sense them dragging up my body, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake.
I’m used to men staring at my body. A long time ago, I learned that foreigners see the body as a sexual tool, one that got me a lot of things. Except the one thing I wanted most; a way to escape the island. Tools are meant to be used when needed. Men didn’t need me once they left. I was part of the experience. But not anymore. That’s the old me.
“Thanks,” he says, taking the bottle from me. I ignore the spark inside my belly when his warm fingers touch mine.
Don’t go down that path again, Aspen. He’s off-limits.
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