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  Even as evening settled down around us, I didn't know where I stood—we stood—after last night. I had an educated guess, of course. We'd shared some beers with dinner and a few more while watching the game, and liquor often blurred sexuality's not-so-tidy boxes.

  Liquor was a champ when it came to taking the blame.

  Not that there was much blame to go around. Jerking off with a wall between us wasn't arrow-straight, but it wasn't a subscription to the Bear of the Month club either. There was room on the rainbow for everyone.

  And now I was rationalizing. Might as well explain it away before my hopes climbed all the way up and started planning some kind of future with Cole. How fucking ridiculous was that? There wasn't going to be any of that. His boat would be fixed soon enough, he'd set sail, and then I'd be right back where I always was—wondering why I'd given everything to someone who couldn't spare anything for me.

  Not this time. No future, no us.

  When I woke up this morning, hard, mortified, hungry for more, I decided I'd handle this the only way I knew how—hunkering down in my foul mood. I'd pushed Cole away with grouchy scowls and short-tempered barks all day. Avoided discussion of last night so hard I started to wonder whether it actually happened. Feigned disinterest in his chatter though I was silently soaking it all up. Busied myself with the radio, the engine, the maps—anything to keep my eyes off him. I pushed him away before he could push me.

  And that approach had worked well enough while my hands were busy hauling in traps and navigating the coastline, but the sea couldn't save me now. The house seemed impossibly small, the walls and ceiling pressing in close, and I couldn't escape Cole.

  Thus I was taking my sweet-ass time in the pantry. I hoped he'd get bored soon enough and leave me in peace, but that didn't appear to be happening.

  "Do you want me to get it?" he called. "The haddock?"

  "Not in the mood," I called over my shoulder. "For haddock."

  Important clarification. With a sigh, I pawed at a jar of preserved tomatoes from last summer, and I considered the dishes I could throw together with them. It saved me from thinking about stepping between Cole's legs and demanding his attention. I could do that. I could run my hands up his thighs, grab his waist and jerk him close. Force him to look me in the eye while my dick was pressed against his belly. Force him to account for his actions, and then beg him to give me more.

  I could. I wouldn't.

  "Is that allowed?" he asked. "Aren't fishermen honor-bound to eat fish all day, every day?"

  "No," I said as I emerged from the pantry. "Some of us are vegetarians."

  "I doubt that," Cole replied.

  I did too but I enjoyed baiting him like this. Real talk—I enjoyed baiting him in all situations. Last night came to mind. But he was adorable when argumentative, all furrowed brows and aggressive gestures. Couldn't get enough of it.

  He had an unshakeable belief that he was always right, and it didn't matter whether he knew anything of the topic at hand. He walked on miles-deep layers of confidence and arrogance, but I suspected I was among the lucky few to have witnessed his vulnerability too.

  And then I reminded myself—once again—that he was leaving soon. He didn't have to say it. I knew. Work on his boat was coming along, and as soon as some high-tech piece of equipment came in from California, he'd set sail. I couldn't deal with the prospect of losing my new friend and the subject of my desire, and I wouldn't allow myself to ask him about it.

  Avoidance, my coping mechanism of choice.

  "It's true," I said. "There are entire coalitions of vegetarian fishermen—and women, of course—and they're gaining in popularity. I imagine they'll outnumber the carnivores within a decade." I gave him an earnest nod. "It will make catering at the conferences a real challenge."

  Cole's forehead wrinkled as he scratched his chin. He'd taken to letting his sandy beard grow out for several days before trimming it down to scruff, and that beard had a starring role in my favorite fantasies. I'd imagined it on my neck, my chest, between my thighs. Fantasies vivid enough to wake me with an erection that seemed to throb his name.

  Cole held up his hands, shaking his head. "I'm not buying it this time, Bartlett," he said. "I've gone along with one too many fish tales. I'm calling horseshit—no, fish shit—on this one."

  "Look into it," I replied with a stiff laugh.

  I set several jars and cans on the counter beside him. My fingers itched to stroke his thigh. See if it was as taut as I'd dreamed. Instead, I tossed a can of black beans from hand to hand. "Since we didn't make it to the market this morning, we're low on provisions," I said. "I can whip up—"

  "Let's just go out now," he said, shrugging.

  There were many things Cole still didn't understand about my world. Most notably, the closest twenty-four-hour grocery store was an hour away. "The market in town is closed," I said.

  "I know that," he replied impatiently. "We'll hit the little tavern instead. It's a short walk, right? It's just through the woods. Come on, you deserve a night off from cooking. Let me take you out. My treat."

  A surprised laugh bubbled up from my chest. "Are you asking me on a date, McClish?"

  Cole blinked at me and then glanced away. I forced another laugh as the question went unanswered for longer than I could manage.

  "I mean—" I started.

  "Yeah," Cole said at the same time, a devilish grin pulling up the corners of his lips. "I'll be a perfect gentleman."

  I crossed my arms over my chest and eyed him. My heart was pounding away, frantic and filled with cocksick hope. It required substantial effort to keep my expression neutral. "Couldn't if you tried."

  Cole hopped off the countertop. "Now I can't let that challenge go unanswered." He glanced down at his t-shirt. "Give me a minute to make myself presentable."

  "You're gonna need more than a minute," I said to his back as he walked away.

  I had to curl my fingers around the edge of the countertop to restrain myself from following. I wanted, with every ounce of me, to watch him strip his clothes off. I'd sit on the edge of the bed, staring while he revealed more and more of his perfect California surfer boy skin. I couldn't imagine sitting there for long. Once he was bare, I'd drag my fingertips up his thighs, over his hips, around his backside. I'd press my chest to his back and nudge my cock between his cheeks. Make it clear what I had for him. And I had so much.

  Without thinking, I thrust my hips forward, slamming hard into the cabinets. I cried out in a messy mix of pleasure and pain. The drawer handle speared into my balls, deflating my erection and driving an uncomfortable shudder through my body.

  "Aw, fuck," I said, groaning. With a hand between my legs, I rubbed away the ache. I couldn't erase the fantasy behind my eyes—and the reality of it down the hall—but it helped. Closing my eyes, I pushed a breath past my lips and imagined Cole's hand caressing me.

  "Hey. Are you okay, Bartlett?"

  My eyes popped open and I put both hands up. "What?" I snapped, staring at him on the other side of the kitchen. "What do you want, McClish?"

  "Whenever you're ready," Cole started slowly, "we can go."

  "I'm ready," I replied.

  I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready for any of this.

  11

  Watching

  v. When a fisherman's buoys are visible on the surface of the water due to a slack tide.

  Owen

  "What is the difference between baked stuffed lobster and the lazy man's lobster?" Cole asked, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. "You know, this is like ethnographic research. I should be taking notes."

  "I'm sure California is dying to know all about the way real Mainers live," I replied.

  "I'm sure of it," he murmured. "Foodie blog post waiting to happen." He snapped his fingers and pointed at the menu. "No vegetarian fishermen welcome here unless they're willing to settle on a side salad. Can't imagine that would satisfy you."

  Cole's eyebrow arched up as he spoke and it d
idn't matter what he was saying because I only wanted to grab him by the neck and kiss him. All I heard was satisfy, and that was it.

  "It's just a bowlful of chopped iceberg," I said through clenched teeth. "A slice of cucumber. Maybe a chunk of tomato."

  "Like I said, that wouldn't do much for you," he replied, gesturing toward me. "You're not a side salad guy."

  I met his gaze and held it for a long, challenging beat. I didn't give up so much as a blink.

  "Probably not," I finally conceded. "Neither are you."

  He leaned back against the booth, slowly nodding as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I see you've finally figured that out," he murmured. "Good."

  What the fuck are we talking about right now? The air around us was incendiary, and nothing else existed. Not the buzzing tavern, not my issues, not his impending departure. It was just us and all the tension in the world.

  And I couldn't handle it. I couldn't sit here and go round after confusing round with this guy when all I wanted was to feel his skin under mine.

  "The lazy man's lobster is a regular steamed lobster, but the meat has been removed from the shell. It's lazy because you don't have to crack the shell to eat it," I said, all the words rushing out in a burst. "The baked stuffed is in the shell and stuffed with breadcrumbs." I spared him a quick glance and went back to my menu. "You'd like the swordfish. Get that."

  "Would you repeat that?" he asked. "I need to write this down. I'm going to take this concept back to Silicon Valley and find someone to open a seafood restaurant with ninety-four different lobster preparations. Poke bowls are out, Maine lobster is in." He nodded several times. "I'll make a killing on it, but first you need to explain the rest of this menu to me. What in the world is a steamer?"

  "It's a clam. One that's been steamed," I said. "No more questions."

  "I'll hire you as my crustacean expert," he said. "Give you a cut of the profits."

  "No more questions."

  "I'll call it the Owen Bartlett House of Lobster," he continued.

  "No, you won't."

  "I will," he said. "I will and you'll be famous. Everyone will want to know the true story of this legendary lobsterman and I'll have to tell them about Talbott's Cove. You'll have reporters camped outside your house and sailing into your cove."

  I rolled my eyes. "You're not supposed to threaten your date."

  "You know, this isn't the first time I've received that feedback," he mused.

  "Not surprising," I murmured.

  Cole returned to his menu, humming and quipping as he reviewed The Galley's seemingly infinite seafood offerings, and he didn't notice Annette Cortassi approaching our booth.

  Annette was sweet like maple syrup, and I believed her picture was in the dictionary right beside the entry for "girl next door." She was the best of the best people and this town was better because she was part of it, but she harbored the belief that she could flip me like a split-level house.

  She was convinced we'd end up together as soon as I gave her a fair chance, and I was convinced she was delusional in that regard. I didn't think she took any specific issue with my sexuality but I was certain she saw me as subject to the power of her pussy.

  The implication that I'd abandon everything I knew to be true about myself was rather insulting, but she'd learned that trick from my mother. It drove me crazy, but I chose to ignore Annette's advances. I didn't hold them against her either. No reason to make an issue out of it when I was sure she'd get the hint soon enough.

  My mother was still getting the hint, but that was another issue for another day.

  "Quite the pleasant surprise to see you this evening," she said when she stopped at our table. "I never see you out after sunset anymore."

  Her fingertips trailed over my shoulder, and I bit back the desire to shake her off. She met my scowl with a sunny smile that glowed with real warmth, and then turned her attention to Cole.

  "Is this the new deckhand I keep hearing about?"

  "I prefer fishery intern," he replied, offering his hand. "Cole."

  "Cole," I said, gesturing between him and Annette. "This is Annette—"

  "Such a pleasure," she interrupted, taking his hand between both of hers. "It's wonderful to have you here, Cole. I hope you're enjoying your time in the Cove."

  Jealousy flared hot and fast, and I wanted to snatch his hand away from her.

  "Annette owns the bookstore around the corner," I said, not allowing him the time to reply.

  It was rude but I didn't care. He was here with me. We were having dinner together. This wasn't an opportunity for this town's single women to rub all over my friend. My deckhand. Houseguest. Whatever the fuck he was, he was mine and not theirs.

  "That I do," Annette chirped. "I can get you anything you want."

  Cole leaned back against the booth as he blinked up at her. Then his eyes flicked over her body. It was quick. If I hadn't been watching, I would've missed it. I wish I'd missed it.

  "Anything, huh?" he asked. "That's impressive."

  "Anything at all," Annette replied. "You name it, I'll get it."

  "It's funny," he started, his knuckles running along his jaw, "I can't remember the last time I read a physical book. I'm an e-book convert."

  Annette offered him a patient-but-mostly-impatient smile. "There's nothing like holding a book in your hands," she said. "Maybe you could stop by some time, and we can have a little chat about your interests. I might be able to recommend something new. Something you didn't expect you'd enjoy."

  I was ready to flip the table. Just lift that fucker up and throw it across the fucking room. And then I'd tell everyone listening that he was moaning in my ear night last night, after I gave him permission. It was my name he was calling when he came because he belonged to me.

  I'd do it, too. I really would. I couldn't sit here and watch all these days of falling for a man who wasn't meant for me come crashing down because the town sweetheart whipped out her vagina and wielded that thing like a Venus flytrap.

  "I'll keep that in mind," Cole said. His tone was pleasant, almost fond. As if he not only knew what she was implying but was actually making note of her invitation.

  The hell you are.

  "What about the book you're getting me?" I asked, dragging her attention away from him. "Where's my special order, Annette?"

  It was such a fucked-up move. I didn't want her—of course not—but the attention she was paying Cole had me seething with jealousy.

  "Oh, don't you worry, sugar," she replied, reaching out to squeeze my forearm. "It's due in next week." She tapped her chin and pursed her lips. "Come see me a week from Thursday. It should be in by then. We can take a look at the new arrivals, too. There are a few you might like. I'll set them aside. Wouldn't want anyone getting to them first." A group of women called to Annette from the bar, and she waved to them in response. "I have to get back. It's girls' night. You know how it is."

  "Not really," I said flatly.

  Cole caught my gaze and lifted his brows. "Not at all," he added.

  Annette glanced between us and threw back her head with a hearty laugh. "You two are a hoot. Just a hoot. I love it. You must be having a whole lot of fun together," she said before aiming a manicured finger in my direction. If you only knew, Annette. If you only knew. "Next Thursday. I'll stay open late for you."

  We watched while she retreated to her group, and I shot a glimpse across the table before turning my menu to the draft beer list. "So, that's Annette."

  "Dude." Cole barked out a laugh. "She's going to stay open late for you."

  The implied meaning was heavy in his words.

  "She has a few ideas about things." I blew out an irritable sigh. "I don't agree with all of them."

  "That's not an idea, my friend. That's a heat-seeking missile." He glanced to Annette's group at the bar. Every woman was staring right at Cole—even the married ones—and if they didn't get their ovaries off him, I'd throw the fuck down. "She wants to climb y
ou like a tree."

  "There will be none of that," I murmured, shaking my head as I reread the beers. As if I didn't have this list committed to memory after a lifetime in this town.

  "Yeah, I figured as much." Cole dropped his arms to the tabletop, laughing. "But she's under the impression you're bending her over a stack of books next week."

  "For fuck's sake, McClish, don't you think I know?" I snapped. "That's why you're coming with me."

  "You're looking to me for protection?" he asked, tapping the mint green polo shirt stretched tight across his lean chest. "I thought I wasn't allowed around knives or shotguns."

  "You're not," I replied. "But I need a buffer. I haven't been alone with Annette in ten years."

  He chuckled. "Based on the scene I just witnessed, she hasn't received the message you're sending."

  Bringing my fingers to my forehead, I rubbed my brows until some of the frantic energy built up inside my mind dissipated. I couldn't handle all this lust, jealousy, and aggravation in one evening. I wanted to drop my head into Cole's lap and let him drag his fingers through my hair until I forgot my name. I wanted him and that want was infinitely greater than sexual desire. I wanted to fuck him straight through the summer but I also wanted to wrap my arms around him and never let go.

  "I mean, she seems nice," Cole continued, "in a willfully blind sort of way. But then again, maybe she thinks you're playing hard to get. You aren't exactly an open book, my friend."

  "Fuck. You're right." I whistled for the bartender's attention. "JJ," I called to him. "Double whiskey on the rocks." I glanced back at Cole and found an expectant grin on his face. I held up two fingers. "Make that two double whiskeys."

  "I hate to be obvious," Cole started, "but is she aware that she isn't your type?"

  "Yes." I spun the salt shaker between my palms. "I don't hide who I am."

  "I wouldn't expect you to," he replied quickly. "But that only confirms my original suspicions about darling Annette."