“Do you want to drive?” he asks. “I’ll show you how if you’ve never done it before.”
Smiling, I shake my head. “No, thank you. I’m good here.” I’m enjoying the view too much to move, and besides, I don’t want to risk damaging the boat in any way. It’s bad enough I didn’t pitch in for the rental; if I also crashed the thing, I’d feel terrible.
Would he accept my money if I offered to pay for a portion of the boat rental now? Technically, it’s his boat rental—after all, he was going to do this on his own, whether I joined or not—but I am benefitting from it. In all fairness, I should pitch in, if not pay the full half.
Then again, I have to move shortly, which means I need every penny of my meager savings. Otherwise, I’ll have to load up my credit cards, and then I’ll be in real trouble. From my mother’s experience, I know how quickly credit card debt can snowball, with interest charges and late fees easily doubling and tripling your balance. She, of course, dealt with it the same way she dealt with everything: by hoodwinking some hapless boyfriend into paying off most of her debt. Unfortunately for her—and me, since I was living with her at the time—the boyfriend saw her for the remorseless gold digger she was and kicked her to the curb without paying down the remnant of the debt. And that remnant hung over our heads for months, with collection agencies hounding us daily, until my mother found another victim to unload her financial burden onto—another unfortunate “boyfriend.”
“You okay?” Marcus asks, and I realize I zoned out, staring blankly at the water.
“Yes, of course.” I smile at him, possibly too brightly. “All good, just enjoying the sun.”
“You sure?” His gaze is enigmatic behind his shades. “No seasickness?”
“No,” I say and refocus on the pleasure of this perfect day. But the sheer joy I felt earlier is gone, tainted by the old memories—and the knowledge that if I’m not careful, I could follow in my mother’s footsteps.
I could end up using Marcus the way she used her men.
* * *
We return to my grandparents’ house late in the afternoon, and Marcus excuses himself to catch up on some work before dinner. Which works perfectly for me, as I have to finish editing the shifter novella and call Mrs. Metz to check on my cats.
To my relief, all is status quo with my fur babies—Queen Elizabeth and Cottonball are behaving themselves, while Mr. Puffs has shifted his destructive focus from my pillow to my blanket. However, speaking with my landlady reminds me that I have to get serious about finding a new place to live, so instead of working on the novella, I’m scrolling through Craigslist when my grandmother comes out to join me on the lanai.
“What’s this?” she asks, coming up behind me, and I jump, startled, before slamming my laptop shut.
“Nothing, Grandma.” My voice is an octave too high as I face her, so I try again, this time with a big smile. “Just looking for a new bedside lamp. Mine broke a while back.” Which is true. Mr. Puffs knocked it over months ago, and I’ve been meaning to look for a replacement for ages. That’s not what I was doing at that particular moment, but as far as lies go, it’s only a partial one.
“A lamp?” Grandma looks confused, but then she shakes her head. “Never mind, then. My vision must be going, because I thought I saw you looking at apartment listings.”
“Oh, um… no. No, that’s not it. I… Marcus and I are moving in together, remember?”
Grandma’s face brightens, and I mentally kick myself. Why did I just say that? It’s bad enough Marcus is saying all that stuff in an effort to manipulate me, but now I’m joining in, playing along like a puppet.
His obedient, sex-crazed puppet.
“Of course I remember, sweetheart.” Grandma pulls up a chair to sit next to me. “So tell me… Are you excited? This is such a big step for you both.”
Ugh. Why did I go there? Seriously, why? All I had to do was say that I was looking for a lamp and stop there. But no. I just had to blab, and here we are.
Dropping my gaze to my hands, I mumble, “Yeah, sure.” My cuticles aren’t in the best shape, I notice, and there’s a hangnail on my thumb. How ugly. I bet Emmeline never gets that; her perfect nails wouldn’t dare to hang in any way.
“What does that mean?” Grandma asks, and I look up from my ragged cuticles to see her regarding me with gentle curiosity and more than a hint of concern. “Are you uncertain about this?” she continues. “Uncomfortable in any way?”
“It’s just… happening very fast.” There. That’s not a lie. Everything is happening way too fast. Even if Marcus were the type of guy I normally date—a little geeky and sweet—I’d be freaked out at the idea of moving in with him at any point in the near future. But Marcus is about as far from the guys I’ve dated as a Category 5 hurricane from a gentle breeze, and I’m absolutely petrified at the possibility that he might railroad me into this.