Page 37 of Trust Fund Baby

“This reminds me of that Fourth of July regatta,” I said, looking out at the horizon. “You wore that red-and-white striped romper and beat every one of us at the sailboat race.”

“You mean the race you insisted I couldn’t win because I didn’t weigh enough to balance the wind?”

I cracked a smile. “You proved me wrong. You always do.”

There was a hint of a smile playing on her lips. “Damn right.”

She was teasing me. That had to count for something. Right?

The boat creaked as it leaned into a soft turn, salt spray misting the air. Roxie brought her knees up, resting her chin on them. I waited a beat, then spoke again, my voice lower this time.

“I wasn’t lying last night. About wanting a fresh start. I know I don’t deserve one. But I’m here anyway, trying.”

Her gaze flicked toward me, unreadable behind the afternoon light. “Trying to be friends?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“And if it’s not?”

I didn’t breathe for a second. “Then tell me what you want.”

She looked away, and for a heartbeat, I thought that was it. She was going to turn back and tell me she had changed her mind, and she didn’t want to see me ever again after this weekend. But then she spoke, like she was picking her way through the words carefully.

“Fuck, I’m probably about to regret this,” she said, almost as if she were talking to herself. “I want to stop wondering what might’ve happened if you hadn’t walked into that room. If you hadn’t gone to my grandfather. I want to stop resenting that I still miss someone who didn’t believe in me when it counted.”

Her words were so confusing that the next rocking of the boat sent me stumbling toward the railing. Just before I fell into the Atlantic, Roxie wrapped her arms around my waist, pulling me onto the bench beside her.

I landed with a thud, the air escaping from my lungs, half on the cushion, half on her warm thigh. Her hands were still around me, and the world seemed to stop as we both froze.

“Jesus, Sebastian,” she said, voice breathless with laughter. “You’ve always been dramatic, but throwing yourself overboard feels a little excessive, even for you.”

“Not my best look,” I muttered, still very aware of the fact that her hands were on me. That she hadn’t let go yet.

“Definitely not,” she agreed, but there was the faintest tug at the corner of her mouth.

I’d almost forgotten how easy it was to be around her. For us to just be us.

Slowly, she let her arms fall away, but her thigh still pressed against mine, her skin warm and soft and suddenly impossible to ignore.

“I can’t believe you almost fell off the boat,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s so unlike you. All those racing titles and you’re still unsteady on your feet. I should’ve let you go in.”

“That’s so nice of you,” I replied, flashing her a sarcastic smile. “Maybe that would’ve scored me some sympathy points.”

“Oh, trust me,” she said, tipping her sunglasses further down her nose so I could see her eyes. “You’re not scoring any points. Sympathy or otherwise.”

“Not yet.”

“You are so full of yourself.”

“Someone has to believe in me if no one else will.”

That made her pause. She frowned.

But I quickly changed the subject before she could ask what I meant. “I hope this isn’t weird for me to say, but I want you to know I’m proud of you, by the way. Being one of the main gallerists at a high-end gallery in New York City is incredible. You’re living out your dreams.”

She arched a brow. “Are you trying to win me over again?”

“Depends,” I said, leaning a fraction closer. “Is it working?”