”
I nod and smile at her. “Doesn’t it, though?”
She snorts and finally drags Crosby away to find their seats.
For some reason, I don’t feel like arguing about my seating assignment.
I don’t want to make a scene, that’s why.
And … because I haven’t smelled Herc in a year. Sitting here inhaling his scent is…nice. I don’t have to look him in the eye. It means nothing to just sit here and breathe. Preferable to sitting next to a blind date.
But as the tour wears on, I find myself sneaking peeks at Herc. He’s lost some of the luscious beefiness around his middle, and added dark circles around his eyes.
He’s still big, tall, and looks good enough to eat.
Just as yummy to stare at as always.
Yeah, Herc still looks as good as he did in school, just a little bit…I don’t know. Leaner? And…weathered? Haunted?
The selfish part of me wonders if he’s as miserable as I am.
But he’s still got a tight ass, while mine has gotten rounder because of …well…French onion dip and Netflix.
All jokes aside: If I didn’t know Herc, I’d say he was a townie with bedroom eyes sexy enough to get me pregnant and shoulders hard enough to handle my thick thighs.
I do know him, though.
And, god, it still hurts.
SIX
Herc
“Dad, it might not be a good idea for you to be here tonight.”
Dex and Leondra are chatting behind the bar, ignoring me.
Honestly, maybe I’m the one who should disappear tonight.
But fuck me, Meghan looks good. How does that girl always know precisely how to dress for the weather? It’s not hot enough to show a lot of skin, but not quite sweater weather. Somehow she makes layers look hot.
On the boat, I couldn’t stop staring at the gaps in the wraparound top she wore under the thin cardigan. Her modest pedal-pusher denims didn’t stand a chance against that bubble butt. The sporty Tevas were a new look for Meghan, who usually sports high-brow tastes. But those sporty sandals looked hot on her lovely feet, especially paired with the uncharacteristic glittery nail polish.
Shit, now I’m stuck at a bar with her, the whole gang, and her dud of a plus one. I’m trapped in this tiny haunt, thinking about her sexy, chunky ass…that round thing is part of why I have to drink myself stupid at least once a week. How it looked when she was on her knees in front of me. How it moved when I used to smack it. The way it felt to scrape my teeth against it when she was tied down…how it flinched in the cutest way possible at the first contact with the ice-cold flat of the knife.
I don’t need to be thinking about this now.
