All That Jazz (Butler Cove #1)(68)

I’m silent.

Absorbing.

Wow.

“So.” He clears his throat. “So, your mom must be proud of you. Congrats on finishing in three years.”

Subject change. I tell myself I’m grateful. “Thanks,” I say. “You know it’s not that hard. I’m not quite sure why they make college four years anyway. You know in Europe, actually pretty much everywhere, it’s only three years.”

“Well, obviously they have to have built in goof off time for us Americans.” He chuckles.

“True. Send people off to college to live without rules before they are even allowed an alcoholic drink, and watch them implode from the freedom. It’s like the country’s largest social experiment.”

He nods. “Highest rate of alcoholism is in college age kids.”

“Is that so, Doctor Butler?” My tone is flirtatious before I even realize what I’ve done. Oh shit, and I’m mentally back in the kitchen.

He looks at me sharply. I guess his mind went there too.

I grunt. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Between your legs is hardly the gutter.”

Oh f*ck. Oh f*ckity f*ck. My stomach freefalls off the side of the boat.

I have nothing to say. Like, nothing.

“Do you know something?” Joseph asks.

No. I know nothing. “What?” My tone wavers.

When he doesn’t answer, I look up to meet his eyes. We’re disconnected because of my sunglasses. For some reason, I pull them off and watch as surprise registers, and his eyes flicker. Jesus, the color of them is something else. Bluer than the ocean around us. A tiny speck of brown like a beauty spot below the pupil in his left eye. It fascinates me. That tiny mark of imperfection.

“What?” I ask again.

“You haven’t looked me in the eye for three years.” His voice is full of grit.

He’s right. I haven’t. Apart from in the kitchen the other night. It’s been a childish attempt to avoid the pain of it. Looking into his eyes hurts.

It’s hurting me right this minute. But I keep doing it, like holding my hand to a hot stove.

His gaze pulls from mine and wanders over my face as if he hasn’t seen me for a while. He takes a piece of my hair and wraps it around his finger.

My heart has clawed its way up my chest into my throat. Obviously I lost my stomach several nautical miles ago. Gone are all my witty jabs I can usually pull out at his expense. I hardly register we’ve entered the mouth of the estuary that is Broad Creek.

It’s only when we pass the spot where my father’s boat used to be that I become aware of my surroundings. Joseph is aware too I think because he looks around at some of the other boats anchored here and there.

And as if we’ve fallen into some vortex or portal that occurs only on this piece of water, he drops his hand to mine on the white vinyl cushion and slides his fingers between my fingers. It’s both erotic and shocking.

He looks up at me. “Spend the night with me tonight.”





“STOP THINKING,” JOEY says as we pull up outside the grocery store in my car.

He shocked me on the boat when he asked me to spend the night with him. I keep reminding myself that we are two consenting adults. It doesn’t mean anything that he asked, or that I said yes.

Ever practical, we also need to eat dinner.

I have zero appetite, it’s been taken over by a bundle of nerves. But Joseph, being a guy, has to eat before having sex apparently.

“God knows I’ve had to.”

“Stop thinking?” I’m finding it hard to even stay focused on the conversation because I can’t stop thinking.

Sex.

Joseph.

Spending the night.

Sex.

In his bed. All night.

Sex with Joseph.

Again. Not a great idea.

“Actually, you’ve made it impossible to think straight.” He turns to me and fingers a piece of my hair that’s come out of my hastily tied up bun. “You always have.”

I mash my lips together. “I don’t understand you.”

“I’m tired.” He leans back in his seat and smiles ruefully, looking unseeing out the front windshield.

“What does that even mean?”

“I’ve spent years feigning indifference to you.” He shakes his head.

It’s been feigned? Could have fooled me.

“But it’s like the damn elephant in the room every time we’re around each other. It makes me say stupid shit. It makes you say shit that drives me insane.”

“Thanks.”

“All I’m saying is I’m tired of pretending. I’m not,” his eyes roam my face and drop to my mouth, “indifferent.”

My heart punctuates his statement with a hard beat. “Gee, thanks. I’m completely flattered. Seduced even.”

He acknowledges my sarcasm. “And I can guarantee I will always cock up and say the wrong thing. Or do the wrong thing.”

A nervous laugh sneaks out of me. “That’s a racing certainty.”

“But please don’t overthink … this … right now.”

“What? Overthink getting groceries?” I ask.

“Just do me a favor and take it at face value. For now.”