Page 23 of Unmoored: How to Fail at Hating the Boss

I don’t know why I’m thanking him again. I’m under-caffeinated and over-stimulated.

“Quincy.”

“Yes?”

A long pause follows. Reef looks like he wants to say something important but changes his mind. “I’ll just go throw on my clothes and we’ll go get your car.”

His tone has changed to that officious way he talks to me at work. The moment has passed.

Dammit. I should not have cared about how I looked with bed-mussed hair or smeared mascara. I should have just thrown on a bathrobe and been more flirtatious. I think that’s what he was expecting.

Instead, I showed up this morning looking all too eager to get to work and not talk about last night. He probably thinks I regretted it, and now I don’t know how to talk about it.

Well, that’s that.

That’s the end of whatever connection we had. And now I get to spend the day stranded with him, alone, in a boat on the lake, both of us feeling awkward as hell.

Get a job at the marina, they said. Have a fun summer in the sunshine and playing in the water, they said.

Or, in my case, fall for your big growly boss and act like an antisocial weirdo after having your coochie eaten for the first time in…oh god…years.

Just perfect.

Ten

Reef

The marina buzzes with anticipation as the sun climbs over the ridge overlooking Merlin Lake, begging me to take a quick swim before the day heats up.

But I’ve got race paperwork to do.

All the physical work is done. The slips set aside for the racers have been cordoned off. Red, white and blue bunting decorates the covered area where the afterparty will take place. Tables have been set up to check in all the participants.

As she promised, Quincy has arrived early and got everything while I went home, washed my uniform, and paced around my tiny house. It’s a real small space for pacing, and highly ineffective.

Right now I’m pretending to look over the paperwork as I watch her flit around the docks in her usual crisp white shorts. Today, she wears a fitted blue tank top, knowing that we’re allowed to be more casual on Saturdays and holidays.

When she appeared in her kitchen wearing that this morning, she looked juicier than the blueberries on the flagcake. She’d have slapped me silly if she knew my first thought when I saw her this morning involving bending her over the kitchen table, taking two big handfuls of that ass that’s been bouncing around my dock, and humping those cheeks until my head got clear.

She moves crisply, humming under her breath as she tapes paper flags to the shop’s windows. The Minnow Bucket looks festive, and a lot less like a weather-beaten shack, by the time the first boaters began to trickle in.

I move to the tables with clipboard in hand, my chest tightening as Quincy approaches.

“You ready for this, boss?”

She smiles at me, but it’s a little too professional and distant.

And that’s my fault. I freaked her out when she found me in her kitchen wearing nothing but a towel. I don’t know what I was thinking.

Well, I was thinking that I had sneaked out of bed and grabbed a quick shower before getting to work on the cake. And I hadn’t wanted to put my clothes back on from last night, so I had the extremely egotistical thought that Quincy would take one look at me in the towel and jump me right there.

And now, looking back, that had been a very dumb thought. It was too forward, too presumptuous. After all, that was still her grandmother’s kitchen. Did I really think Quincy was about to flip up my towel and straddle me on the counter right next to the vintage Merry Mushroom canister set? I’m an idiot.

What I should have done was stayed my ass in bed, right next to her, and waited for her to wake up, and had a real talk. The talk. The one that makes it clear that we’re not boss/employee anymore. That I plan on seeing her again, in that bed, and as often as possible. And not just in bed, because I’m not about having secrets when it comes to women. I should havetold her in no uncertain terms that I’m her guy. That this thing between us is real and I want to build on it.

I guess I got up in my head about it and tried a different approach. And that flopped, big time.

“You okay, boss?”