Page 59 of Things I Overshared

Captain Freddie and the crew show Mr. Roberts the ropes, literally, and get us underway. Beachy music plays through the boat’s sound system, and champagne is passed out by one of the crew. A lunch display is ready when we board, so everyone starts on the mini sandwiches while the crew and Mr. Roberts find a rhythm.

Soon we’re cruising quickly with one sail up and much ado about turning the engines off and switching to wind power. Mercifully, the sun makes a rare appearance, bumping the whole experience from nice to exceptional.

“Thanks so much for inviting me. This is gorgeous!” Trina gushes quietly.

“Thanks for coming!” I whisper back. I turn to the group. “We’re going to go enjoy the sun for a bit and leave you men to talk soccer.”

“You mean football.” Damian gives me a wink.

“You all keep telling yourselves that.” I wink back and shrug off my suit jacket onto the built-in lounge chair. I’m glad I chose this thin spaghetti-strap dress as the sun warms my shoulders. I give Emerson one last glance as Trina and I head toward what I learn is called the foredeck of the center of ship. But of course, he’s not looking at me. He is loosening up, though, literally, unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt. My mouth waters, so I force myself to look away.

Damian has abandoned his shirt entirely, as has one of Mr. Roberts’s other team members, but it doesn’t seem inappropriate. Damian, specifically, has every reason to be comfortable shirtless. He’s no Emerson, not even close, but he’s got a nice build and he’s tanned beyond what London’s sun can offer. He catches me looking and smiles. I can feel his stare on my back, admiring the view as Trina and I walk away along the side gunnel.

“So, what’s the story with you and Emerson, then?” Trina asks as we get settled on the sundeck with our backs to the ledge, legs outstretched in the sun.

“Story? No story.” My pulse quickens. Am I so obvious?

“Really? The two of you so gorgeous and such a good team, I thought I felt some chemistry.”

“You did?” I ask, trying to play dumb.

“Okay, not some, loads. Loads of chemistry. You’re telling me there’s nothing? C’mon, I’m your London gal pal, you can tell me.” She smiles and leans into me.

I huff and shove back into her. “No. No chemistry. Not that I wouldn’t— I mean, you’ve seen him.”

“Wouldn’t mind seeing a lot more of him, if you know what I mean!” She giggles and jabs me with her elbow.

I laugh too. “Same, girlfriend, same. But he can barely tolerate me. And he’s known me since I was, like, fifteen, so I’ve got that whole best friend’s annoying little sister thing going on.”

“I don’t think he looks at you like you’re his sister, love.”

“You’re imagining it. Trust me.” I suck down the last of my champagne before I can start babbling about how much I wish she was wrong. “More champagne?” I ask her.

“Of course,” she says with a wicked grin.

“I knew inviting you was a good idea!”

“Bloodygreatidea.”

I laugh at her comment and stand, hearing some commotion and cranking noises, but hearing them too late. Next thing I know, I am smashed in the ribs by a hard metal pole.

“Fuck! Samantha!”

I hear, and then there’s a splash.

A second splash.

Because the first one was me.

Because I’m overboard.

In the ocean.

I struggle to move my arms and not panic, but the impact knocked the wind out of my lungs. I can’t breathe.Shit, I can’t breathe!

“Samantha! Samantha, are you all right?” Emerson is suddenly there, holding me with one hand and pushing my hair off my face with the other. Relief crosses his features as his bright blue eyes meet mine. “Shit, I was afraid you’d hit your head.” He’s holding my face in one hand now and panting, in the water, fully clothed.

He jumped in after me?