Bosun (3 page)

I plop down in the chair next to her, and we swing to face each other as she says, “Oh, honey, look at you. You’re excited.” 

I nod. “And so nervous. I never get anxious about a date.”

Linda reaches over and grasps my hand. Her skin is unusually warm, and she grips me tighter than I would expect. “Maybe he’s the one. Listen to your heart tonight. Don’t make the mistake I did by running away in fear, because I almost lost Steve.”

Bosun Lindholm may unsettle me, but he’s no Mr. Right. The dial of the timer grinds as I set it, and I recall the way I trembled when Bosun was holding me. “I don’t know about that, but he’s definitely Mr. Right Now.”

Linda grins at me. “Then I expect to hear all about your wild love affair when I come back in six weeks.”

“Will do.” I walk away with the things I need to rinse in the sink. I flip the lever, and water rushes over the bristles of the paintbrush I used to apply color. They’re soft in my fingers as I massage them clean. There is something different about the way I feel toward Bosun. I’ve been thinking about him all day, and I can’t remember a time I was this excited to go out with a guy. It feels good.

***

T
he pile of clothes on my bed is a small mountain. I text Katie. “
Help! I can’t figure out what to wear on my date with Bosun.
”

“
Where are you going?
”

I fall back onto my mattress and bounce. “
To play pool. Pete’s?
”

“
Light-blue western shirt, tight jeans, heels—do you even own flats?
”

“
Funny. Why the blue shirt?
”

“
Hint of cleavage when standing. Big time when leaning over to take a shot.
”

Of course. I giggle, thinking about seducing Bosun, and reply, “
I love you.
”

“
You should. Have fun.
”

After I’m ready, I pace my apartment. I know I should have dinner, but my stomach is too jittery for food. And I don’t know if Bosun planned on us eating. Nothing’s worse for a guy than to take a girl out to eat, and she doesn’t. Although he isn’t coming until seven, and that’s after dinner, right? 

I inspect my nails for the hundredth time. I’m overthinking this and need to stop making myself crazy. I wander to the kitchen and decide a yogurt would be a good plan so I don’t get drunk on one beer. My refrigerator door pops open, and I grab a small container.

The plastic seal tears off, and I dip my spoon into the creamy contents. Just as I finish force-feeding myself, I hear a rumble, and I race to the window to peer out into the darkness lit by complex lights.
A motorcycle?
Bosun is dressed in jeans and a black leather jacket. When he takes off his helmet and shakes out his hair, I imagine him in a shampoo commercial. 

From what little I know about bikes, his looks fancy, with its gleaming chrome and sexy lines. My heart races, and I swallow down my panic at the thought of having him between my legs while I hold on tight. That man sure knows what he’s doing, picking me up on a bike. I smirk, imagining how well it must work with his conquests.

I walk away quickly so he doesn’t catch me gawking. Oh man, I’m going to need a warmer jacket.
Are heels going to work on a motorcycle?
My panic attack stops when a knock sounds on the door, and I take a deep breath to compose myself.

This man serves up a side of sass without trying, so I decide to go on the offense. I open up with a big smile and cock my hip as I place my hand on it. I lick my lips. “You sure do wear leather well. Come on in while I find a warmer coat.”

Bosun chuckles before he says, “You look great too.” I walk away, adding a little more swing to my step. The moment I get in my bedroom, I roll my eyes at my behavior.
Are you really going to be able to keep this up all night, Dev? And if you do, are you prepared for what might happen?
I grab a winter parka and return to my date.

He asks, “Have you ever ridden on a bike?”

I pull my door open, and Bosun follows me out as I say, “Once or twice.”

He waits for me as I lock up. My heels click in staccato as we descend the stairs and move down the walkway. He says, “I brought you a helmet. I hope you won’t mind what it does to your hair.”

I want to laugh, because clearly he doesn’t know about the small hairbrush and travel hairspray I carry that can fix almost any bad hair day in less than a minute. “I’m sure I’ll manage.”

When we get to the bike, Bosun hands me a red helmet. It’s shiny and appears brand new. I glance at him and smile. “I like the color.”

He nods. “I couldn’t picture you wearing something ugly. Besides, it’s sized for a woman’s head and much safer.”

I drum my fingernails on the fiberglass and try not to gush over his sweet gesture. “Thank you.” My nerves are still working overtime, and my hands shake as I lift the helmet to my head while he takes my purse and places it in a small compartment. I say, “Tell me about your bike. I know next to nothing.”

My fingers fumble with the strap until he pushes them away and does it for me. The buckle clicks, and he says, “It’s a Ducati. But all you need to know is how to hold on and lean with me.”

Nice. I expected him to go on about the amazing features. He swings a leg over and turns to look at me. I step up next to the bike and climb on behind him. Bosun grabs my legs and pulls me snugly against his body. He says, “Squeeze tightly if you need to.”

I slip my arms around his waist, and the heat of him between my thighs makes me flush. “I think I’ve got it.”

The engine revs as the kickstand snaps into place, and we’re off. We fly though the night, and the power of the machine under me and the man in front of me quells my nerves as I hold on for the ride. 

W
e arrive at Pete’s too quickly. I wish I’d yelled for him to take a longer route, because the sensation of being in the open air with the wind and darkness was exhilarating. Bosun parks us near more bikes, many of them as nice looking as his. I wonder if this is the grown-up version of the truck club.

When I take off the helmet, I bend over and finger comb my blond hair to give it volume. It’s naturally straight, with just enough body it can curl, and I’ve cut it to frame my face. I know it will fall right when I whip it back as I extend again. I discover Bosun watching me, and I think I see lust in his eyes. The man appreciates a sexy hair flip.

He asks, “Do you need to use the mirror?”

“Nope. I’m good.”

“Nice. I didn’t expect you to be so low maintenance.” He places his hand at the small of my back to guide me toward the entrance, and my skin tingles at his touch. You’d think the fact that he was just pressed against a more sensitive place would have made me immune.

We walk toward the colorful neon lights of beer signs and into a dimly lit area. Small tables are spaced out with high bar stools, and there’s a decent-sized crowd. Just enough people to make it fun but not so many you can’t find a seat or hear your conversation. With it being a small town, I’m not surprised to see people I know, and I wave to a few while curious eyes watch us make our way to the bar.

Bosun grabs the hand of a guy that walks up to him, and they slap each other on the back. “Derek. Good to see you, man.”

“You too.” He turns a smiling face to me. “And who do we have here? She’s the prettiest thing I’ve seen in ages.”

I smile and am about to say my name when Bosun wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me against his body. “This is Devon, and she’s off limits.”

His voice is a bit stern, as if he’s laid some claim on me. But Derek doesn’t seem to take it an insult, and winks at me. “I’m Derek, and if you get tired of this guy, I’m available.”

I chuckle at his flirting, and Bosun leads me to the bar, making it clear the conversation is over. A number of men seem to be interested in us, and I ask, “Do you come here a lot?”

“Enough. Most of these people have been my customers.”

I glance around at the women and notice that a few are my clients too. I suppose over the years that number will grow. “Makes sense. I see a few of mine in here too.”

The husky smoker’s voice of the female bartender asks, “What’ll it be?”

Bosun turns to me, and I order a light beer while he gets a draft. After he pays, we make our way to a table. The hoppy flavor of my drink fills my mouth when I take a sip. Bosun sighs after he swallows a mouthful of beer. “This tastes good tonight.” He picks up a menu that was trapped between condiments and asks, “Did you eat dinner?”

Since my yogurt is long gone, I answer, “No.” I don’t take a menu, because I always get one of two things at Pete’s. A salad or a burger, depending on my appetite. I sense tonight I’m going to need my energy and plan on the protein-infused meal of meat.

I study the man behind the menu while he’s distracted. His hair could really use a cut, and I long to feel his silky locks between my fingers. Even though his eyes are down, he must know I’m staring, and he asks, “Have you decided I’m dinner?”

The vision of my tongue following his happy trail down below his navel makes me flush, but I banter back. I reach forward and push back the lock of his hair that has fallen forward, and his gaze lifts to mine. “Actually, I was thinking about how you need a haircut.” I tilt my head and lift my bottle toward my mouth. “I know a great stylist.” I take a slow sip and lick my lips when I’m done. Hell, I even follow up with a nibble on my bottom lip as Bosun watches.

A waitress has approached us, and she clears her throat. I don’t break my gaze with Bosun and say, “I’ll take a burger, medium rare, please.”

Bosun doesn’t look away either. “Bacon cheeseburger, medium rare, onion rings, and side salad with blue cheese.”

The waitress draws out the word okay and leaves us. Bosun’s voice is barely above a whisper when he asks, “Do you always eyefuck on a first date?”

Shocked again, my jaw drops, and his face crinkles in a chuckle. He sits back and lifts his beer. “You are so easy. This might never get old.”

He’s so much better at my game than I am, and it’s pissing me off. Kind of. Because the heat that burns in my lower belly says I’m finding it hot too. “Are you always this relentless?  Because for me
that
could get old.”

Bosun’s face softens, and he slides his hand across the table toward me with a palm raised. “I thought you were enjoying it. If you want me to stop, I will.”

I place my hand on his. “I am. But...” I close my eyes and sigh.
But what, Dev? You like to have control?
I take a breath and gaze into the pale-blue eyes that make my knees weak. “I’m not used to someone being better at this than I am.”

My hand is small in Bosun’s grip, and his calloused thumb is rough against my skin as he rubs slowly. “I’ve just been doing it longer.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight. And you’re about twenty-two, right?”

Twenty-one. But I nod. “Hmmm, almost past your prime.” I pull my hand back and cross my arms. “Think you can keep up with me?”

Bosun grins as he leans forward and crooks his finger at me. I lean in close enough that I can feel his breath on my skin. He traces my lower lip, and I suck in air quickly enough it’s almost a gasp. His voice is a low baritone that reverberates through me when he says, “You’re very good at this, and it’s sexy as hell.”

Oh. My. God.
The waitress has appeared again and clears her throat in annoyance. We both sit back. I lift my bottle and drink down the quarter or so left in an attempt to cool my heated face. I turn to the server and hand her my bottle as I say, “I’m going to need another one of these.”

Bosun downs the rest of his draft, and a low rumble that resembles a growl comes from him before he says, “Me too.”

A
fter dinner, we move over to the pool tables. But once we finish a game, Bosun suggests we leave. I wouldn’t say he was jealous, but his manner was a bit cold when his friends tried to join us. Since billiards isn’t something I care much about, I am more than happy to comply.

When we get outside, the temperature is considerably colder than it was earlier in the evening, and wisps of frosty vapor come out of my mouth when I exhale. Bosun tugs the zipper of my jacket up as he says, “I didn’t expect it to get so cold. I thought maybe we could go for a ride, but you’ll freeze.”

I don’t want our date to end and wish I knew what to suggest. “You’re right, but I’d really enjoy a ride sometime. Rain check?”

Bosun takes my hands in his to keep them warm, and I marvel at the heat he transmits. “Definitely. I’m not ready to take you home yet. If I promise to keep my paws in appropriate places, would you like to come see where I live?”

“I don’t know. You’ve got some mighty warm hands, and I can think of lots of places I’d like them to be.” I let my teasing smile fade and add, “But thank you for making me comfortable about your intentions. Yes, I’d like to see your home.”

When we get to the outskirts of town, the glow of streetlights is faint, and I lean my head back to gaze at the stars, which look like tiny diamonds on velvet. Even though I’m chilled, I’m disappointed when we turn down a dirt road that leads toward the water.

A garage is separate from the house and on the right. Bosun parks in front of it, and when the engine cuts, I notice the silence. I live in town, and there’s always the quiet hum of traffic. Bosun gets off the bike, but I stay on the seat and glance out at the water. Even though the moon is only half-full, there’s enough light to reflect off the ripples of the lake, and the sound of waves lapping at a dock is soothing.

A keypad beeps, and the garage door roars open. Bosun asks, “Are you frozen to the seat?”

“No. I was just enjoying the view.” I climb off and reach for my buckle to take off the helmet. “It’s really beautiful here, even at night.”

Bosun lifts the helmet off my head and tucks it under his arm. “It is. Let me park the bike in the garage, and we’ll go get you warmed up. I’ll take you down to the dock later.”

He rolls his motorcycle into the building that houses his truck and a motorboat. Various sport equipment is hung from hooks on the ceiling and walls in an orderly manner that appeals to me.