Chapter Seventeen
Josephine
Dean’s choice of booze? Epic. Dean’s choice of party music? Awesome. Dean’s choice of female friends? Lackluster.
The girls onboard the yacht were just as snooty and stuck-up as I’d feared they would be. The fact that my bikini came from Target would have probably sent them all into conniption fits. They were each decked out in name brands that even the most fashionably inept person would recognize: Berkin bags (because, duh, that’s a good choice for sailing), Michael Kors wedges, Chloé sunglasses, Chanel scarves, and dresses that cost four times my rent. Y’know, just casual outfits for the high seas…
They weren’t all bad, though. There was a tall, gorgeous black girl named Nadine. She and her friend, Kelly, both worked for a PR firm in the city. I got a good vibe from the two of them. I’ll be honest though, it’s mostly because they complimented my cover-up. Then there was Kensington Beatrice Waldorf III. (How’s that for a name?) When I joked with her about a nickname, she reluctantly offered up Kenzie. She was an accessories editor at Wardrobe Magazine and actively sneered when I mentioned I was from Texas.
“So you rode horses to school and all that?” she asked with a look of horror.
For two seconds, I couldn’t tell if she was being serious.
“Longhorns, actually,” Julian offered from where he stood a few feet away. He and Dean were busy popping the lids off beers so they could pass them out around the group.
Nadine and Kelly cracked up, but Kenzie shrugged and stared down at her phone, clearly bored.
Alrighty then…
After I had a cold beer in hand, I took a moment to explore the deck. I’d been on plenty of boats in my life, but none of them compared to the behemoth Dean owned. I had to squint to make out the top of the main sail; it was that tall. The deck was covered in polished teak and lined with clean, white cushions for lounging.
At the front of the yacht was a u-shaped seating area surrounding a built-in cooler, currently overflowing with wine and beer. A shallow walkway led around the u-shaped couch so that people could sunbathe near the bow of the boat. Something told me these New York girls weren’t about to ruin their flawless skin with a day in the sun and I’d likely have the entire lounge area to myself later.
“Josephine!” Dean called from the back of the boat where he was gathered with Julian and a few new people. I guessed they must have boarded when I was checking out the sunbathing spot.
“What’s up?” I asked as I ventured back toward them.
“Julian told me you’ve been craving a margarita.”
I felt my cheeks redden as my gaze slid to Julian. I had enough southern etiquette engrained in me to know that it was rude to start making drink demands at a party.
“No, no. I already have a beer and it’s more than perfect,” I assured him, even holding up the bottle to prove it.
Dean smiled. “Too late. George already turned on the margarita machine downstairs and now I’m craving one too.” He waggled his brows playfully. “Besides, I’m all about satisfying needs.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Dean was already talking to another guest and I didn’t want to be even more rude. Julian came to stand beside me and took the beer out of my hand. I glared over at him.
“You weren’t supposed to say anything,” I hissed under my breath.
“You deserve a margarita,” Julian said with a shrug.
“I just don’t want to be rude,” I said, watching him bring my beer to his lips and swallow back nearly half of it. I guess he assumed I didn’t need it anymore since I was about to get a much-deserved margarita.
“You couldn’t be rude if you tried,” he argued with a knowing smile. “Now what should we do? We have another fifteen minutes until we set sail.”
I scanned the boat. The girls were standing in a group near the bow, rifling through the wine options. Near the back, new guests were piling in, greeting Dean like an old friend. There were already ten or fifteen people on the boat and I only knew two of them. I felt like a fish out of water.
“Do you know many of these people?” I asked.
Julian scanned the crowd. “I recognize a few faces, but I’ve been out of New York too long.”
“Looks like it’s you and me then,” I said, catching his eye.
He smiled and I took a moment to study him there. He’d put on a ball cap once we’d stepped onto the boat. The shadow beneath the brim did its best to hide his hazel eyes, but they persisted, as bright and alluring as ever.
“Want me to take a few photos for your blog? Are you going to do a post about this?”
“Are you serious? Yes!”
I’d wanted to take photos the second we’d stepped onto the boat. I knew my readers would die over Dean’s yacht, but I’d been too embarrassed to broach the subject myself. I didn’t want Julian to think I was a dweeb.
“I didn’t bring my camera though,” I lamented, opening up my bag to confirm what I already knew to be true. I hadn’t wanted to take the chance that it would get wet. If it got damaged, it’d take me months to replace it.
Julian held up his iPhone. “I'll just use my phone. They won’t be perfect, but I’m sure you can tweak them once you get home.”
I nodded and dropped my bag onto one of the lounge chairs nearby. If I stood against the railing, most of the marina would be hidden off to the left. The water and the sky would make for a perfect backdrop for the first few photos.
“Who usually takes your photos?” Julian asked as I tried to strike a pose that wouldn’t be too obnoxious. I usually took photos when no one was around; I didn’t really need Dean’s girlfriends as an audience.
“Other than the day I helped you,” he clarified.
“My landlady,” I admitted with a sheepish smile.
He snapped two photos and then I tried a different pose. I stretched my arms out against the railing and smiled at the camera. I’d realized early on that my blog photos turned out best when I didn’t pretend to know how to model. There were a few standard poses: up close shot of the outfit accessories, subtle glance over the shoulder, active interest in something on the ground, and then a subtle smile that looked mysterious on other bloggers, but only ever made me look constipated.
“But I almost put an ad up on Craigslist the other day,” I mentioned.
“For a photographer?” he asked, clearly unimpressed. He lowered his iPhone as he waited for my reply.
“Yes,” I shrugged, “but then I realized that I’d probably end up on some fetish porn site or something.”
Julian laughed and shook his head.
“Uh, yeah, Jo, don’t hire a photographer off Craigslist.”
Clearly he didn’t understand how hard it was to find a photographer who would take photos for free.
“I just need to find someone better than my landlady. She takes the blurriest photos and I basically have to bribe her into taking them. Last week she made me listen to like two hours of her stories ‘from the homeland’ before she finally agreed. After thirty minutes, I ended up with three photos of my blurry face and about thirty photos of her thumb covering the lens.”
Julian laughed, his deep dimples driving me as insane as ever. He snapped a few more photos while I tried to focus on anything but his appearance. His face was already hard to behold, but somehow the baseball cap brought out a new layer of appeal.
“I can always help you, y’know,” he offered as he held his phone up for me to inspect the photos he’d just taken. I stepped closer and watched him scroll through them, ignoring the exhilarating feeling of being close to him.
“You say that now,” I joked, “but you’ll realize soon that this volunteer job has very few benefits. You just have to follow me around and snap as many photos as you can.”
“I can think of a few benefits,” he offered, with unmistakable lust in his tone.
I stared at his mouth, at the lips that had just formed those seductive words. They were right there, so close that I could reach out and steal a kiss. I inhaled once, slowly, and then convinced myself I’d read too much into his statement.
“Julian, less play-flirting. More snapping,” I said, helpless to prevent the smile spreading across my face as I stepped back toward the railing.
I peered over at him from beneath my lashes and waited for him to start taking photos. He didn’t. He stared straight at me with his eyes full of questions and his lips full of unspoken desire.
“Who said anything about play?” he finally asked.
It was his dark brow, subtly raised beneath the brim of his baseball cap that made my stomach dip low.
We were entering dangerous territory.