However, my relationship with Frenchie might be about to get dashed upon the rocks. First, I asked her for unprotected sex, and now she thinks I deliberately tried to keep her out here all night.
By the time I have us secured to the dock—checking and double-checking the anchors and ropes—Frenchie has all our shit packed up and the below-deck area looking spick and span.
“You don’t have to clean up. Are you…are you leaving?”
She cups my cheek, kisses me on the jaw, close to my ear, which gives me a whiff of her bed-mussed hair. If my heart wasn’t breaking because it feels like she’s leaving, I would be intoxicated by her touch, her kiss, the smell of her hair, all over again.
“French…”
“I have to go.”
“Let me drive you. It’s dark.”
“I want to run. I need to run and think.”
My anger rises in my throat. It’s too dangerous for her to be running along in the middle of the night. Or morning. I’m not sure about the time. It’s incredible how time means nothing when I’m with this woman. I’m kicking myself for somehow not double-checking the knots. If I had, we never would have floated out to sea, and we would have been able to talk things out. I would have been able to tell her the entire truth.
That I’ve been pining for her, for years. That I suddenly have the overwhelming need to lock this thing down. I want her. I’ve always wanted her, and now I’m ready.
Sure, I could have gone about it differently instead of springing it on her in that particular way. I was just so overwhelmed, so desperate for her. To be close to her in every conceivable way.
“Like hell. I’ll chase you,” I say.
She laughs. “Fine. Chase me. You’re a terrible runner, though.”
She hops off the boat and runs down the dock toward the parking lot at full speed.
“Frenchie!”
“I have to go feed the cats! They’ve probably torn my house apart by now!”
Space, Hudson. Give her space. I hang my head and look down at my feet. That’s when I notice something suspicious. A bunch of jaggedly cut rope lies in a mess on the dock, right where I know I had fastened Captain Jack’s boat, the S.S. Melinda, earlier today. Or yesterday. I’m not even sure what time it is.
The feeling of vindication rapidly dissipates as I watch Frenchie run away across the marina parking lot and hoof it down to the sand. I know what she’s doing. She’s going to run all the way back to her car at the Ferris wheel.
I should not follow her. I should let her cool off and then tell her what happened, if she asks.
I inspect the cut ropes for clues, but I don’t see anything to indicate who might have done this. I don’t have any enemies. And neither does Adalee. The only people who knew we would be on this boat tonight were Captain Jack and Adalee’s mom. But that would mean…
Wait a minute.
The cogs turn in my brain. “But that makes no sense,” I mutter, scraping my fingers across my scalp.
Then again, the only person who could be responsible is not exactly known for making sensible decisions.
Spotting Frenchie just as she hits the sand, I take off after her. I’ll make sure she gets home safe, first and foremost.
Chapter 9
Adalee
I run all the way to my car from the marina by way of the beach, knowing full well Hudson is trying his best to keep his distance while also keeping an eye on me.
I could be nice and let him catch up, but I’m feeling like putting some distance between us, just for a few hours.
By the time I reach my car, I’m hyperventilating and soaked in sweat. I might not be thinking straight, but all I know is I have to get home.
I text my mom and apologize for not letting her off the hook earlier and that I would understand if she needed to leave. I should have told her that things on the boat got out of hand.
Sex is one topic that my mom and I have always been able to discuss without embarrassment. She would have understood.
Starting up my car and looking around, there’s no sign of Hudson anywhere. “Huh. Maybe he did decide to give you a minute to think about things after all. Points for that, big man.”
Even as I say this, I remember the full weight of him on top of me, and miss it already. A part of me scolds me for playing games, but that’s not what this is. I’m not playing games. I told him I love him and that was the truth. It was just too much too fast, and I needed to sort out what I want.
When I arrive home, I fully expect the cats to have knocked over their food container or to have scratched up the flimsy sofa cushions that double as my kitchen booth cushions. But I find them dozing away contentedly in their beds.
Nothing looks amiss. In fact, the RV looks clean. A little too clean.
I check my phone but have not received a reply from my mom yet.
That’s strange. It is pretty early in the morning at this point.
“Guys?”
My cats wander over to me, give me licks and purrs while I hug them good morning, and dispense their food. While I’m refilling their water, I get a text from my mom.
“Have a nice time, honey?”
I text her back, a casual, “Yep. What time did you leave? Thanks for cleaning up, by the way. You didn’t have to.”
She doesn’t respond to my thank you, but shoots off a “I don’t know, about midnight or later. No big deal. Gotta run!”
I shake my head and reply with instructions for tonight. However, it seems like she’s decided to surprise me by having everything well in hand. Maybe she
