Page 3

Dylan

Eight years earlier

T he Boston marina hummed with summer—salt air tangy in my nose, seagulls circling lazily like kites. I leaned against the carved mahogany railing of my graduation-gift yacht, the wooden deck warm under my bare feet, a gin and tonic sweating in my hand.

At twenty-one, fresh off a business degree, this was my last free summer before my dad’s suit-and-tie prison started in September. I’d partied, skied black diamonds in Chile, traveled with my cousin Carla through Europe—and it wasn’t even July.

I was ready for a change. Maybe working eighty hours a week wasn’t such a bad idea. Even though I could afford to go wherever I wanted to, nowhere was tempting. Not even the bottom of the glass in my hand.

My ‘friends’ lounged around the yacht, all rich and bored, sipping cocktails and attempting to sound more intelligent than they were.

Douglas was already practicing his boardroom handshake, the one destined for his father’s firm.

Worse lives were being lived, I supposed, but mine felt notably devoid of purpose or connection.

My parents paid for everything I needed or ever expressed a desire for, but we didn’t discuss how we felt about our lives or each other.

When I graduated from college, my father was somewhere in Asia scoping out areas for investment.

My mother was otherwise occupied with a charity event where she received an award for her philanthropy.

My only consolation for walking the stage with no one there to celebrate the moment with was that my father hadn’t been there to share in my mother’s achievement either.

I could’ve thrown myself a pity party, but I was still hungover from last night.

I groaned and considered ditching the rest of my drink.

Then I saw her.

On the dock, in a sundress catching the breeze, dark hair spilling over her shoulders like a wave, talking to a member of my crew.

Beyond her, the distant silhouette of the Boston Harbor Hotel gleamed against the skyline.

She was stunning, but it was her expression that hooked me: concerned, supportive, protective. Her blonde friend was visibly upset.

There was a realness to her loyalty, like she was daring whoever hurt her friend to show their face, and she didn’t care who was watching.

I stopped a crew member who was walking past and asked, “What’s happening down there?”

He touched his earpiece, asked for an update on the dock, then said, “A mix-up. They were invited to go on a dinner cruise with someone named Chad. Apparently, he’s not answering, and they want to know if he’s onboard.”

I fought a grin. “Do we look like a commercial vessel?”

“To them? Apparently.”

“What are they saying now?” I demanded.

The crew member relayed my question, then said, “The blonde woman is claiming that this is the address she was given. Her friend is attempting to convince her that Chad might be a liar and a loser.”

I choked on a laugh. “Let them on and tell the crew to treat them like they were first on the guest list.”

“Yes, sir.”

With fascination, I watched as the crew member, who had been blocking the gangplank, stepped aside and invited the two women aboard. The blonde smiled but seemed confused.

My brunette in a sundress? She looked around, then froze when her gaze met mine.

I shot her my most charming smile.

She grabbed her friend’s arm, stopping her from walking forward, and nodded toward me. Her friend gave me a once-over and shook her head.

The brunette eyed me again, then frowned.

Ouch.

They exchanged a few more words, then turned and began to walk away.

My mouth fell open, and without hesitation, I bolted after her, my bare feet slapping the wood. Behind me, someone called out, “Where the hell are you going, DeVoss?”

I didn’t slow. Didn’t answer.

As I reached the gangplank, I realized I wasn’t wearing shoes. I laughed under my breath and looked around. Screw it. “Todd, give me your sandals.”

“What?”

“I’ll explain later,” I ordered urgently. “Toss them over.”

Years of listening to me on the lacrosse field was probably the only reason he did as I asked. I slid them on. Tight, but they’d work.

Another voice—one of the guys from Nantucket—shouted, “Hey, are we still heading out later?”

“I don’t know,” I threw over my shoulder, not looking back.

A girl perched on the yacht’s rail with a drink in hand hollered, her voice edged with a drunk giggle. “What are we supposed to do while you’re gone? Just wait for you to come back?”

I grinned, but didn’t slow. “I wouldn’t.”

Someone else—maybe Douglas—barked a laugh. “What are you even doing?”

I sprinted down the gangplank, calling over my shoulder, “I don’t know. But I just figured out what I want to do with the rest of my summer.”

I caught up with the women on the dock, slowing with a laugh beside them. “Hey. My name’s Dylan. Dylan DeVoss.”

My brunette turned, sundress swaying, eyes wary. “Are you a friend of Chad’s?”

“No,” I answered easily. “But I heard you were looking for a dinner cruise.”

The blonde beside her said, “Listen, you’re hot and all, but we’re kind of dealing with something right now.”

“Something I could help you with?” I exchanged a look with my brunette, hoping to see a spark of interest in her eyes, but all I saw was impatience.

“Not unless you can make men trustworthy. Maybe show up when they say they will or in general be a little less disappointing,” she snapped.

“Wow.” Instead of being offended, her sarcasm tugged something protective loose in me. I almost promised her no man would treat her like that while I was around, but instead, I joked. “That’s a tall order. Want me to kick Chad’s ass?”

Her friend laughed. “No, but I like that you offered.” She held out her hand. “Alyssa Nazzaro.”

I shook her hand, then returned my attention to the reason I’d left my friends behind. “And you are?”

“Not even interested enough to pretend,” she said. “Come on, Alyssa. We can get our own dinner.”

I tapped a finger on my chin. “Hold on. Which one of you did Chad ask to meet here?”

Alyssa raised her hand with a rueful expression.

“Then why are you pissed?” I asked the woman who had my heart pounding.

She opened her mouth, snapped it shut, then waved a hand at me aggressively. “I’m only here because my gut told me Chad sounded too good to be true... and it turns out I was right.”

“What does your gut tell you about me?” I challenged playfully.

“Nothing good,” she sputtered. “You’re wasting your time. Goodbye.”

I met her friend’s gaze. “Is she always this snarly?”

Alyssa shrugged. “Not to me, but you do smell like you were drinking, and”—she pointed to her own neck—“you have a little lipstick on your collar.”

I playfully grimaced. “Bad first impression?”

She nodded vigorously.

“Let’s change that,” I said with a grin. “If you both wait while I freshen up, I’ll not only take the two of you to the most expensive restaurant in Boston, but I’ll also pose for photos with you to send to Chad.”

Alyssa looked at her friend and said, “I am hungry.”

The brunette’s expression filled with reluctant amusement. “We don’t even know this guy.”

“His name is Dylan,” Alyssa said with a smile. “DeVoss.”

I held my breath, trying to remember the last time I’d wanted anything as much as I wanted to know the brunette’s name.

She sighed, met my gaze cautiously, and said, “Against my better judgment, I’ll give you fifteen minutes, Dylan DeVoss.

And we’re not dressed for anywhere expensive so somewhere simple is fine.

Also, we’re not getting in a car with you.

We’ll walk to somewhere close, then if you seem normal and nice. .. maybe you can pay.”

Holding back a laugh, I said, “Sounds like a deal.”

I looked at her pointedly until she said, “Jennifer LaSalette.”

Before I could jog back to the yacht, the rumble of a small motorboat caught all our attention. A sleek rental pulled up alongside the dock. The handful of guys aboard were laughing too loudly, drinks sloshing in their hands.

One of them, with a Red Sox cap turned backward and a shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, stood and shouted, “Alyssa! There you are, babe!”

Jennifer stiffened beside me. Her hand brushed mine, a fleeting touch that sent a jolt through me.

Don’t tell me... Chad. He tried to toss the boat’s mooring line to the dock, missed spectacularly, and cursed. His friends jeered, nudging each other. It took him several tries to secure the small boat.

Alyssa shifted closer to Jennifer, her expression closing off. “He looked a lot nicer online.”

Chad staggered onto the dock. “Hop onboard, hoes. Hope you like beer because that’s all we got.”

I stepped forward, putting myself in front of Jennifer and her friend. “There’s been a change in plans. The ladies are no longer interested.”

Looking like he was trying to focus on my face, Chad snarled, “Pretty boy in flip-flops better back his ass up before I beat it down.”

“You’re drunk,” I said calmly, looking him straight in the eye. “And you’re done here.”

Chad squinted at me, drunken bravado wavering. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m the guy telling you to walk away before you embarrass yourself even more.”

Fisting his hand, Chad raised it and swung at me slowly enough that I easily evaded the blow. His friends came to flank his sides. I didn’t so much as blink.

One of his friends sized me up then chuckled awkwardly. “Come on, man. Let it go. You said they wanted to come with us. They obviously don’t.”

Chad leaned toward me until I had the unpleasant gift of the smell of his breath. “I don’t like this guy.”

“This is quickly becoming no fun.” His other friend grabbed his arm. “And I think I should take the wheel for a while.”

“Good choice,” I said calmly. Drinking while out on the water was a summer pastime for many, my friends included, but designated drivers were just as important on the water as on the road. The ocean could be unforgiving and deadly.

Chad allowed himself to be guided back onboard, then jerked his arm free and flipped a lazy, vulgar gesture our way before collapsing onto a bench on the boat.

I stayed still until their engine coughed to life and the rental puttered off, the drunk laughter fading into the distance.

Only then did I turn back to Jennifer and Alyssa.

“You okay?” I asked.

Alyssa nodded, swallowing hard. “Thanks.”

Jennifer’s gaze locked with mine, steady and assessing, and I felt something shift between us—a small but real crack in her defenses. I let out a breath and flashed a half-smile. “For what it’s worth,” I said, voice low, “you deserve a hell of a lot better company.”

Alyssa snorted. “You’re not wrong.”

Jennifer’s lips twitched, and the tension in her shoulders eased a little.

Nodding, I began to walk backward toward the yacht. “Jennifer, would you both like to wait on my yacht while I change?”

She frowned. “No.”

“Do you know any words besides no?” She glared at me, and I laughed. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

After jogging back onto the yacht, I told my crew to keep an eye on my new friends on the dock and sprinted to change. When I returned, I informed everyone that I would be leaving for a bit. Most onboard were just happy the party was continuing, with or without me.

Only my cousin Carla seemed annoyed. She’d gotten clingy lately, her eyes narrowing whenever I dodged her flirtations, and some space would do us both good.

We weren’t blood relatives, but we’d grown up together.

She was family. That’s all I saw her as.

I’d made that clear, especially on this trip, by allowing a recent addition to our friend group to hang all over me.

Carla stepped into my path as I neared the gangplank. “You’re really going to leave?” she demanded. “For some nobody you just met?”

“Yes,” I said cheerfully, stepping around her. “And her name is Jennifer.”

“Wear a condom,” she snapped. “You don’t know who she’s been with.”

I sighed. “Carla . . .”

Her eyebrows arched. “Yes?”

I could’ve been blunt. Maybe I should’ve been. But I didn’t want to hurt her—only get back to Jennifer. “You love the Vineyard,” I said instead. “Go. Have fun. I’ll probably fly over in a few days.”

“Promise?” she called after me as I hit the dock.

I didn’t answer. Dinner with Jennifer? Completely unexpected. Yet somehow, seeing her again mattered more than anything had in a long time.