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Straightening my spine and lifting my chin, I barked back, “You’rethe one being afreaking creepin the middle of the night.” I didn’t bother to lower my voice. If the scowling incarnation of Ivar Ragnarsson didn’t want to disturb the neighborhood, he should start by avoiding loitering outside bathroom windows. “What the hell are you even doing here?”
“Ilivehere.” He deadpanned and tapped on the doorframe like I needed clarification. Of course he did. First week on this island, and I already had someone to avoid.
“No,” I snapped, pointing back to Rhyett’s still-lit, but now vacant, bathroom window next door. “Therehere. What were you doing with front-row seats to our freaking bathroom? Strip club closed tonight, thought you’d improvise?”
“Look, I was just taking out the trash,” he sighed, bringing up a thumb and forefinger to pinch the bridge of his nose, eyes sliding closed. “Wasn’t looking for a peepshow.”
“Well, you certainly weren’t shy about it when you got one.”
“I looked away as quick as I could. Didn’t even see anything worth noting.”
“Bullshit.” He’d undoubtedly gotten a full frontal. And insulted me in the process of denying it. If I was lucky, the window cut above the waist, but I wasn’t entirely sure of his angle, as I was too busy panicking and then trying not to die as I nearly strangled myself with the shower curtain. Either way, the girls had been on full display in all their pale, size-A glory. I could have been the chairman of the itty bitty titty committee. That fact hadn’t kept this gorgeous asshole from taking a long look though.
Tightening my hold around my chest, I snarled, “Haven’t you ever heard ofprivacy?” That made his eyes snap open, one brow pointedly hiked.
“Haven’t you ever heard ofcurtains?” he snarled back, dropping his hand to his side and glaring down at me. “It’s called awindow. They’re generally see-through.”
“Oh, so this ismyfault?”
“You said it. Must be true.” He shrugged nonchalantly as I tried to wrestle down a breath. “I’ll accept your apology whenever you’re ready.”
“Oh, you havegotto be kidding me.”
“I am not.”
“That’s rich. You leer atmenaked andI’mthe one who needs to apologize.”
“That sums it up.” The corner of his mouth quirked, no doubt some stroke of male genius. “Sexual harassment, that’s what it’s called. I didn’t consent to being flashed.”
“Jesus,” I muttered, narrowing my eyes and praying for patience. And for this ridiculously precarious, warm liquid feeling in my chest to subside. Okay, yeah, he was abominably gorgeous. Keyword:abominably.
I could be pissed, mortified, out for revenge, and also not so naïve to pretend I was blind.
Angry, Noel. We’re angry. Focus.
“Now, if you don’t mind, you’re dripping on my shoes.”
I looked down to where the water I’d collected on my catastrophic nosedive into the shower was pooling on his door frame. Glaring back at him, I bit out, “You’re a real piece of work.”
As I turned to stomp off his porch, the wood creaked behind me a beat before a warm, rough hand closed around my wrist, freezing my ribs mid-expansion and throat mid-swallow.
“Wait.” His tone commanded that I freeze in that one word, and heat bloomed where his skin touched mine. He might have been a creepy fucking asshole, but holy stars, that touch waselectrifying. My eyes fell to where his calloused thumb gave my arm one solid sweep before he released his grip. He sucked down a breath. “I didn’t mean to…‘leer’ at you, and I’m sorry.” He dipped his head, locking our gazes together. I hadn’t actually realized my shoulders had caved in until he forced me to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “You’re safe here. I swear on my life. I’m not some psycho.” A cheeky little smile popped dimples into existence under his dark stubble. “I mean…not usually. I’llbuy youthe damn curtains, alright?”
Fully incapable of performing speech, I nodded and turned for my new home.
Jameson
“Son of a bitch!”Of its own volition, my hand came up to soothe the spot I’d just smacked on the back of my head. Fucking spring prep. Fucking boat. Fucking weird metal corner in a cramped-ass part of the engine room.
“I’d recommend using a hammer next time,” Axel quipped, earning a middle finger and grumbled curses. He burst into unapologetic laughter.
There was a myriad of rituals that came with our industry, the first of which was spring prep before salmon season. Our boat was hauled out of the water and dry docked, repairs were itemized and delegated, deep-cleaning was implemented, and the whole damn thing got a fresh paint job and seal before we set out for the peak of our year. The irony was it was nearly impossible to actually check off the punch list because there was inevitably some bullshit patch job in the hull, or minute task in the engine room, that sucked up most of the day.
From about twelve on, Milo drug us along with him. I’d resented it in junior high, learned to use it like a personal reprieve in high school, and come to count the days until Dad and the boys all piled onto the damn thing to bring her back to life, only to curse myself for volunteering on an annual basis. The work was exhausting and the pay nonexistent. Just part of being the captain’s kid.
“Piss off,” I barked, sitting back on my heels to wait for the stars to stop popping in my vision.
“Where’s your brain today, James?” Mav’s voice was light with suppressed laughter.
