Traded by Lisa Suzanne
CHAPTER 17
“Pack an overnight bag and meet me in the truck in fifteen minutes,” Jack says the next morning.
My brows dip. “Where are we going?”
“A buddy invited me onto his houseboat on Lake Mead and since Calvin thinks I’m a child, I guess you’re coming with me.”
My first thought is that he didn’t learn anything from the video I showed him. Nothing good will come from an overnight party on a houseboat.
My second thought is holy shit, I’ve just been invited to an overnight party with celebrities on a houseboat.
And my third thought is about how much I hate fish. I know that’s ridiculous, but I’ll be on a boat in water. Fish live in water.
I keep my expression impassive. “May I ask which buddy?”
“No further questions.” He smirks at me, and I hold in a heavy sigh as I realize he’s not going to make this easy on me.
“Do you think this is a good idea?” I ask.
“Didn’t I just say no questions? Get your bag packed and get down here. The truck is pulling out in...” he pauses to look at his watch. “Thirteen minutes, and I’m leaving regardless of whether you’re in it.”
I guess I should count myself lucky that he even told me about this trip and didn’t just take off for the boat without me. I scramble up the stairs, toss the essentials into an overnight bag, throw in a swimsuit just in case since we’ll be on a boat and there might be opportunities to swim, and meet him down in the kitchen in nine minutes. I probably forgot something, but it’s one night. I’ll live.
It’s about forty minutes to the marina at Lake Mead, and Jack blasts Motley Crue the whole way. I recognize the music as the same classic rock my dad always plays when he’s working in the garage.
It’s strange to be reminded of my dad in this moment. I wonder what my parents are up to. It’s a Thursday, so they’re probably just finishing up their day at the diner and heading home to another cup of decaf. Predictable...the kind of existence that never really called to me.
I guess my biggest fear—even bigger than having to go back to work in a school—is ending up back home in Kansas working at the diner that was supposed to be my legacy.
He cuts the engine when he pulls into the parking lot, and the silence feels deafening after how loud the music was the whole way here.
“Motley Crue?” I tease. “I thought you were thirty-three, not fifty-seven.”
His narrows his eyes at me. “Fifty-seven?”
“My dad’s age,” I clarify. “He’s a huge fan of the Crue.”
He laughs. “My dad was, too. I guess he passed down his love of football and classic rock.”
“It was nice,” I admit. Comforting in a way considering the sweeping changes currently in my life, not to mention the fact that I’m about to get on a houseboat with a virtual stranger and his buddy and who knows who else.
We get out of the car and he carries our bags toward the dock.
He hops onto one of the boats like he owns it, and then he turns toward me and holds out a hand to help me aboard.
I set my hand in his, and a dart of something travels down my spine. I think I can identify it as desire...but I’m too scared to actually label it.
I’m transported back to a couch in a nightclub at the Wynn on Halloween. His hand traveling up my leg, and his lips on mine, and his tongue moving sensually in my mouth. Our bodies rocking together as need and want plowed into each other.
That feeling is as fresh as the day I met him, but everything is different now. And that’s why I can’t put a label to that feeling.
His eyes meet mine, and I’m certain he feels it, too, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, I turn my eyes down to the ground. “Thanks,” I mutter, dropping my hand from his like it’s on fire.
“Hey!” A boisterous voice calls from another room, and then Ben appears in the doorway. “You made it!”
Ben and Jack share one of those bro hugs where they each pound the other on the back, and then Ben gives me a hug. “Hey, thanks again for saving me from making an ass of myself,” he says.
I wave a hand through the air like it was no big deal. “Truth be told, you still made an ass of yourself. I just kept you out of headlines.”
He laughs. “Make yourself at home here.” He turns to Jack. “You’re first, so pick your stateroom. Any but the master, obviously.” He turns and winks at me. “That’s mine. And then, we set the stakes. Oh, and all the rooms are claimed, so you two are going to have to share. Play nice...but not too nice.” He glances at me again. “Unless you want to stay with me.” This time he raises his brows, and I can tell he’s kidding. At least I think he is.
My already red cheeks flush further as I realize that this means Jack and I are sharing a bedroom, which means we might also be sharing a bed.
“She’ll stay with me,” Jack says shortly.
Sharing a bed with Jack Dalton.
Just the thought of it causes my thighs to clench together. We didn’t even share a bed the night we had sex. We were as intimate as two people could possibly be, and yet we didn’t get the chance to finish the night together.
Not that we will tonight, but the thought still seems to burn brightly in my mind.
“Sure,” Ben says with a knowing nod. “Anyway, get into your swim gear and let’s party.”
“Come on,” Jack says gruffly to me, and I follow him through this houseboat toward the staterooms. He leads me through what basically looks like the first floor of a nice house. It has a kitchen with two refrigerators, dining area, couches pointed at a television, and floor to ceiling windows looking out over the water.
He walks down a hallway, and we peek into each room on the way. They all have queen beds, which would be fine if I was sharing it with my boyfriend...but I’m sharing it with Jack.
He chooses the last bedroom on the right, and he drops our bags onto the floor in there. “I didn’t realize there wouldn’t be a bed for my guest,” he says. “But we’ll figure it out. I’ll just...sleep on the floor, I guess.”
“It’s fine, Jack. We’re two adults capable of sharing a bed.” I feel like maybe I jumped in too quickly, like I’m overly eager to share a bed with him. And maybe I am, but then I’m reminded why I hate him.
He grins wickedly at me. “Oh come on, Kia. We’ve shared more than a bed.”
My cheeks turn three more shades of red.
“I’m going to get into my swim trunks. Feel free to stick around and watch.”
I give him a look of horror. Is he really flirting with me when he’s engaged to marry another woman? I really don’t get this guy.
I grab my bag and find a bathroom where I change into my swimsuit, a red bikini with large white polka dots. I feel a little self-conscious in it, and as I rummage through my bag, I realize what I forgot: my swim coverup.
I pull my clothes back on over my swimsuit and head back to our bedroom. I knock on the door even though it’s open and all I want to do is peek in, and Jack says, “Come on in, Kia. I’m decent.”
It’s a total lie.
Those abs are distinctly indecent.
He’s standing in the middle of the room zipping up his duffel bag, and he’s just wearing navy blue swim trunks with three white stripes on one leg. He looks hotter than fuck and I briefly debate just stripping naked and reliving our Halloween festivities, but then reality crashes back into me.
We head back to the living area, and Ben introduces us to Mickey, who will be driving the boat while we party. Mickey disappears after nodding his hellos, and then Ben turns to Jack. “So the stakes?”
Jack laughs. “Same old Ben,” he says.
Ben shrugs and his mouth tips up in a half smile. “Did you expect anything less?”
Jack shakes his head with a wry smile. “What are you thinking?”
Ben thinks for a second. “I guess it shouldn’t be lady-related since you’re engaged to be married...”
“Good plan,” Jack says dryly. “Poker?”
“Maybe tonight, but let’s set stakes now.”
Jack nods. “Alcohol-related, then?”
Ben squints a little then nods. “Yeah. I’m thinking whoever gets drunk first.”
“Who judges?” Jack asks.
They both look at me. “Oh no,” I say, shaking my head. “I will not be a party to a who gets drunk first bet. Not when you both know the real reason why I’m here.”
Ben twists his lips. “She’s got a point.”
“Yeah,” Jack says with a nod. “Fine.”
“Let’s keep it simple. Whoever chugs two beers the fastest wins five grand.”
“Three beers and ten grand,” Jack counters.
“You’re both idiots,” I say, and they both narrow their eyes at me.
“You’re on,” Ben agrees. “Let’s head up to the upper deck where the beer is.”
I sigh and lower my voice toward Jack. “How much are you planning on drinking?”
Jack shrugs. “As much as I want. I’ve got my babysitter here to take care of me.”
Indeed.
Ben takes us up to the top floor, or what I’m going to call the party deck, which boasts a hot tub, a long bar complete with a bartender, stools to sit and drink, and plenty of space for a dance floor. There’s also a slide from the top floor that goes down into the water below.
I’m not sure what we’re here for, exactly, but some deejay shows up and starts spinning tunes loudly on the party deck, a few guys I recognize as players on the Aces arrive, and a bevy of scantily clad women ready to party show up. Seems like we’re here to party.
And party we do.
Or, party Jack does, anyway.
Ben wins the first bet, and Jack doubles down on the stakes with a new bet—this one is who can slide down the water slide five times first. It’s harder than it seems since they slide into the water and have to swim around to the stairs and climb back up to the upper deck to slide down it again.
They’re both athletes, both in good shape, but Jack handily wins. More beer leads to more bets and I’ve lost count of who owes who what but they seem to be having fun in between Jack fending off women and Ben entertaining his guests. I’m relegated to an observer who sits in the corner. I stay out of his business so he can have fun with his friends, but still, I keep an eye on him to make sure he isn’t getting himself into trouble even though he’s definitely taking a turn into drunk zone.
Nothing proves that more than when a Motley Crue song starts blaring from the speakers as he’s talking to Ben across the deck. He stops talking as he starts his pursuit toward me. He’s dancing as he moves, and he’s light on his feet with a surprising amount of rhythm. I can’t help my giggle as he moves his way over toward me as the singer says I should just go away in “Don’t Go Away Mad,” and when he reaches out a hand to me, I take his in mine.
Would he be doing this if he wasn’t eight beers deep on his friend’s houseboat without his fiancée here?
Doubtful.
But he is, and as much as I want to resist because I’m torn between lust and hate for this guy, I can’t. He’s smiling, and he’s happy, and he’s drunk, and maybe this is what we needed for him to just let loose a little.
His guard is down, and even though mine should be firmly in place, it isn’t. I wonder how Calvin would feel about Jack’s alcohol consumption today. Would he say I’m not doing my job because I haven’t attempted to stop him from drinking?
I guess it depends whether he ends up in headlines.
He’s on a houseboat in the middle of Lake Mead. It’s his choice to drink, and it’s my job to keep him from doing something really stupid when he does. It’s not my job to manage his drinking.
And so I don’t. Instead, I dance with him to my favorite Motley Crue song.
“Aren’t you hot in all those clothes?” he asks.
I shrug. “I’m fine.”
“Have a beer with me,” he says. “And look around you. Nobody’s wearing clothes.”
I glance around. He’s right. It’s either swim trunks or bikinis everywhere. I just look like the weird girl in the corner. “Fine,” I mutter, and I pull off my shirt and slip out of my shorts, setting them on the chair I was just sitting in.
His eyes flick to my chest, and then they brand my body with heat as they travel down lower and back up again to meet my eyes.
He shifts on his feet a little, and then he takes a sip of beer. “That’s better,” he murmurs, and then he clears his throat. “We’re docking tonight on a little sandbar and we’re not going home until tomorrow. I promise not to get arrested. It’s okay to have a little fun once in a while.”
He’s right. I don’t need to be the boring, straight-laced, responsible one every second of every day. And so when Ben pops by a second later and presses a cold beer into my palm with a wide grin, I take it from him with a matching grin back.
When Jack’s hand moves to my hip as we’re dancing together, I don’t bat it away. I should, but I don’t.
When Ben presses another beer into my palm, it’s only then I realize the first one is empty and I’m hot from dancing and being so close to Jack. I don’t sip it slowly or daintily, instead giving into the fun our host is clearly trying to get me to have.
And when Jack goads me into going down the slide right after him with a promise to catch me at the bottom, I do it.
Normally I’d be terrified of the fish or potential sharks in there, but the beer has taken the edge off those fears. Or Jack has. Something has, and I’m not sure it matters what it is. Besides, I’m not sure sharks live in Lake Mead. Sharks are the real fear. Fish are just weird. I’m not scared of them.
As my body hits the icy cold water, I shiver...but the man who catches me warms me from the inside out. My hand accidentally brushes against his rock-hard abdomen as he helps me back toward the boat, and a shiver rises up through me.
“Get the girl another beer!” Jack yells once I’m out of the water and my feet are steady beneath me.
Some linebacker I recognize but can’t name rushes over with another beer, and it’s not long before I’m laughing and dancing and getting a little tipsy as I start burning up under the hot Vegas sunshine.
I don’t notice the workers onboard with us, but someone lays out a buffet of Kobe burgers, beer battered onion rings, an array of salads, and an entire nacho bar.
Jack talks me into another ride down the slide to cool down before we grab a bite to eat, and the fact that he’s actually hanging out with me and having fun with me feels like quite the turn in our relationship. I’d rather be friends with him than enemies. If nothing else, it’ll help us both get through the next year.
I find some of the anger of our post-Halloween tryst starting to melt away even though he sort of did a number on my self-esteem that night. The beer seems to be helping to numb his annoyance of having me here, and he’s almost—dare I say—being nice to me.
We’re teetering on a dangerous cliff right now, and I’m starting to feel like I know which way I want this balance to swing. I hardly know him, but I’m having fun with him, and that feels good.
I just have no idea where he’s at on any of it, and as I watch him and some of the other guys get involved in a friendly sparring match over their poker game later in the evening, I can’t help but wonder whether he’s being nice to me because he’s stuck with me for the next year or if there’s some other motivation at play.
