Xavier

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I glanced over at Low as we approached the seaplane: she sank lower in the seat, tugged her hat brim down, and settled her bug-eyed sunglasses higher on her nose. Was she shy? She didn’t seem shy, but for some reason her body language indicated, as best I could read, that she was uncomfortable in this situation for whatever reason. Was it me? Was she a recluse? She had allowed me aboard, and was willingly spending time with me, so it didn’t follow that she was a recluse.

I knew I would not be able to figure it out or understand on my own.

“Are you uncomfortable in some way?” I asked.

She shrugged one shoulder. “You said it would be just you and me. I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone else.”

“It’s just my brother and Claire. We’re only staying long enough so that I can borrow Brock’s fishing supplies.”

She hesitated, and then sighed. “Okay.”

I slowed the boat to a stop as we pulled alongside the seaplane; Brock and Claire were sitting on the float, fishing poles in hand. As we stopped, Brock waved, and Claire wiggled her fingers at me.

“Nice boat, Xavier,” Brock said by way of greeting.

“It belongs to my friend, Low,” I said, gesturing at her. “Low, this is my brother Brock, and this Claire.”

“Nice to meet you,” Low murmured.

Claire’s brows drew down as she glanced at Low, but then Brock hopped up onto the float and reached into the open door of the airplane. He withdrew a tackle box and two fishing poles, with bobbers and lures already set, the hooks latched onto the eyelets near the reel so the lines wouldn’t dangle or tangle. He handed these to me and I set them onto the backseat of the boat behind Low and me.

“Didn’t know you liked fishing,” Brock said, smirking at me.

“I do not enjoy it as a sport or activity by itself, but I do enjoy an opportunity to sit in the sunlight with my new friend. This activity provides a diversion to pass the time.”

“Where’d you guys meet?” Claire asked.

“I was running, and she was doing yoga,” I answered.

“What he means,” Low put in, “is that I fell and hit my head, and he helped me.”

Claire was still frowning at Low. “You look familiar.”

Low shook her head, an uncomfortable, tight smile on her face. “I’m new to Ketchikan, just here for a little vacation. I’m sure we’ve never met.”

Claire shrugged. “Well, whatever. Enjoy the beautiful day!”

“Thank you,” Low said, relaxing a little. “You too.”

Claire began squealing excitedly just then. “I’ve got one! Brock, Brock, Brock! I’ve got a fish!”

Sure enough, her pole was bent almost double, and the reel was singing as the fish ran out the line.

“Start reeling, baby!” Brock said. Claire started reeling, but the wrong direction. “No, babe, the other way. Reel it forward, Claire.”

“Shut up, it’s an honest mistake. I want the fish to come to me, so I figured I’d have to reel it toward me.” She was reeling and reeling, giggling and cackling. “God, this is hard!”

“Lift the tip, Claire—no, like point the rod toward the sky and pull backward and then reel like crazy,” Brock said.

Claire did as he instructed, but shot Brock a saucy look. “I’m gonna lift your tip as soon as Xavier and his girlfriend leave.”

“Yeah, right into your mouth.”

“Really? What am I gonna do, kneel down on the water like a blowjob Jesus?”

“HERESY!” Brock shouted, laughing. “That’s got to be, like, at least fifty Hail Mary’s.”

“I stopped being Catholic a long-ass time ago, babe. Me and Jesus have an understanding.”

“Yeah, he understands that you’re a dirty slut.” Brock tossed his rod into the doorway and snatched Claire’s rod from her. “You’re not reeling, Claire! You’re gonna let the fish get away!”

Claire watched as Brock fought the fish, which by all appearances was a rather large one, and then turned to straddle the float, reaching for Brock’s fly.

Glancing at me, she winked. “I’d motor that boat on out of here, kids, it’s about to get nasty.”

Low’s head swiveled and she fixed me with a stare I could feel through her sunglasses, and then she turned to glance back at Brock and Claire. “She is not about to—oh, yep, she is. Wow. Okay, ummm, Xavier, she’s—wow. I mean, damn, girl, way to deep-throat, holy shit.”

I wasn’t watching, as I’d learned very quickly that Claire and Brock had no qualms about their sexual activity, and when Claire wanted Brock, she didn’t care who was around. “Just…look away, Low. That’s just how Brock and Claire are.”

I already had the boat puttering forward and away before Claire warned us, but not before I heard Brock start to curse. Once we were a few feet away, I nudged the throttle forward a bit, still slowly so as not to create a wake.

“That’s a big motherfucking fish, Claire!” Brock said, clinging to the strut of the wing with one hand and lifting the fish on the line into the air with the other.

Claire’s response was unintelligible, sounding something like “omph-oh, om-uh-omph,” which could have meant anything.

“Would have been kind of funny if you’d sent a big wake to knock them over,” Low said, glancing at me with a smirk.

“I suppose that would have been humorous. I did not think of that.”

Low shook her head. “So they’re…open.”

I shrugged. “Yes, they are rather blasé about conducting sexual encounters regardless of whomever may be watching.”

“Is all your family like that?” Low asked.

I shook my head. “No, not at all. There is a lot of sexual innuendo flying around pretty much constantly, but no one is willing to do whatever whenever the way those two are.”

“I mean, she just started sucking him off right then and there. You’re his kid brother, and they don’t even know me!”

“Well, she did warn us.”

“Still, that’s a little…kooky, if you ask me.”

“My family is…far from normal.”

“I didn’t mean for that to sound so insulting.”

I smiled at her, hoping it was a reassuring smile. “I did not take it as an insult. My family, as I said, definitely falls within the definition of kooky. Particularly Claire. She is very…aggressively and openly sexual, I suppose one might say.”

“Yeah, that’s for sure.” She glanced back once more. “Wow, she’s still going.”

“I have a feeling they will spend more time fornicating than fishing.”

She turned to me with an odd look in her eye. “I mean, except for the part about having an audience, I think that actually sounds…fun.”

I blinked at her. “I…um…”

How was I supposed to respond? Was that an innuendo directed at me? A joke? A direct come-on? I had no clue how to interpret her expression nor her words. A roiling in my stomach and a tightening in my jeans and the thunder of my heart made me aware that I was hoping, absurdly, most likely, that she meant it as a direct come-on to me, that she wanted that with me. But how to know? If I acted on that assumption and was wrong, I would be mortified beyond all comprehension.

“We are approaching the spot I have scouted out as the best location for potentially catching fish.” I knew my cop-out response was cowardly, and hated myself for it.

My head was buzzing with thoughts, wishes, desires, fears, doubts—a swirling maelstrom of them.

How could she want me? That’s ridiculous.

But yet…she met me on the boat clad in nothing but a partially tied scrap of silk, so surely that meant she did not—at the very least—mind me seeing her in a state of undress, which would logically lead one to theorize that she also felt a measure of attraction to me. She has put her hands on me, innocently, albeit, several times; does that hint at potential desire?

What about her reticence to meet my brother and Claire, and her obvious discomfort around them?

Her latest comment contained more than one potential meaning and inference, all of which would lead me to theorize she felt some kind of chemical, physical attraction to me. But how could she be attracted to me? I’m so awkward, so unsure. I am not at all confident like Bast, or Zane, or Bax. Or any of my brothers, really. Women are attracted to confidence, I have read—so how could she be attracted to me, when I lack that kind of direct, alpha male bravado?

Perhaps I could fake it.

Perhaps if I did, she might be attracted to me.

And if she were to be attracted to me, she might be inclined to pursue a physical relationship with me. Which I want.

But also, I am scared of that.

I doubt very seriously my own ability to carry out such a thing, to go through with it, to allow it. Any kind of physical contact is difficult for me, even my own. Her hand on my arm nearly sent me into a paroxysm of discomfort.

But yet…there was something beneath that discomfort, a sizzle, a tingle, a fleeting, ephemeral sense of…perhaps. Of potential pleasure. A lessened discomfort at her hand on my skin.

“Xavier?” Low’s voice was confused.

I was jolted back to awareness, and realized I’d stopped the boat and had been staring into nothingness, lost in my thoughts.

“My apologies. Sometimes my own thoughts consume my attention to the exclusion of all else.” I glanced at her. “You appeared noticeably uncomfortable around my brother and Claire. May I ask why?”

We were bobbing in the middle of the channel, and I powered the boat forward, taking us past Beaver Falls where it was unlikely we would see any other people. Low didn’t answer my question right away. It wasn’t until I chose a spot a few hundred feet offshore and shut off the boat that she spoke again, several minutes after I’d asked the question.

“I guess it’s just that my job requires me to be around people constantly, and I came up here to be alone.”

“You are with me, are you not?”

She smiled gently. “That’s different.”

“It is? How?” I produced the fishing poles, stood up, unhooked the lure from the eyelet, and cast the line far out into the water, and then handed the pole to Low. “The little round yellow and orange thing floating on the water is called a bobber. If it dips underneath the surface of the water, it means you have a fish on the line, and you should rotate the knob and handle on the side of the reel forward, away from you, as you saw my brother do.”

She nodded. “Easy enough.”

“That is literally all there is to it.”

Low and I sat in silence for a while, and I began to think she’d forgotten my question again.

“It’s different because…” She glanced at me, pausing. “Because I like hanging out with you.”

“You do.” My words were caught between a question and statement, not quite either one.

“Sure. Of course. I wouldn’t be here, otherwise.”

I cast my own line on the other side of the launch. “What would you be doing, if you weren’t here with me?”

She toyed with the rod in her hands, idly clicking the reel forward a single click at a time. “I don’t know. Reading. Watching a movie.”

“Which movie would you watch?”

She leaned back and kicked her legs out, propping them up on the side of the boat, only barely holding on to the rod, relaxed. “I don’t know, off the top of my head.” She pushed her hat brim up so the sun shone directly on her face. “Something mindless and fun. Maybe something a little sexy.” She said this last part with a long glance at me.

I cleared my throat. “Something…sexy. Alone?”

She turned her eyes to the bobber on the end of her line. “Sure. It’s fun.” She nudged my calf with the toe of her boot. “What about you? What would Xavier Badd be doing if he was alone right now?”

“Reading a book on quantum mechanics and building my little robots.”

“What kind of robots do you build?”

I shrugged. “They don’t really do anything useful.” I felt myself relaxing into the conversation, evidenced by my use of a contraction. “They are more for fun, for amusement.”

“What do you mean? What do they do that’s amusing?”

“Have you ever seen a wind-up toy? Like those little swimmer toys that go in the bathtub? Or the monkeys that clap their hands? A range of movement or motion limited to a single repeated behavior? My robots are somewhat like that.”

“And what is quantum mechanics? I know quantum means, like, things are relative. The cat in the box that is neither alive nor dead until you look at it.”

“The Schrödinger’s cat thought experiment, yes. That is part of it, the uncertainty principle.” I went on to explain the basics of quantum mechanics, and found myself lost in the fascinating details.

Eventually, Low reached out and put her hand on my shoulder. “I’m afraid you lost me at ‘quantization of energy,’ Xavier,” she said, laughing. “You’re making me feel dumb.”

I blushed, stumbling to a stop in the middle of explaining the correspondence principle. “Oh. I—I apologize. I myself am somewhat like a wind-up toy, in that respect. Wind me up on certain topics, and away I go.” I noticed her hand had slid from my shoulder to my forearm, resting there with familiarity. “I did not mean to make you feel that way. I truly am sorry.”

She just laughed. “I don’t know how many people could listen to you talk about quantum mechanics and not feel at least slightly stupid.”

“It is a matter of education, not intelligence. I believe you are a vastly intelligent person. You simply do not have the basis of knowledge in physics to follow what I was lecturing you about.” I laughed, shaking my head. “What fun, eh? Sitting in a boat, fishing, and being lectured about quantum mechanics. If anyone should feel dumb, it is me.”

She slid across the bench seat closer to me. Her hip bumped mine, her shoulder brushed mine, and her hand, once on my forearm, slid to my knee. “I’m having a good time.”

My heart hammered in my chest. Her proximity made my head swim, made my pulse slam out of control, made my whole body feel too tight. The region between my belly and thighs, behind my zipper, was aching in a way that made it difficult to think.

I swallowed hard. “You are?”

She nodded, smiling at me. “I told you, I like hanging out with you.”

Say something direct, Xavier, I told myself. Say something bold.

“I…I like you—um, hanging out with you, too…I mean.”

Her head tilted to one side. “Why’d you change your answer? I was fine with the first one.”

“I…well…both are true. I like you. And I am enjoying our time together this morning.” I felt a swell of pride in my chest just from that tiny bit of directness.

Discussing myself, my feelings, what I wanted—these were usually impossible for me. I’d spent my whole life trying to be invisible, to avoid being noticed, to seem normal, to fit in, even slightly.

We sat in easy quiet, listening to the birds sing, watching our bobbers, as the sun moved slowly across the sky.

The silence was broken when Low squeaked as her pole was nearly yanked out of her hand. “Oh! Oh my god! I think I have a fish!”

I was shocked out my thoughts at her sudden outburst of excitement. Her pole was bent nearly to snapping, and she was standing up and being pulled forward in the boat, having a hell of a time merely holding on. Whatever she’d hooked, it was huge.

“Give it line,” I said. “Don’t reel it in. It’s too big—it’ll snap the line.”

“How do I do that?” She was holding on to the rod with both hands, panicking, now.

I tossed my own rod to my feet and, without thinking, stood up behind her and reached around her with both arms, taking the rod and pressing the button to release the line. I was effectively hugging Low from behind, her hair tickling my nose, her body framed by mine. Even as I focused on bringing in the fish, I was hyperaware of her—of her proximity, of her scent, of her warmth. Of the fact that, standing like this, her backside was mere millimeters from the front of my jeans, my zipper, and the aching beast behind it. I had never been so aware of myself in my life as I was in that moment, nor so aware of another person.

Low kept hold of the fishing pole with me, as if she’d forgotten to let go as I fought the fish, reeling it in and then letting it swim away, reeling it in and letting it go, tiring it out. She was leaning backward, now. On purpose? Shifting backward into me. Pressing her back to my chest, clapping as I brought the fish closer to the boat. Her buttocks were pressed flat against my groin, now. Could she feel the evidence of my excitement? I dared not move, for fear of drawing attention to my situation.

She gave no sign of being aware of it, if she was.

“You’ve almost got it!” Low said, laughing clapping. “It’s huge!”

“You do it, now,” I encouraged. “Reel it in. It’s tired out, so it should come in more easily.”

She took over and I let go of the rod, but didn’t step away. My head was spinning crazily—I was almost dizzy. Her scent was powerful—jasmine, today, and lavender, and coffee. Her body heat was radiating against me. Her buttocks felt…squishy and yet hard at the same time, pressed against the front of me, against my thighs and pelvis; an intoxicating combination. My hands were shaking, as if merely being this close to Low was causing the adrenaline to rush through me.

She reeled and reeled, and then pressed the button like she’d seen me do, letting the monster fish flip away a few feet, and then reeled it in again. The next time she gave it line, it just floated in place, not trying to swim away, exhausted now.

“Reel it all the way in,” I said.

The reel sang, and then the pole was bending over, the tip dripping as she lifted the fish, with no small amount of exertion, out of the water.

“Grab the line and lift it up so we can see it.” I dug my phone out of my back pocket and held it up, bringing up the camera as she held the monster fish up beside her. “Smile!”

Low’s grin of excitement faltered. “No pictures, please.” Her response was immediate and sounded almost automatic, or practiced.

I frowned. “I thought you would want a photograph of yourself with your first fish, which is a rather impressively large specimen.”

She stared at me, and then glanced down at the fish. And then a new smile flashed across her face. “Sure. Yeah, you’re right.” She held up the fish, smiling brightly, pointing at the fish with her other hand. “Cheese!”

I laughed as I snapped a few photos. “I’ve never heard an adult say cheese for a picture outside the presence of children. That was rather adorable of you, I must say.”

“Can I see them?” she asked, sounding anxious.

I handed her the phone and took the rod and the fish. “Is there something wrong?”

She sighed, lowering the phone to smile at me. “No, not at all. I’m just…I’m weird about having my picture taken.”

“I do not see why you would be.” I reminded myself to be bold, to be direct. “You are a devastatingly beautiful woman, Low. Any camera fortunate enough to capture your image is truly blessed indeed. And I, spending this time with you, am most fortunate of all.”

Low’s laugh was disbelieving, her smile so excruciatingly lovely I could no more look away than I could swim to Hawaii from here. “You have one hell of a way with words, Xavier.”

“It is nothing but the truth.”

“Well, thank you.” She held up the phone. “I’m going to send this to myself.”

“All right.” The fish flopped and wriggled on the line. “I’m going to release him, now, all right?”

“You know it’s a boy fish? How?”

I unhooked the fish and tossing it into the water, where it sank for a moment and then flicked its fin, darting away.

“Oh, no,” I said, laughing. “I don’t know its gender. That was merely an expression.”

I heard my phone bloop as the photo sent, and she handed the phone back to me. The message she’d typed to accompany the photo:

Xavier, I’m very private, so please do not share my phone number with anyone. But feel free to message me, if you want to.

I clicked the phone to sleep and put it in my pocket, casting a glance at Low, who was sitting down again, arm stretched out across the back of the seat, face tipped toward the sun, smiling happily.

“You seem to have some very specific feelings regarding privacy and solitude,” I remarked.

I sat down beside her, not casting the lines again just yet; I sat close to her, but not as close as she’d been a few moments ago, before the fish had bitten her hook.

She spoke without looking at me, face still tipped up to the sun. “Yeah, I guess I just like my solitude, and prefer to stay private.”

“I do not know your reasons for those preferences, nor shall I ask,” I said, hesitating over my next words. “But…I hope you will believe me when I say I will not ever do anything to violate your privacy. And if my presence ever begins to infringe upon your solitude, I trust you’ll make me aware? I would never wish to overstay my welcome in your presence.”

This got her to look at me. “Thank you, Xavier. It means more than you know to hear you say that.”

“Do you want to keep fishing?”

She shook her head. “No, not particularly. I’d rather just troll around in the boat, if that’s all right with you.” She grinned at me. “Although, that was pretty exciting.”

I put the rods away as Brock had done, and turned over the motor. “My brothers will not believe me when I tell them how large your fish was. They will say it is a fish story.”

She eyed me with a pleased grin. “It was pretty big, huh?”

I nodded. “Easily a foot long and nearly ten pounds. They will be quite jealous.” I watched her expression shift, the grin falling away at my words. “You seem unhappy again. Why?”

“You plan to show them the photo?”

I shook my head. “That would be breaking your trust, as I assumed you would not want me to share that photograph with anyone. So no, I will not.”

“What if they ask if you took a picture?”

I grinned. “A tertiary benefit to my unusually formal manner of speech is that others are frequently unable to decipher when I am lying.”

“I bet.” She poked me in the arm. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for someone who told lies, though.”

“I am not. I rarely have reason to.”

“That’s good,” Low said, her voice oddly inflected, in a way I couldn’t read. “Truth is good.”

I took her the rest of the way up the inlet, rounding the two islands and returning south again. We went slowly. We were both inclined to silence, it seemed, and it was not a tense or awkward silence, but rather a companionable one, in which we both enjoyed the beauty of our surroundings.

A shadow slid across the surface of the water and I glanced up; above us was a bald eagle floating lazily. I reached over and tapped Low on the shoulder, and then gestured to the massive, magnificent bird, which was only a hundred or so feet above us and clearly visible.

Low’s breath caught, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. “Wow! It’s…god, it’s huge!” She glanced at me in awe, grinning. She whipped her sunglasses off and shielded her eyes with her palm, watching as the eagle circled. “What do you think it’s doing?”

I shrugged. “Just circling, perhaps? I do not know. It may be tracking a fish.”

She clapped her hands. “Do you think we might see it catch one?”

“I don’t know. I have never seen that happen either. That would be exciting indeed!”

I slowed the boat to a stop and cut the engine, and we both watched the eagle soar. It just circled for a few minutes, and then floated down to settle on the branch of a tree jutting out over the water. We were within two hundred of feet of it, our boat bobbing in the gentle swells. For a long while, we just sat and watched the eagle. I was about to start the engine again when the eagle spread its wings, leaned forward, and with one powerful downstroke, took off, angled low, darting across the water.

“Oh my god! Oh my god!” Low said, in an excited whisper. “It’s—look, Xavier! It’s gonna catch one!” She reached out and grabbed my hand, her entire being humming with excited energy, a smile so wide and so bright her features were utterly transformed.

The eagle tucked its wings in, stooping down toward the water, and then, at the last moment, its wings slammed forward and its feet extended, wickedly curved talons grazing the surface—and then it struck, water splashing, its wings curving to catch at the air. It happened in a split second, the strike. And then it was beating its wings and streaking skyward, a huge salmon writhing in its talons. It flew across the channel and landed on a branch, its beak slicing into the luckless fish.

Low, laughing, leaned into me, her whole body catching up against mine. “That was amazing! I never thought I’d see something like that actually happen in real life!”

It was difficult to breathe. Her scent choked me, her heat suffused me, overwhelmed me. Her weight against me left my whole body trembling.

She pulled away to look up at me, mere inches away. Her eyes were so large, and so blue, and utterly hypnotic. I could feel her pulse. The softness of her breasts against my chest left me aching.

I was suddenly overwhelmed.

I fought it.

Don’t panic.

This is normal.

A part of me was deliriously overjoyed at her closeness, at the mere fact that a woman, any woman, was voluntarily this near to me, touching me. That she seemed to genuinely like me. That she was spending time with me, and didn’t seem put off by my quirks and strange speech patterns and formal syntax.

Another part of me was doubtful—what ulterior motive did she have? Surely she had one. Why else would a woman as obviously wealthy and worldly wise and beautiful want to have anything to do with me? Why would someone like Low deign to waste her time with an awkward, nerdy nobody like me?

Memories of a certain experience from high school bubbled up inside me. I pushed them away, but it was futile.

Have you ever been with a girl, Xavier? That sly, lascivious tone of voice, the way Brittany had slunk toward me, stalking, prancing, preening under my naive attention.

Do you like me, Xavier?

Do you think I’m pretty?

You want to touch me, don’t you? Go ahead, I don’t mind. In fact, I might even like it.

And then, moments after she’d said that, the knife had been inserted, directly into my back and twisted. A metaphorical knife, but no less painful. I clamped down on the memory, involuntarily tensing and shrinking away from Low.

Low frowned up at me. “Is something wrong?”

I breathed deeply in through my nose and out through my mouth, pushing away the panic the memory brought up. “No, it’s fine.”

Her hand was on my chest, resting directly over my sternum, and then sliding to cover my heart. “Your heart is beating really hard,” she murmured, still so close I could smell the coffee on her breath and the scent of her hair and feel her body heat. “Are you okay?

I didn’t know what to do with my hands. One hovered near her shoulder, the other rested on the side of the boat—I clenched my jaw and forced my hand to relax, to drift down and to settle on her shoulder. I felt the softness of her sweater, and the firmness of her bone and muscle and flesh beneath the fabric.

“Yes. I am well.” I sounded even more robotic and Spock-like than ever, because I wasn’t well.

I was in a bewildering daze of panic and sensation, memory and present, desire and fear. Her body was so close, pressed almost intimately against mine, leaning against me, gazing up at me. If this was a movie, the hero would dip down and kiss the lady, and she would lift up and wrap her arms around his neck, and he would do something clever that somehow removed her clothing without breaking the kiss. James Bond, were he in this situation, would lay her flat down on the bench, and her feet would wrap up around his back. She would laugh, lustily, as he kissed her with masterful skill.

I, being me, panicked.

“Low, I—” My breath caught, choking off my words.

She seemed to sense my distress and lifted up, but in so doing, dragged her breasts up my chest—even disguised by the thick sweater, it was clear she was exceedingly well-endowed, and I had a mental image of the way she’d looked earlier, on the yacht, those beautiful breasts only barely covered. That image was burned into my mind.

“Xavier, you have to breathe, you know.” She said this with a teasing laugh, her fingers tapping at my chest. “Breathe, Xavier. Take a breath.”

I gasped, her words reminding me that I had in fact stopped breathing.

She laughed again, breathily. “You told me you think I’m beautiful, but I didn’t think you meant literally breathtaking.”

My hand had been on her shoulder, resting on the slope of it, and when she had lifted up in concern, my palm had slid downward, so I could feel the strap of her bra underneath the sweater. This only made my distress worse. “No, I—I…yes, I meant it literally. You are so beautiful that you actually, in literal point of fact, make it hard for me to breathe.”

“Well, geez, Xavier, don’t, like, pass out, okay?”

“If you were somehow to become even the slightest amount more lovely than you are, I would pass out.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, Xavier.”

I frowned. “What?”

“The things you say. You’re gonna give a girl a complex.”

“What does that mean?”

She was so close, her nose was nearly nudging mine, and I felt the breath of her words on my skin, on my lips. “It means when you say things like that, I get…” she trailed off with a breathy giggle.

“What? You get what?”

“All fluttery inside. Nobody has ever said anything to me the way you say things.”

“It’s just the truth.”

“Flatterer,” she murmured, smiling.

“It is not flattery if it is truth.”

“Yeah, well…flattery can actually get you pretty far. As long as you mean it.”

“Where would it get me?”

Her hand drifted up my chest, and then her fingers danced through my hair. “I have a feeling you just may find out.”

My heart was crashing, skipping beats, staccato and arrhythmic. My lungs were squeezing, and my veins were on fire.

It seemed impossible to misread the intent behind her words, behind the way she was behaving with me. Dare I take the bait?

What if she was like Brittany, though?

God, the doubt, the fear, the panic—combined with the overwhelming barrage of sensations her physical proximity engendered inside me—it was too much. Too much.

“Low,” I muttered, her name falling from my lips. What did I want to say? I had no idea.

A buzzing overhead broke the moment. It was a loud buzz at first, and then a roar—the distinct sound of a double-engine airplane. I looked up to see Brock’s seaplane approaching. Low backed away from me, watching Brock’s passage overhead—he waggled his wings as he swooped down toward us, getting close enough that Low shrieked in fear, curling in against my chest, huddling into me until the huge red and white aircraft angled upward and away, heading southeast.

“He buzzed us!” Low shouted. “The jerk! That scared me!”

I only laughed. “He used to be, and still is, I suppose, a stunt pilot. He performed in airshows all over the world before coming back here.”

She eyed me. “Really? You said he flew an air taxi thing.”

“He does…now.”

“So he can do loop-the-loops and stuff?”

“Yes, among other much more complex maneuvers. I only say that so you know he was never in any danger of actually hitting us. He was in complete control. He just did it for a lark. Probably to force out of you the very reaction you displayed.”

She smirked, smacking my chest. “Playing literal wingman for his baby brother, huh?”

“Well I certainly didn’t put him up to it, but I suppose so.”

“Not like you need the help,” Low murmured, something I’m not sure I was meant to hear. She leaned away from me, now. “I’m hungry again. You want to head back?”

I tugged out my phone and glanced at the time, realizing we’d passed the entire morning away together out on the water, and that it was now well after noon. “I did not realize so much time had gone by.”

“Me, either,” Low said. “Hey, you like lasagna? I’ve got some my chef prepared for me. All I gotta do is heat it up.”

“That sounds good.”

“We could watch a movie.” She winked at me. “Maybe even something sexy.”

I felt my cheeks heat. “I have been watching something sexy all morning.”

Low’s grin widened, her laugh merry and intimate. “Boy, you are good.”

“It is merely—”

She licked her lips. “Merely the truth,” she said, interrupting me. “I know. You could give a masterclass in sweet-talking, you know that?”

“You bring it out of me. I didn’t know I was capable of it, until I met you.”

“What else do I bring out of you, Xavier?” Her eyes were serious, and sparkling, and iridescent, and full of heat and meaning and intensity.

“So much I honestly don’t know how to even express it all.”

“Try,” she breathed.

“I am.”

Low’s stomach rumbled noisily, then, and we broke apart with a laugh. I started the engine and guided us back toward Ketchikan.

After a few minutes, Low’s hand tangled with mine. My heart slammed in my chest hard enough I worried I was at risk for a heart attack despite my youth and fitness, but I didn’t let go, even as doubts haunted me:

Have you ever been with a girl, Xavier?

Oh my god, you’re so dumb it’s honestly adorable. You actually thought I meant any of that? You really are naive, aren’t you?

Have you ever been with a girl, Xavier?

That last one, especially, ran through my brain on repeat—the way she’d said it, the hidden ridicule behind it, which I’d only understood after it was all over, the thinly disguised cruelty behind everything in the whole scenario.

I ended up putting both hands on the steering wheel as I brought us to Low’s yacht, missing the feeling of her hand in mine, but too consumed by the doubts inflicted by memory to trust my own read of this situation with Low.

The doubts were winning.

I wanted to think she was genuine, that she really did like me.

But what if?

God, what if?

What if this was all another hoax, another game, another dare, another bet, another tease…

It was very elaborate, if it was.

What else could she mean? What else could be behind Low’s words and actions, behind the veiled hints and subtle cues, and some perhaps not so subtle, which I was too afraid of misreading to believe.

You really are naive, aren’t you?

You’re so dumb it’s adorable.

Have you ever been with a girl, Xavier?

You like me, don’t you?

Have you ever been with a girl, Xavier?

Again and again, I could hear Brittany’s words. Heard the hissing mockery behind it that I’d missed the first time around. The obvious pretense I’d been too stupid and naive and gullible to see, back then.

Was I doing the same thing now, with Low?

God, the desire I felt for Low was so potent it hurt. My zipper had been tight all morning, the excitement never abating even for a moment, even as we fished. When she touched me, innocently or not, my arousal throbbed to new levels of agony. When she’d pressed her backside to me, as I helped reel in her fish, I’d been dangerously close to the threshold of mortification. Merely from her presence. From accidental contact.

Was it accidental? Could she have done that on purpose?

I drove the boat up to the larger yacht, slowed, and then stopped as we approached the garage-type enclosure. After some investigating, I figured out how to get the boat inside, and then closed the door behind us. As the door in the side of the yacht slid down, I stepped out of the boat and extended my hand to help Low.

She reached out for my other hand as well, and I helped her step from the launch to the platform. With a stumble, she landed up against me, and I instinctively caught her. She was…so close. Too close. God, too close. I felt her breath on my lips, her breasts flattened against my chest, and my hands were in hers and her eyes were searching mine, and her scent was almost cloyingly strong—though I knew it was my sensitivity to sensation rather than through any fault of hers.

Have you ever been with a girl, Xavier?

I backed away, choking on memory, aching from the delirium Low’s proximity incited. Dizzy with a need and desire I couldn’t even begin to understand. What did I do with this desire? It was so furious, so intense. More than I’d ever thought possible.

“I…” My words caught in my throat.

I ached. God, I ached.

My hands clenched into fists as I fought the urge to flap them against my thighs—an instinctive reaction to being overwhelmed. I was one wrong move away from embarrassment, and I had to recite pi in my head until the furious volcano of pressure inside abated.

“I—I must—I must go,” I bit out, stepping away from her. “My apologies. Perhaps I could take a rain check on lunch and the movie.”

“Are you sure?” she said, frowning, extending a hand as if reaching for me, to stop me from leaving. “Is everything okay?”

“I…yes. I am well. But I must go. Thank you for spending your morning with me, Low, it was an honor and a pleasure.”

“If you’re sure you have to go.” She reached out, pulled me in and hugged me. “I had a wonderful time, Xavier. Thank you.”

Her scent was heady, intense. The hug was a wreath of softness and scent and heat, her breasts squishing against my chest, her back under my palms, her hair velveteen and silken and scented against my face.

I recited pi again, and this time I didn’t stop. I backed away, unable to even fake a smile. I waved, a stilted, awkward movement, and left. I was at the fiftieth digit of pi, and hit the dock running.

I was still reciting pi in my head when I got home, and locked myself in my room.

I got past the thousandth digit before I felt anything remotely resembling control of myself.