Page 72 of Jesse

“Like pounding and shit.”

“And you didn’t go check?”

“No. It’s Johnny.”

“What if someone got into his place and they were like… fighting to the death?” He laughs at me. “I’m serious.”

“It’s Johnny. OK? He can take care of himself.”

“Well, you guys are weird.”

“That’s my whole point. I’m weird and you’re normal. I wanna try normal for a while.”

I scoff again. “Jesse, you just committed to Saturday dinner in Key West two weeks a month for the rest of your life. Good luck getting out of it now. And by the way, I’m not coming with you. So if that was a plan to have two dates a month with me, it’s gonna backfire.”

“Fine,” he says. “I don’t need you.”

“I don’t need you either.”

“Where the fuck are we going?” he asks, just as I lead him onto a long dock. “And how did you make all these arrangements, anyway?”

“Pffffffft. You slept forever on the plane. I had plenty of time to plan this.” I side-eye him as we walk down the dock. Not turning my head because I don’t want him to see me side-eyeing him, but I’m curious to see his reaction.

He’s looking around. This is the dock for the big boats. I was just trying to show off when I made these arrangements. Show him who had the bigger boat in their pants. But now that I think about it, this will actually be a nice surprise for him.

He lets out a sigh as we walk up to the trimaran. “Jesus Christ. You’re taking me out on this?”

“You don’t like it?” I ask.

He shoots me a look that says, Are you on drugs? I love it. “Corsair 970. Is this yours?”

“Do you think it’s mine?” I chuckle.

“You did buy a Huracán this morning to one-up me.”

I poke a fingertip into the center of my cheek and say, “I did do that, didn’t I?”

“It’s yours then?”

Should I lie? Nah. “It’s my brother Luke’s personal cruiser. He said I could use it today. Dive equipment all stowed, wetsuits down below, and there’s even some fishing poles if we want to give that a go.”

He stares at me for a moment. I can’t see his eyes because of the sunglasses, but I know he’s squinting them at me. Wondering what I’m up to.

“What are you up to?”

I chuckle. “Can’t I just plan us a nice date?”

“I was threatening to put you in prison this morning, so call me suspicious. Maybe you’re going to throw me overboard. Or strand me on some tiny sandbar.”

“Well, you can think what you want. And sure, I did make this arrangement to show off. Maybe even convince you that walking out on me thirteen years ago was your loss, not mine. But”—I shrug—“now it just sounds like a nice time, don’t you think?”

We stare at each other for a few seconds. Then he lifts his sunglasses up so I can see his blue, blue eyes, and says, “I didn’t walk out. I keep telling you that.”

“And I heard you,” I say back. “I’m over it, OK? This is just like I said. A nice time, that’s all.”

We continue to lock eyes. Then he lets out a breath, drops his sunglasses down into place, and says, “Do you know how to sail?”

“I’ve done it enough to help you out, if that’s what you’re asking.”