"Seriously?" She asks. Then she waits for a reply, her face ping ponging between me and Jake. "Oh my God. I took pictures for a Terrific Terrible Twos calendar last week. Those kids were more professional. And more cooperative."
Ha, nice try. Not falling for it. Insults will get you nowhere, lady. Even if it's true. And it probably is. I'd rather fall off the stage, break my leg, and have to crawl out of here than go sit next to him.
"Tell her that I'll cooperate if she'll cooperate," the deep, baritone, sexy voice rattles around in my ears and through the rest of my body. I hear him, but I purposefully stare at something on the other end of the room.
Despite my anger, there's also a familiar thrill. It’s irritating. His voice used to mean more to me than anything.
Even now, my body is reacting to it in an annoying way, causing want to rise in areas that have been want-free for an awfully long time.
At least want-free from Jake. I thought I was done with this stupid, age-old crush. My mind is over it, but I guess my body didn't get the memo. "Well, you can tell him that there's not a snowball's chance in hell or on the hot sands of St. Tropic beach…"
"Yeah," the photographer lady deadpans, "I got it." She lowers the offending camera. "I take it you two already know each other."
I nod at her without looking over at Jake.
"And of course Cara couldn't be bothered to give me a proper heads up on the situation," she's staring at me now. "She knew, too. Didn't she?"
I shrug non-commitally. I'm a lot of things. One of them isn't a rat.
She turns her attention to the other direction. "Thought so. Alright, this is what we're going to do, kids. Handsome, you're up first. I'll shoot you, in the correct spot on the couch."
She turns to me and points off to the right. "There's a green room that way, I'll go get you when it's your turn. Does that work for everybody?"
Chapter 8
Angie
Tonight is the first night of the Pirate Festival. It’s my all-time favorite festival every year. I can already feel a buzz of adrenaline in the air. Technically, it’s called the St. Tropic Buccaneer Festival Invasion and Community Gathering. Yes, it’s a hideous title that’s been amended over the years by pea-brained county commission leaders. But thankfully, nobody calls it that. And it doesn’t matter anyway, because no matter what it’s called it’s fun and it brings the tourists in droves.
I have to admit, I feel a teensy tiny bit guilty for flaking out at my own photo shoot. Hey, with any luck, a picture of me with Jake’s stupid face on a stupid billboard might just help keep my clinic open. I guess then it will have been worth it.
And I pulled it off flawlessly without having to look at or even talk to him. Bonus.
Having the whole ordeal behind me is a relief. That means I can officially enjoy the first night of the festival, which begins officially when the old replica pirate flotilla comes ashore and pretends to threaten the Mayor into giving them the key to the city.
In the distance, I spot the mayor, who is already attracting a crowd. As usual, he has a big shiny gold key hanging on a gaudy lanyard around his neck. On his head, he wears an old timey elaborate crown that looks like it came out of a gumball machine.
I pull up to a parking spot, slip my shoes off, and then cross the sand to join the multitude of volunteers that are helping launch Pirate Festival.
Puppy-thon may have been a disaster, but there's no reason Pirate Festival can't still be fun.
"Aye, matey," a tall man wearing a bandana and eye patch looks up at me as I make it to the perimeter of the portion of the beach where the volunteers are gathering. His nametag says Brad and he's holding a clipboard.
"Angie reporting for duty," I say.
It's kind of childish playing the part of a pirate for a few weeks every year, but it's all in good fun. And later tonight, when the waves in the distance that are filled with boogie, surf, and paddle boards are filled with replica era pirate ships, it'll be spectacular.
It's one of my very favorite St. Tropic traditions and it goes back over a hundred years. Fi, Kaylee, and I have pictures of us together participating in one way or another for five years straight.
The pirate glances down at his clipboard. "Angie, okay here you are. Today, you'll be volunteering under Quartermaster Jake."
I narrow my eyes at him. "What exactly is Quartermaster Jake's last name?"
This has to be some stupid joke. Or maybe it's an entirely different Jake. A nice Jake. A Jake who would never run off on a friend slash lover and not say goodbye. And then show up unannounced without a heads-up years later.
The pirate in front of me breaks into a conspiratorial smile. "Oh, you won't believe me even if I tell you."
"Try me."
"You have to see for yourself," he persists.
"Not a chance." I counter.
His expression falls. "Fine, if you're going to be a pirate party pooper, it's Jake Mann. We're keeping it a big secret so that everybody doesn't find out and then refuse to volunteer for the other Quartermasters." He gives me an iffy look and then checks the clipboard again.
"You're on the special list due to the number of volunteer hours you've logged in the last few years." His face brightens. "Technically, you're Special Pirate Crew First Class Angie now. Congratulations!"
"Well, thank you, but Special Pirate Crew First Class Angie wants to be on a different team."
"You're kidding."
"I'm not." I feel anger pulsing inside. How dare he? This is my happy place.
Jake's been in town one night and he's already fucking in charge of an entire team in Pirate Fest? What the
