Fourteen
Steady, Cassidy told herself while forcing her muscles not to tense up at the same time she remembered Bruce’s try to keep him on your left. To her panic, once they reached the booth, Bo ushered her into the seat across from Quinn then slid in next to her. She caught the scent of his spicy cologne mixed with the sharp odor of his whiskey.
“Your sister here tells me you’re too chicken to surf Fort Point,” Bo said, extending his muscular arm across the back of the booth behind her. If Quinn caught her startled expression, he hid it well. Would Bo try to slide his hand around her waist? He would feel the transmitter if he did. Should she try to twist away? Go with the flow. He might get off on you resisting his control tactics, she remembered Bruce saying.
Cassidy cringed and sent an “I’m sorry” look to Quinn but he looked completely unfazed.
“She’s one hundred percent correct,” Quinn said, sipping his beer.
Cassidy focused on Quinn’s face, trying to draw off his air of total calm.
“Getting in and out is the only real tricky part,” Bo said. “The wave is actually not all that spectacular. Deadman’s is way gnarlier, and a better ride.”
Cassidy had never known anyone to surf Deadman’s—a point located outside of the bridge, with even more current than Fort Point.
They chatted about surfing while Cassidy sat there, mute.
“How’s business?” Bo asked Quinn after the bartender brought him another drink.
“Good, thank goodness. Labor costs are killing me right now.”
Cassidy felt it—the slightest shift in Bo’s posture. “I heard about that new law upping the minimum wage. That must suck for you.”
“I mean, yeah, people should make a living wage and all that, but waitstaff should be exempt,” Quinn said, nodding. “A couple of bars have already closed. They can’t afford to stay in business. I hope I’m not next.”
Cassidy was amazed that Quinn seemed so composed, playing into Bo’s hands like this.
Bo nodded, his face pinched in concentration. “I might have a way you can save a little cash.”
“How?” Quinn asked, narrowing his eyes. “I’ve researched every way to save money. I switched to a cheaper garbage bag liner, added energy-saving lightbulbs, even begged my landlord for a break.”
Bo sipped his drink and sized Quinn up with his gaze. “I’ve got a good friend who does linens, and another in wholesale produce. I can get you a deal.”
Quinn shrugged. “My linen supplier just raised his rates.” He sipped his beer. “But my linen bill isn’t a huge burden, so I’m not sure it’ll help all that much.”
Bo’s arm had inched closer to her shoulders. Cassidy realized that she had not been this close to another man besides Quinn since Mel. Stay calm, she told herself. He’s only touching my shoulder. But the stuffy air and Bo’s warmth were making her feel caged, and the last thing she wanted to do was freak out. “Um, can I get out?” she asked, her voice way too high. “I need to use the restroom.”
Bo slid from the booth, still talking animatedly with Quinn about their joint venture. As Cassidy slipped past him, she expected him to glance her way, but he stayed focused on Quinn.
By the time she stepped into the tiny bathroom stall, breathing fast, her face felt hot. She splashed cold water on her cheeks, concentrating on slowing her breaths. She knew the agents could hear her do these things. Her pocket vibrated, startling her.
It was a text from Bruce: You okay?
Yeah. Just taking a break, she typed.
Bruce: It’s going well. Quinn missed his calling.
Cassidy had to smile, which flooded renewed strength into her bloodstream. She erased the text then placed her phone back in her pocket and left the restroom.
Back at the table, Bo slid to the right, exposing her right side to him. A wave of hot nerves pricked down her arms—now the bulky transmitter would be against him if he got too close.
Trying to read the look on Quinn’s face, Cassidy wondered what had happened while she was gone, but he was focused on Bo. They had moved on to discussing Kelly Slater’s new wave pool.
“We have so many lakes like that in Southern California,” Bo said while extending his left arm across Cassidy’s shoulders. “He could totally build one of those here.”
“Except only him and his buddies would be allowed to surf there,” Quinn said. Cassidy noticed that his beer was almost empty and wondered how much longer they planned to stay. Should she order another beer? “So, what’s the point?”
“Maybe it’s just a matter of money,” Bo said, sipping his drink. “I’ll bet he’d bend the rules for the right amount.”
“Maybe,” Quinn said. He swallowed the last of his beer, then nodded at Bo’s near-empty glass. “You want another?”
“Nah, thanks, bro, I better bounce.”
Quinn slid from the booth to pay the tab.
“Here,” Bo said, flipping open his wallet and removing two twenties. “It’s on me.”
Quinn seemed to hesitate for a fraction of a second, and she saw what flashed through his mind: I’m taking his dirty money. But the moment passed, and Quinn stepped to the bar.
Bo shifted slightly to look at her. “Tell me your hopes and dreams, Cassidy.”
Cassidy froze. “Wow, that’s quite a question.”
He grinned. “All this boring talk about business.” He did a slow scan of her body. “I’d rather know more about you.”
Cassidy watched Quinn hand over the bills to the bartender. “What do you want to know?”
Bo swirled his drink. “I’d like to know a lot of things.”
Cassidy’s heart leapt into her throat. She wanted to slide from the booth but with his arm positioned as it was, the motion would be awkward.
“You and Quinn seem really close,” Bo said while his thumb stroked the slope of her shoulder, sending a track of goose bumps down her skin. “He’s not gonna give me any trouble if you leave with me, right?”
Cassidy gripped the edge of the table, ready to push away from him.
