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Instead, he bought Dolly. She’s a big boat, don’t get me wrong; I imagine she has several bedrooms at least below deck. But instead of being big for big’s sake, she’s tasteful, a classic wooden boat crafted of gleaming mahogany with three stories and a large back deck, where we are now.
There’s a dining area to my right, with a square table surrounded by a curving booth upholstered in black-and-white striped fabric. To my left is a set of steps leading up to the bridge (where the controls are), and another set leading down to a cabin area.
Dolly’s chrome railings gleam in the late morning sunshine, nary a fingerprint in sight. The floors are mahogany as well, and are polished to within an inch of their life. I can just glimpse an area for sunbathing up ahead, a pair of built-in chaises also upholstered in that striped fabric. A crisp American flag waves from the stern, flapping in the salt-scented breeze.
And then there’s the beautiful food laid out on the table, and the chef in the white jacket, and the man apparently named Kurt in the polo shirt embroidered with the name Dolly.
Also, Kelsea Ballerini is playing over the speakers. My favorite song too.
Let’s not forget Tom Cruise. He’s huge, his coat more red than golden, and very friendly, staying by my side.
The whole thing is a dream.
It’s Riley’s dream, to live on the water like this.
He did it.
He made his ridiculous idea a reality.
Were we really so ridiculous?
It’s happening again—that thing where I can’t breathe. I put a hand on my chest in an effort to spur my heart back into motion.
I look at Riley to see him looking at me. He’s frowning. “You okay?”
Why’d you have to ruin everything? I want to say back.
Putting a hand on the nearby railing, I nod. “All good. I just wasn’t expecting you to live on the set of The Talented Mr. Ripley. Spoiler alert, if Matt Damon shows up, I’m going to faint.”
“I saved Matt for tomorrow for exactly that reason.” Riley grins as he gently cups my elbow in his hand and helps me up a pair of steps to the table. My body pulses at the press of his warm, calloused palm against my skin.
I close my eyes. Take a deep inhale, the savory smell of the truffled french fries filling my head.
Is this man trying to kill me? First he holds back my hair while I lose my breakfast in the bushes. Then he takes care of my broken-down golf cart, all but sings along with me to my favorite new artist, and tells me he’ll give me whatever I need.
Hate sex.
He was talking about the hate sex he offered me.
My body pulses again as an image flashes across the backs of my eyelids: Riley climbing over me in a cabin downstairs, shoving up my dress and raking his hands down my thighs as he pulls off my underwear. In this fantasy, he’ll still eat pussy like a champ, pushing my legs open and making me come on his mouth. Then he’ll stand up, shuck off his shorts, fist himself in his hand before—
“You’re hungry, aren’t you?”
My eyes fly open at the question, delivered in a gravelly purr I feel between my legs. Riley is looking at me again, a smirk on his lips like he knows I was thinking about the magical things he could do with his tongue.
“How would you know?”
“Your stomach just growled.” He’s still got his hand on my elbow, and he leads me to a spot at the table set with white china and what appears to be an Aperol spritz.
My knees wobble. But this time, I sit before they give out and I end up in Riley’s arms again. “Everything looks and smells delicious.”
“It really does.” Goldie takes the seat next to me, which is set with a wine glass filled with a clear bubbly liquid. Sparkling water?
Jesus, Riley thought of everything. I notice there’s a sparkling water at the spot where he sits too. Is he not drinking? Why?
And why does he have to look so fucking good in those aviators and that white shirt? He’s giving off sexy, young-JFK vibes, and I would so be here for it if he wasn’t an ex who cheated on me and left me for dead.
One of my exes who cheated on me and left me for dead.
The idea that there’s a pattern is sobering to say the least. Fool me once, sure, it happens. But twice?
Makes me think I’m doing something wrong.
Whatever the case, I’m doing myself no favors by daydreaming about Riley Dixon naked.
I’m polite as we eat our meal, but I’m careful to avoid addressing Riley during the natural flow of conversation. Instead, I keep Goldie and Coop talking about the wedding and their honeymoon. They’re headed to Italy next Monday.
