Reckless Girls(3)

If I’m honest, the tattoo is more than a little douchey. Typical white dude tribal shit that doesn’t actually mean anything to him, but three days after we met, he added a curling L to one edge of the tattoo for me. That was sweet, at least.

He was sweet.

He still is, of course, but it was different when I first met him. When our relationship was heady and new, the calm he radiated was a welcome balm after years of dealing with Mom’s cancer: the hospitals, the chemo side effects, the screaming fights with my dad over the phone.

Nico is the kind of guy who can say something like, “Don’t pick up what you don’t need to carry,” and you actually believe it—that he’s figured out some better, more enlightened way of living—and you don’t even want to punch him.

Well, you don’t always want to punch him.

Now he just slurps his soda and nods at me. “Job was bullshit anyway.”

“Such bullshit.”

“And you can have another one, like, tomorrow,” he goes on, pointing at me with his cup.

I stab at a noodle and shrug. “Why don’t we look at how much we’ve saved up? Maybe we can finally get the Susannah fixed?”

He doesn’t answer that, just rolls his head from side to side in this gesture that I’ve seen a thousand times from him. It basically signals a mix of “eh” and “we can talk later,” and frustration suddenly shoots through me.

There’s no getting away from the fact that Nico is happy here. He says that he wants to keep traveling like we’d planned, but the more time passes, the more I can see him settling in, putting down roots. He likes his job at the marina, and working with boats. He makes friends everywhere because he’s that kind of guy, so all his coworkers love him (hence us having a free place to stay). If anyone can “bloom where they’re planted,” it’s Nico.

I’m not sure I’ve ever bloomed anywhere. Sometimes I wonder if I even can. Maybe that’s why the idea of never being planted in the first place is so appealing to me.

Or maybe I’m just sick of cleaning up other people’s shit, sometimes literally.

I poke at my food and glance toward the counter, where the line has finally thinned. It’s nearly two, which means they’ll close soon, and Nico will go back to the marina while I’ll go … back to the house, I guess? Sit on the couch, wait for Nico to come home?

That’s almost more depressing than cleaning hotel rooms, and I suddenly have the tiniest pang of regret for what happened today. Maybe I should’ve really apologized to the Sandersons, groveled even. Begged Mr. Chen for another chance.

But I can’t let myself go down that road, because if I start regretting one thing, there will be a thousand other decisions to second-guess. Quitting school, the way things went down with my dad, those lost years of partying with friends who weren’t actually my friends. The aimless way I’d drifted through life—until I’d met Nico.

“I met a couple of girls today,” he says, pulling me from my thoughts.

I look at him, raising my eyebrows. “And you’re telling me this because…?”

“Well, they were looking for a boyfriend while on vacation, and I decided that seemed a lot more fun than fixing boat engines, so it looks like I’ll have a new job soon, too.”

I give him the finger and slurp some more noodles. “Seriously, Nico.”

Grinning, he winks at me before pushing his empty plate away. “Seriously, Lux, I met these two girls. Americans. East Coasters.”

He says that with enough disdain that I lift my eyebrows. “We can’t all be gods of Southern California, Nicholas.”

I expect him to laugh, but I spot a little irritation in the wrinkle that appears on the bridge of his nose. I don’t know if it’s the gentle teasing about his background or the use of his real name, but in either case, I wave my hand, not wanting an argument. “Sorry, go on.”

He lets it drop. “Well, they were looking to charter a boat for a few days, but the dude they were supposed to talk to wasn’t there, so we got to chatting instead. I think they might hire me.”

I’m not exactly the jealous type—with a boyfriend who looks like Nico, you kind of learn not to be if you don’t want to lose your mind—but I still feel a weird flutter of apprehension. “Hire you to sail a boat for them? Take them around the island?”

He shrugs, leaning back in his seat. Outside, it’s started to rain, a soft drizzle that I know will be over in a few minutes and leave the air thick and sweet smelling. “I guess? They asked if I wanted to get drinks tonight and talk it over, and I told them I’d bring my girlfriend.”

“Look at you, you loyal motherfucker,” I tease, and he grins at me again, reaching across the table to take my hand in his, kissing my knuckles.

“More like terrified you’d cut my dick off in my sleep if I met two girls at a bar without you.”

“Loyal and smart.”

The rain picks up, slapping hard against the roof, and Nico glances outside before turning back to me. He has beautiful eyes, deep brown, and they crinkle at the corners as he smiles.

“I figure if they don’t hire me for the job, they might at least buy us a couple of beers, and it’s not like I have anything else going on tonight.”

“Same,” I say, then laugh. “I mean, fuck, now I don’t have anything else going on at any point, ever.”