Part-Time Lover (Part-Time Lover #1)(4)

“That would be because you’re married, you tosser.”

He flashes a dimpled grin. He’s so ridiculously in love with his wife, it’s nearly disgusting. He could be the poster child for man-who-falls-arse-over-elbow-for-a-woman. That’s something I can’t say for all the men in my family.

“I’m like Grandfather, happy as a clam.”

I furrow my brow. “How does anyone know clams are happy? Is there a study on clam happiness? We all assume they’re rays of sunshine, but how do we know?”

He scratches his chin. “Good question.”

“I bet they aren’t happy at all. I bet they feel nothing. Is that what happiness should feel like? Nothing?”

He sighs. “Aren’t you philosophical today?”

“Maybe. It happens every now and then.” I take a drink of the water. “But what can you do? Sometimes deep thoughts stray into my brain, and I can’t help it.”

“Best to get them out of your head if you have a date tonight.”

“Perhaps she likes thinkers,” I suggest.

“So, who is she? Did you exchange numbers on the dock? Or did you, I don’t know, play charades with your appendages swinging in the breeze?”

“Yes. I can do Morse code with my dick.”

“Such a useful skill,” he deadpans.

“We did it the old-fashioned way. Picked a spot to meet and a time.”

He raises his chin. “And why her? Of all the ladies on all the tours you’ve ever flashed, you haven’t asked one out before. Not that you’ve told me about anyway.”

I let my brain rewind to the petite brunette with the big sunglasses who ogled me unabashedly from the side of the boat. She was pretty, that much I could tell even from fifty feet away.

But pretty alone isn’t enough. Pretty is a dime a dozen. I’ve dated women who aren’t pretty, but are witty, clever, and keep me on my toes. I like those traits just as much. Perhaps more. But I’m not opposed to pretty either.

Obviously.

“She was bold. She called out bravo. She said it louder than anyone ever has.”

“So she knows how to read your Morse code.”

“She’s welcome to read Morse code on me anytime. Come to think of it, she can even treat me like I’m fruit at the market.”

Erik laughs. “In some countries, they don’t let you touch fruit at the market.”

I gesture to my body, from my chest down to my legs. “In the fine country of Christian Land, it’s highly encouraged for the bold brunettes to touch the fruit.”

“And on that note, I’m off to a meeting,” Erik says, clapping me on the back.

The word meeting piques my interest. I stand up taller. “Who’s it with?”

“Portfolio managers,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “We might strike up a partnership. I need to review a few more key details on the way over.”

That sends a little thrill down my spine. “Yeah? What sort of deal? What sort of details?”

Erik runs Grandfather’s financial firm and has since the old man retired ten years ago. For all intents and purposes, it’s his baby now, and he loves it, especially since his wife works with him.

My brother narrows his eyes. “You can’t resist, can you?”

“Resist what?”

“You’re supposed to be retired. And look at you.” He mimes stirring a pot. “Trying to get your hands on the soup.”

I scoff. “Please. I’m only curious. I’m not trying to eat your lunch.”

“I would never think that. But I told you this would happen, Christian. I told you you’d hate retiring at age twenty-eight. And look—you’re proving my point only one year later. Twenty-nine and bored.”

“I’m not bored. I’m curious. And asking about your meeting does not prove your point.” I swallow and glance at the hardwood floor then back up at him, my tone a bit sheepish. “But could you just humor me and tell me a tiny bit more about it?”

Laughing, he grabs a stool at the island counter, parks himself on it, and proceeds to give me the download on the portfolio managers. My brain whirs, wheels turning and picking up speed as I rattle off ideas here and there, suggestions for what to say, how to negotiate.

Erik grabs his phone and taps out notes, nodding. “Brilliant, brilliant,” he mutters.

When he stands, he offers me his hand. “I hate that you’re so smart, but I’m glad you let me access that brain of yours.”

“What can I say? I have a head for strategy and a body for sin.”

He sneers. “I think my breakfast came back up.”

Laughing, I show him the door. “I need to go say hi to Mum. Let me know how the meeting goes.”

“Let me know how the date goes.”

“I’ll preempt myself and tell you now—it went perfectly.”

“Cocky bastard.” He leaves.

A few minutes later, I shower, dress, and head to my mum’s flat by the harbor. We watch an episode of our favorite American TV show—the one about regular government employees who happen to possess extraordinary superpowers—then she asks me if I’ve been behaving at the docks.

“Never.”

“You’re going to get arrested for public indecency at some point, young man.”