Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Keep yourself to yourself, Jonathan,” my father had told me in his stern voice a few weeks before he died. “They’re all out to get something from you. Just remember that.”
And time after time, I’d seen their warnings come true. When I was younger than ten, I’d played baseball in the summers. One of my teammate’s dads had come up to my father after a game and gushed about how well I’d pitched. I’d stood there basking in the kind of praise my own father had never given me. But then the man had gotten around to asking Father if he could take us out for pizza because he had some business ideas he wanted to ask about. It was one of many, many times people had used me to get to my father.
And it hadn’t always been about my father or money either. When I was in boarding school, my roommate had begged to spend one Christmas with me so he didn’t have to face his tedious family. As soon as he’d settled in at my house, he’d gone in search of my stepmother, Nat and Lucas’s mom, to try and seduce her. I’d remembered immediately how stupid he’d gotten over her when she’d come to visit earlier in the semester.
People were users. That was simply how it was, especially when you had something they wanted.
I wondered if Cal was taken advantage of because of how easily he trusted people. Maybe he was too young to have learned life’s harsh lessons yet.
“You’re being awfully quiet,” he said when Vin reached the dock and began tying the tender to the cleats.
“You shouldn’t trust people so easily,” I said.
His eyes widened in surprise, but he didn’t say anything until we’d climbed onto the dock and began walking toward the shore.
Cal turned back with a wave and smile for Vin. “Thanks for the ride, Cap!”
Vin chuckled and shook his head before untying the tender to return to the ship. When we reached the boardwalk leading to the shops, Cal turned to me. “Are you saying you don’t trust your own captain?”
“What? No. Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”
Cal tilted his head. “Then what’s this about? Are you talking about me trusting you?”
I shot him a look. “Maybe. You don’t know me from Adam and yet you’ve agreed to let me haul you around the Caribbean no questions asked.”
His easy smirk dropped into the beginnings of annoyance. “Fuck you, Jon. In case you forgot, I don’t really have a choice.”
I wanted to tell him not to call me Jon when he was mad at me, but I bit the words back since they were stupid.
“What’s this really about?” he asked, leading me toward a discount $5 T-shirt store. I steered him back toward the higher-end dive shop I’d been heading toward. I hadn’t made special arrangements, but I knew dive shops usually opened early and this one was big enough to have everything.
“Never mind.” It shouldn’t have mattered to me if Cal was a trusting person or not. “And I will pay for your clothes and gear. Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m sorry,” he said after a minute. “About the whole ‘baby’ thing. I didn’t think. Sometimes I just say stupid shit.”
“No kidding.”
“Are you… is it… I mean…”
I didn’t like hearing him unsure of himself. “It’s fine,” I said quickly. “This is better, actually. Prescott will want you even more if he thinks you’re mine.”
Cal stopped and studied me for a minute. “Okay, but… can you… can we just forget the payment, then? I really don’t want it to be a Pretty Woman thing.”
“We’re not having sex,” I hissed. “But if you don’t want to get paid for this, we can just consider your gear the payment, all right?”
“Fine. But I can pay you back for it when we get to St. Mitz.”
I opened the door and held it for him. “I’m ignoring you.”
Cal sighed as we entered the store, but I couldn’t help but notice his eyes light up when they landed on the dive gear off to the left. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d dated a guy who enjoyed scuba diving. One guy I’d hooked up with in college had a diving bumper sticker on his jeep, but otherwise, most of the men I’d dated preferred drinking on the beach or a party cruise to staying sober enough and hydrated enough to get to depth.
It was tempting to encourage him with some high-end gear, if only to ensure I’d have someone to dive with all week.
“This is the kind of shorty I have, and I can recommend it,” I said, pointing to a round rack of short wetsuits.
“Oh, that’s fine. I don’t need a shorty. I’ll just dive in trunks.”
“Cal. If we go on a deep dive or a wreck, you’ll want the protection. Besides, you can’t have enough body fat to stay warm on a second or third dive.”