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I swore men like him off years ago.
Dante gives me a quizzical look when I wrap a pareo around me. The colorful cloth hides my bikini-clad body, which is strange since we’ll be in the water shortly. And I’m not shy. I shrug a shoulder. “The wind is chilly today.”
“Eaha te tumu?” he asks, lowering his sunglasses on his nose, dipping his head. Dante has been my best friend since we were little. And we’ve lived together in the past. Sometimes I hate that he can read me like a book. Like right now. Covering my body usually means I feel guilty for something.
“Nothing is wrong,” I answer quietly. Even though I grew up here and speak fluent Tahitian, my father forbids it. He allows only French or English. But the French only comes out when I’m excited or mad. Dante’s eyes narrow, not believing it for a second. “Fine. I used salt instead of sugar in one batch of cookies last night,” I fib. “You know I hate when they come out bad.”
His laugh carries above the wind, causing the man to turn his attention to us. “Manu, please tell me you gave them out.” I gasp that he finds my lie amusing. The guys would love for me to give foreigners messed-up cookies. That’d give them a story to tell for decades.
“Of course not. But what if I had? That could’ve ruined my business.” I’m getting worked up over something I know would never happen.
I send him a sour expression and whip around, stretching my legs on the white padded bench, not wanting to hear any more about my make-believe incident.
The point to anchor approaches, and my nerves buzz again. He won’t remember. He had just woken up and by the amount of empty liquor bottles, had a hell of a hangover. And saw me for no longer than a minute.
We pull up to a couple other charter boats anchored and Dante yells back and forth in Tahitian about where they’ve spotted sea animals. I grab a pair of masks and snorkel gear.
“Be careful where you step, the coral is rough,” I say to the man. He stands and takes off his shirt. Don’t react. He eyes me for a moment. Don’t react. Rich men with abs like when women gawk. He assumes he’s the first attractive guy to come around. He’s not. I’ve seen it all. Well… maybe not as big as him, but I recognize his type. I just wish I hadn’t given in to temptation.
I don’t linger for him to take the gear. Rather, I drop it on the seat and get ready myself. My pareo slides off me and I step up to the side of the boat to jump in.
“Manu,” the man calls and I twist my body, shocked he called me that. “Is that your name?”
Dante burst out laughing, and I scowl at him before pasting on a smile for the stranger. “No. You can call me A.”
“A? Like A, B, C?”
Dante doubles over and if I could kick him, I would. “Yes. Like A, B, C. Without the B and C.”
“Nice to meet you A. I’m Ryker. Would you mind putting sunscreen on my back? I can’t reach and I’d rather not burn.”
I reluctantly nod and drop my mask, taking the two steps down into the boat. He places the spray into my stretched out hand. “Thank you, A.” I can’t help but laugh with him about how ridiculous it sounds. Couldn’t I have thought of an actual name rather than a letter?
I twirl my finger in the air, motioning for him to turn. At least, it’s spray. It’s bad enough I have to look at his broad, powerful shoulders. How his back narrows down to his waist and his board shorts hit right above his butt. I shake myself out of my fixed stare at his heavily sprayed back. “Done,” I say.
“You were very thorough,” he jests with a knowing grin.
Despite the heat on my cheeks, I shrug. “Better than getting burned out here. You’re on your stomach the whole time when snorkeling.”
Without waiting for him or Dante, I dive into the warm water, my second home engulfs me. I’m in the ocean almost as much as on land. My spirit is free when I’m swimming with sea life.
When I surface, the sound of excited voices means only one thing. There’s something below us. Diving to check it out, a giant manta ray glides a couple feet beneath me. This one is a female. She flies through the ocean, but not without boats chasing her so their passengers can get a better look.
Swimming to the top, I notice our passenger watching me just below the surface. We both come up for air and he smiles. His smile is crooked, in a sexy flawed way, yet his teeth are perfectly straight and white. Water cascades over his face as he takes his mask off and runs his hand through his sandy-colored hair, sticking it up on its ends.
“Was that a manta ray?”
I nod as I wonder how a man could be so gorgeous. “She was beautiful,” I say, slipping off my mask and then tilting back to get the hair out of my face. His eyes transfix on me.
“Have we met before?”
Panic clogs my throat. “Um… do you not remember, I’m A.”
“No, I remember.” He lets out a raspy chuckle. “It’s your eyes. They seem familiar.”
Where are my sunglasses when I need them? The curse of having the rarest colored eyes. Everyone remembers them. Even the man who caught me staring at his naked body.
I hum and try to play it off. “I’m assuming you haven’t been here long and considering I’ve been on these islands since I was one, I’m certain we’ve never met.”
