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“It just showed up the other day.” He shrugs. “People shouldn’t even be able to anchor this close to shore. These rich assholes get to do whatever they want, though. I complained it was cutting off some of my range for my surf classes, but the guy cut me a check and expected me to shut up. For the amount he paid, I guess I will… for now.”
“Who?” I barely resist the urge to lunge at Marcus and shake him. “Who cut you a check?”
“The owner of the boat. Some weird name. Dunno.”
Now is not the time for him to be a stereotypical space cadet surfer. I need full sentences, detailed information. “Who?”
“I’m not sure, actually. Like Carl, but not…”
“Kirill? Kirill Zaitsev?”
He snaps his fingers. “Yeah, that was it! You know him?”
I look back to the lights of the yacht, and my stomach knots. Are Yuliana and I actually hard to miss sitting here on the beach? Is Kirill out there in his yacht?
My skin prickles all over, the thought of Kirill’s eyes on me more than enough to send my nerve endings into overdrive.
“No.” I answer a bit too quickly. “I just—I’ve heard of him. I guessed.”
Yuliana is watching me now. I don’t think she’s picking up on how nervous I am, but the longer I talk to Marcus, the more interested she’s getting.
I need to get us both out of here. Now.
“Good guess,” Marcus chuckles. There’s an awkward pause before he clears his throat again. “But about what I said… Would you want to?”
“What?” My eyes are scanning the horizon. Part of me expects to see Kirill slicing through the water towards us like a crocodile, with just his glistening eyes visible above the surface.
“The date,” Marcus says. “I asked you on a date. Just now. A second ago.”
“Oh.” I blink up at him. My mind replays through the last minute, but everything is a blur. Except Kirill’s yacht. That stands out starkly.
“Would you want to go on a date with me?” he asks. “I’m thinking coffee. Or drinks, if evenings work better for you. Or coffee in the evening. I can do coffee anytime.”
He’s rambling. Some woman somewhere would find this adorable. The tousled blonde hair and the heart that is as exposed as his chest.
I am not the target audience, apparently.
“You seem so nice, Marcus. Really. But I’m not sure I’m—”
“Say no more,” he interrupts, waving me off and taking a few steps back. “I get it.”
“You do?” I bite my lower lip. “I like talking to you. And I was serious about signing up for surf lessons sometime.”
I was notseriousserious. I mentioned it the first time we met because I didn’t think I’d see him again. Now, it’s become kind of a thing between us.
When are you gonna sign up for those lessons?he’ll ask.
Soon, I lie each time.Really soon.
“Well, I’d never turn down a customer,” he says with a thin, pained smile.
I smile back, and the moment stretches and shifts. We’re both waiting for the other person to break the quiet.
“You’re in love with someone else, aren’t you?” Marcus asks softly.
I frown. It’s the last thing I expected him to say. Oddly perceptive for a man who communicates almost exclusively in“dude”and“woah.”“Oh. Well, I don’t know if—”
“You can be honest,” he says. “It would actually make me feel better if you were. Who am I to intrude on true love, ya know? That’s easier to swallow than the idea that you hate me.”
