His sunglasses rest atop his head, and he’s twisted in his seat, one bare knee up between us, elbows resting behind him on the edge of the boat. He squints at me and says bluntly, “So … you talked to Bunny.”
Right. That. “I ran into her. Your name came up, I didn’t—”
“It’s fine.”
“I wasn’t gossiping about you.”
“No?” He studies my face with a curious kind of enjoyment in his gaze. “That’s disappointing to hear.”
“She was telling me that some things I heard were wrong … and that you apparently are not the father of her child.”
“No, I am not. Not hers, not anyone’s.”
“Okay, that’s good. Not that there’s anything …” Ugh. Awkward. “I mean, if you …” One more time. “I guess I don’t know why people ever said that about you and Bunny to begin with?”
“People say that because I drove her to an abortion clinic.”
Oh.
He shrugs lightly. “I found her crying. She needed someone to drive her and couldn’t tell her family. None of her friends would help, and the jackass who should have been helping had ghosted her. So I went with her and waited, and then I drove her back home in her car. We’re friends, that’s all.”
I nod. “I see.”
“Someone saw us coming out of the clinic. That’s how the rumor started.”
“Assumptions aren’t facts,” I murmur, remembering things Bunny said.
“No, but people sure do love to make them.”
“They make a lot of them about you,” I note.
“Yep.”
“You don’t seem to mind. I think you want people to talk.”
“That’s absurd. Why would I want that?”
“I don’t know,” I say in a quiet voice. “Why would you?”
He stares at me.
I stare at him.
And something hangs in the air between us. Something unsaid that I almost understand, but not quite. Something he wants me to understand. He’s looking at me as if he’s stranded alone on a deserted island and I’ve found his message in a bottle. Like he wants me to rescue him.
But that can’t be right, can it? Because he’s the one with the savior complex—as Bunny said. He’s the one who rescued her … who took the fall for me. Why would he need help?
Our boat bobs in the water, threatening another wave of wooziness and joggling my arm into Lucky’s leg that’s propped up between the seats. I look down. The skin-to-skin contact is a shock. He’s so feverishly warm in the cool breeze blowing off the harbor. It feels … too intimate. As if I’ve crossed the line somehow by accidently touching him—which is ridiculous. It’s just a shin. Just my forearm. Nothing sexy. For the love of Pete, he was rubbing my back a second ago, practically a massage, which everyone knows is a million times more risqué, if we’re racking up steam points. Right … ?
But when I tear my gaze away from where our bodies are pressed together oh-so-casually and look up into his eyes, I see something unmistakably different there. He feels it too. Not casual. Not casual at all. Not friendly. Not old pals catching up.
What is this? What’s happening?
I move my arm away, heart beating wildly against my ribs, and I pretend that nothing has happened. Because nothing has.
I think the seasickness has seeped into my brain and caused a temporary malfunction. That’s probably all it is, right? Just need to breathe and stop thinking about it. I’ll be fine.
Lucky clears his throat. “You know, you could’ve just asked to meet me at the Quarterdeck again. Less nausea. More coffee. No mothers involved in the meetup.”
“Ah, well. I didn’t want to stalk you around the department store or creep around the boatyard, and I didn’t have your phone number.”
“Tell me yours.”
“What?”
He lifts his chin, encouraging. “Go on. Tell me yours.”
“Now?”
“Right now.”
I recite my number. “You’ll remember that without writing it down?”
“Yep. Mind like a steel trap. Remember? I used to help you cheat on math tests.”
God. He totally did. “Is that because you’ve turned into a genius?”
He groans.
“Evie said you got a perfect score on the SAT,” I say.
“Gossip,” he says, dismissive.
“Really?”
“Near perfect.”
“Shut up! Then it’s true?”
“Who cares?” he says, shrugging. “Test scores don’t measure intellect. They just prove you’re good at taking tests. And who cares if you can get into an Ivy League school if you can’t afford it? None of them offer scholarships. You still have to pay. All the rest of the colleges offering full rides want extracurriculars and students