Page 37 of On Fire

It’s ungodly.

“Aren’t you hot in that thing?” Keller says pointing to my suit jacket. I smile and keeping one eye out for boats still in the harbor, I shrug it off and toss in over to the living space.

“How many boats does Colton Security have?”

“Two—one’s always in Boston, and then the Sea Falcon is usually up in Echo Bay or here in Portland,” I yell. “We’re always swapping them out.”

We pick up speed as we hit open water and the waves grow choppy. The wind across the sea is brisk and whitecaps churn as far as the horizon line. Keller tries hard to act casual, but those big fingertips are white, he’s gripping the railing so tightly.

How can he not have sea legs? I watch him for a moment as he takes a sip, then looks out at the ocean and islands in front of us, the mainland on the left, and blinks hard when the sun glitters on water, metal railings, and glass.

“You need sunglasses,” I say and pull a pair out my front pocket offering them with one hand.

He shakes his head.

“You sure?” I ask, and when he gives me a thumbs up, I go ahead and tip them onto the bridge of my nose.

There’s something seductive about wearing sunglasses—the sense of anonymity they bring. They hide your eyes, that very important piece of yourself and, in my case, this makes it much easier to speak from the heart. It’s why you never train dogs with sunglasses on: They need those cues, only the cues the eye can offer.

“This is what, about a ninety-minute ride?”

“Are you just going to keep asking me questions?” I say.

“God, I hope not. That would be pathetic,” Keller says and grins. His hands are more relaxed. I’ve steered the boat so it’s slapping against the small crescendo of waves to a regular beat, making for a smoother cruise. The engine is fairly quiet.

“Let me set the coordinates and then I can step away for a few minutes. We won’t have to shout!”

We are now in open water, heading Northeast at about 5 knots. My stomach rumbles. Again. That’s when I realize I’ve had nothing to eat. This is not me. I’m very careful with my diet. I have to be. I’m a marathoner. Sixty grams of protein a day is a working mantra.

Keller’s already descended back down into the living area and is opening some of the lever windows. He’s learning to walk with the boat, bending knees to match the sway, and I watch as he leans over, the muscles of his back moving under his pale blue shirt.

The bow lifts and smacks the water a little harder and he loses his balance for a moment, twisting just in time to land in one of three built-in sitting areas.

“I’m going to slow her down and drop the anchor,” I say. “Be right back.”

I’m not a good enough sailor to negotiate quickly with water and it takes me about ten minutes to find a reasonably smooth current and drop anchor.

I move downstairs and watch Keller, listening to him stumble through some long winded and ridiculous apology about why he shut down that kiss this morning. I watch his face, so concerned, so wistful, so utterable kissable. His lips are full, his eyes an ice water blue that is electrifying. When he wipes a hand over his face and then gestures toward me, I realize I don’t even know what he’s saying.

Before I can sit down beside him, he rises again and bracing one leg against the table bolted to the floor, he starts to unbutton my shirt.

“I’m just not good at talking. I mean I talk, yeah, I say shit. But maybe sometimes that’s all I can say.”

His rough, massive hands stop for a moment at the fourth button. He takes a step back. “Fuck me. How do you look this good?” His voice is almost a whisper.

One of those hands skims across my left pec and then runs down my side. He sets his beer bottle on the table.

“No one is around. I mean out here. Right?” he says and moves to place both hands on my chest. His fingers trace my collar bones and then, as nipples harden, so does my dick.

I smile a smile I know is a little too long.

Keller pulls off his shirt, and his huge frame is almost overwhelming. The cabin spins and not because of the swells. It’s as if I am unmoored, destabilized, and I crave it. I grab his face and pull him to mine, press lips to his and very gently, very lightly begin a kiss. His mouth quivers for a moment, and then a flicker of tongue parts my lips.

His belly shudders against mine and we hold each other close, arms wrapped tight. When we disentangle, I nearly tip over and reach up and grab a leather hand strap to keep from falling.

“Sorry,” I say. I start to let go and then another swell rises and I grab it again. “Jesus. This is embarrassing.”

“Take a hold of that one,” he says guiding my wrist over to a second strap about four feet away. I do and then he just stands and looks at me. Then the boat rocks again and he staggers slightly, brushing against me and then moving behind. He grabs a bicep for balance and then releases it, the sudden touch and quick release makes my dick throb.