Yours: A Standalone Contemporary Romance Read online

  “Don’t mistake me, please. It sounds wonderful.” She leans back against the railing, squints behind her sunglasses at the brilliant sunlight bathing her face. “To go wherever you wish, do whatever you wish? That is your whole life?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “How do you afford it?”

  My turn to shrug. “The answer to that will only irritate you even more.”

  “I am not irritated. Only jealous, a little.”

  “It’s a good life. A little jealousy is natural.”

  She lifts her glass, and I clink mine against hers. “To a good life, then.”

  “To a good life,” I agree.

  There’s a lot I’m not mentioning, of course. Things I’d never tell anyone, even Leanne. She has been sailing with me since South Africa, four and a half months ago, and there’s things even she doesn’t know. There’s no sense burdening anyone with bullshit that can’t be changed.

  “I do not think I could do it, though,” Astrid says. She sips, and tugs at the strap of her halter bikini top, lifting her breasts up, then tugs the elastic beneath them, snugging those big, pale melons into place.

  I can’t help but watch, and I know Astrid is watching me watch.

  “Do what?” I ask.

  She gestures with her tumbler, the way I did. “Your life. I am driven to work. I have to feel productive. And besides, I did not choose cancer research for the excitement of it.”

  “No? Why did you, then?”

  “My father died of cancer. So did my aunt. It is a nasty thing, to watch someone die of cancer. I want to do my part to find a cure.”

  “Admirable.”

  I can sense her cornflower blue eyes cut to mine, sharp and speculative. “Admirable? Why does that sound like an insult?”

  “It’s not, I swear. It really is admirable. I respect you for having that goal, and for working as hard at it as I suspect you do.”

  “I do work hard. I am twenty-three, and I have completed my undergraduate and graduate university work. I will have my doctorate by the time I am twenty-five. By thirty, I will be the most sought-after research doctor in Europe. You watch, you will see.”

  “Damn, girl. You do have goals.” I really do respect the hell out of her for it, too. I’m not just paying lip service.

  She nods. “Of course. Without goals, how do you know where you want to go in your life? You would only drift, aimless, like a ship without a keel.” She looks at me as she says this. It’s a dig. Subtle, but a dig.

  “Not everything is as it seems, Astrid,” I murmur. I don’t owe her any explanations. “I have goals.”

  “Such as what?”

  Live to see thirty-one, or die trying? I don’t say this, though. “My goals aren’t the kind of thing you’d recognize as such. I don’t mean that as an insult, either. A person’s life, a person’s worth can’t be summed up by what they’ve done, what they’ve accomplished. It’s not that easy, to just…” I wave my hand in circles, “boil it all down to something that neat and simple.”

  “Perhaps not.”

  Astrid and I talk for the rest of the trip to Tortola, the topics shifting from philosophy to religion, politics, even to exes.

  We arrive at the marina and I gently pull us into a slip and tie us off. The Lagavulin is gone by this point—that bottle, at least—and the party sort of naturally breaks up. Mel and Vic and the couple from Connecticut head off to find another party. Carlos has Leanne enthralled with an unlikely sounding story about hang gliding in Brazil. Leanne cuts me a glance, and I acknowledge it with a nod; she subtly starts moving off the Vagabond and Carlos goes as well, helping her onto the dock. I watch them vanish into the crowds, Carlos still gesticulating with typical Latin ebullience.

  Astrid is on her third glass of whisky, and looking loose and happy. I take a seat beside her on the long, cushion-lined bench in the galley, sliding my arm behind her.

  She leans into me. “I thought you and Leanne were…” She circles a hand. “A thing.”

  “Not really. Sort of, but not really.”

  “What does this mean?”

  “It means we have an understanding.”

  “You are a thing when it is convenient for you both?”

  “Pretty much.” I twist so my back is against the cushion, pulling her closer. “It just means we’re not exclusive. She went with Carlos. She’ll come back in the morning, or if she decides she wants to hang here in Tortola with him for a while, then…whatever. I’m heading for St. Thomas tomorrow afternoon and she knows it. If she’s staying here in Tortola, she’ll drop by to get her things.”

  “And you wouldn’t miss her?” Astrid rests her sweating, mostly empty tumbler on my chest, peering at me curiously. “You seem to know each other well.”

  I shrug. “I’d miss her. We’ve sailed together for several months now. She made the Atlantic crossing with me. We’ve had some good times, and she’s a great companion. Smart, fun, easy to talk to, good looking, and a good sailor. But if she stays here, that’s her decision. I’d miss her, but it’d be her decision.”

  “And you’ve slept together, you and Leanne?”

  I nod. “Yeah. She’s a great lay.”

  This gets me a frown. “It’s a strange relationship. You speak of it so openly.”

  “It is what it is. She knows how it works as well as I do. We’ve talked about it. It was just her and me for a good month, from when we left South Africa to when we made landfall after the crossing. Just recently, Carlos, Mel, and Vic joined us. So Lee and I had a lot of time to just talk.”

  “And this?” Astrid’s eyes penetrate mine, her palm on my chest, near my neck. She’s referring to her and me. She’s tipsy, but lucid, sharp. She wants to know the score. “What is this?”

  “Whatever you want it to be, honey.” I take her glass from her and set it aside. I pull her up against my body, cup her ass and move in for a kiss, but stop short. I don’t take the kiss just yet. “It can be for tonight, or it can be for longer. You want to come to St. Thomas with me?”

  “But it is not a thing?”

  “If you want it to be a thing, it can be a thing.”

  “Until someone else comes along, you mean.”

  “Nope. If you and me are a thing, then we’re a thing. There wouldn’t be anyone else until we decided to go our separate ways.”

  “But it’s not a forever thing.”

  “Nothing is forever.”

  “Some things are.”

  “You’re headed back to Sweden for your doctorate, yeah?”

  “Yes.”

  “You looking for forever?”

  “Not really, but—”

  “Then why are you asking about it?”

  She shrugs; it’s a cute, endearing gesture. “Good point. I tend to get philosophical when I’ve been drinking.”

  “My philosophy is, when a good thing comes along, enjoy it for as long as you can.”

  “And what does this mean for me?” This comes out sultry, her hips bumping against mine.

  Oh man, she’s game; hell, yeah. “It means you’re a really good thing, and I’d like to enjoy you for as long as you want it to last.”

  “That was a good line.” Her lips brush mine, but she’s holding back.

  I go in for the kiss, and she responds eagerly. Knowing this kiss is just the beginning, I take her hand and lead her to my cabin. Neither of us are wearing much, so it doesn’t take long to shed the little we have on, and then she’s moving on top of me and I’ve got a handful of her slippery Slavic blonde locks, showing her how I like her to move. She takes what she wants, shows me how she likes it. She moves hard and fast, using her fingers to get herself there faster. Takes my breath away, when she gets there. When I find my own release, my heart hammers hard, and I get dizzy.

  My heart is thumping so hard it hurts, and that’s a really bad thing.

  Astrid is limp on top of me, and normally I’d welcome it, but I can’t breathe. I don’t want to worry her, so I t
ry to make it casual, the way I roll her off. Then I tug her against my side so she’s in the nook, close, but no longer lying on my chest, not pressing against my lungs. She’s on the right side, so she can’t feel how mad my heartbeat is. I hold her, and focus on square breathing.

  Square breathing is a technique I learned years ago to slow my heartbeat: deep breath in through my nose, hold it for four seconds, deep breath out, hold it for four seconds. Repeat until my heartbeat evens out.

  It doesn’t take long for me to realize that Astrid is out, the combo of whisky and an orgasm taking her under. I slip my arm out from underneath her, go to my collection of stupid little orange fucking bottles. It’s a sizable collection, most of which shouldn’t be mixed with booze, but fuck it.

  That’s my real philosophy: Fuck it.

  I take the pill I need, pour another drink, down it, and get back in bed with Astrid.

  It’s only late evening, but it’s been a long day, so I let myself slide under the veil of sleep.

  At some point, Astrid wakes me up, and we go another round.

  When I wake up again, it’s dawn, and she’s gone.

  She left a note: You are wrong about one thing, Lock: the only true measure of a person is what they do with their life.

  Ouch, that’s a little rough, Astrid.

  But goddamn if she isn’t right. The problem is, it takes time to accomplish anything worthwhile.

  And time is the one luxury I do not possess.

  * * *

  Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

  Four weeks later

  Funny how things work out. Leanne and Carlos are, as Astrid would have put it, a thing. And they’re both aboard the Vagabond with me. Astrid left after that first night and I haven’t seen her since. Leanne is now with Carlos. Which leaves me…with Mel.

  We hit St. Thomas for a while, but that played out pretty quick, so we decided to head for Rio to see if we could find a good berth for Carnival. I’m not exactly jealous of Carlos and Leanne, but it’s not what I expected. I’d thought things with Astrid would run their course, and the thing with Leanne and Carlos would do the same, and then things would go back to the way they were: me and Leanne, sailing and fucking.

  It was a good system.

  But, like I told Astrid, I can’t be jealous since Leanne and I had agreed we didn’t have a thing going, that we had an understanding.

  I’m not jealous, because we didn’t have a thing, and now she and Carlos do.

  They have a really good thing, actually. And that’s what pisses me off.

  Leanne told me, back in South Africa, that she was running away from her old life, from everyone, from a good thing gone bad. She didn’t want to take anything seriously. Just take me wherever you go, she’d said. We’ll have a good time and eventually I’ll find somewhere to be, or I’ll head back to Jo-burg.

  Leanne is a hell of a bartender, so she can find work anywhere. Carlos is—I don’t know. Someone with his own money and plenty of time to kill. He’s cool, he’s suave, and he’s got good stories.

  And shit, man, that was my role.

  But I ain’t mad at the guy. Apparently he’s got good game, landing a running-wild chick like Leanne. They’re talking about staying in Rio after Carnival, since of course Carlos has a line on a good place for lease right near the beach, close to all the bars where Leanne can get a job, and he can work from anywhere.

  I can only watch them make plans, watch them solidify the good-thing status of what they’ve got going on.

  Mel and I aren’t really a thing. We kick it, but she’s only in it for the temporary pleasure. Once the golden sheen of fresh sex fades to a patina, she’ll go her own way.

  And I’ll be alone.

  Which is cool.

  Totally cool.

  Right now, we’re hiking in the rain forest outside Rio. Not a real hike, just sort of walking around. Carlos knows the area well enough to not get lost, so he’s in the lead, Lee tagging behind him. Mel is with me and we are a few paces behind them. It’s slow going for me. Hiking is hard with my condition. I can do it, but I have to be careful. If I’m going to buy the farm, I don’t want it to be all sweaty and gasping on a hillside. If it’s gonna happen, I want to be doing something cool and badass, like on top of a mountain, or cliff diving, or in bed with a hot chick. You gotta make the risks worth taking; that’s the secret to living the way I do. Go big or don’t do it. Hiking? Meh. I’d rather sit on the beach, drink whisky, and watch the honeys sashay on the Copacabana.

  Or…

  “Hey, Carlos.” I jog to catch up. “You said you went hang gliding around here, didn’t you?”

  He pauses, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “Yeah, it was a long time ago but, yes, I did.”

  “That sounds like fun. You want to try it again?”

  He hesitates long enough that I wonder about the veracity of the story. “Sure. Why not?”

  Leanne shoots me a look. “Hang gliding? Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “A little, sure. But that’s the fun of it.” I wink at her—why does she care?

  She’s watched me do some crazy shit in the months we’ve been sailing together, so she knows my penchant for adrenaline-rush activities. She watched me jump off cliffs, watched me swim with sharks, watched me windsurf in some crazy-ass weather—if it’s crazy and dangerous, I’ve done it. And she’s hated it every single time. She doesn’t get my addiction to the thrill, and I’ve never bothered to explain to her. She’d just try to mother me, worry about me, tell me to take it easy and remind me to take my pills and not drink so much. She’s got the worry-gene, and I don’t need that shit. We do not have an exclusive, committed thing. We’re friends, sometimes with benefits, and nothing more. So I keep her in the dark as much as I can.

  She knows something’s up, though, and I let her wonder. I don’t need the pity, don’t need the compassion, and don’t need the added worry.

  The next day I talk Carlos into taking me somewhere where they rent hang gliders. We get set up and then it’s a long drive up a fucking massive hill, hang gliders strapped to the roof of the ancient SUV. Lee and Mel are with us in the SUV, but they’re not flying with us. The driver will take them back down the mountain, and we’ll all meet back at the condo Carlos and Lee are renting.

  The drive takes a long-ass time, but we finally reach the summit where the hang gliding company has a sort of runway set up on a cliff overlooking the rain forest. The forest is a wide green rolling crescent spreading in every direction, huge hills jutting up around us, the city itself perched on the edge of the beach, inching up into the hills and following the curve of the bay. I’m only half-listening to the safety instructions—I’m fixated on the sights below.

  The view is glorious, and that’s what this is all about. It’s what my entire life is about. Take it in. Memorize the beauty, absorb it. Let it fill the spaces in my heart, let it coat the cracks in my soul.

  Behind me, Carlos is hemming and hawing at the pointed questioning of the driver.

  “You’ve never been hang gliding have you?” I say, not looking at him.

  He grins sheepishly. “I did, but it scared me shitless.”

  “That’s when you know you’re alive,” I say.

  The driver pulls into the parking area and helps us get the gliders off the SUV. He does a credibly thorough safety check and then he gestures to me and Carlos, indicating he’s ready when we are.

  We get strapped in and I squeeze the handle hard with both hands. Then I run to the edge of the cliff and jump off like someone with something to prove. I kick off hard and immediately feel the wind catch the wings of the hang glider, lifting me up, up, up. The ground falls away, and I see the forest way down below, hundreds of feet beneath me, and I’m howling at the sky like a fucking wolf, feeling the wind in my face and freedom all around. I push one side of the handle a little to angle downward, and my stomach lurches into my throat as I dip and soar. I bring it around, lift up, catch the wind and rise. Rise. Rise.<
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  The bright sun is blinding, but once in a while I can see people like dots way down below. No one around me up here. No condition. No mountain of pills. No deadlines. Just me, the hang glider, the wind, the sun…freedom. The fear in my veins reminds me I’m alive. Knowing the wind could smash me down into the forest tells me this is crazy, this is dangerous. I could die any second. But fuck it, I’d rather die happy, soaring wild and free like a hawk, like an eagle, soaring above everything.

  This is everything to me. The rush. The freedom. Nothing else matters in this moment.

  I’m alive, at this moment.

  * * *

  I skipped the meet-up at the condo and went back to the Vagabond.

  Alone.

  Shit with Mel had run its course anyway and we both knew it. It had been a short course, and not all that great to begin with, since our chemistry was only marginal at best.

  My plan now is to go for a swim, get wasted, and then head south in the morning. Maybe see if I can hit the Straits of Magellan, make the long as fuck trip north to Cali. I’ll pick up a temporary crew somewhere along the way.

  I shower after my swim and then hop out, toweling off.

  I go to take my pills and there she is, just sitting on my bed, staring at me, watching me pop one pill after another, washing them down with Perrier.

  “Lee—Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.” I take the last pill; cinch the towel around my waist.

  Not out of modesty, since Leanne and I have spent plenty of time together naked; it’s more because I sense she wants to talk. Which is hard to do with any seriousness when one is buck-ass naked.

  “What’s up, buttercup?” I run my hands through my short blond hair so it’s spiked up and messy.

  “You’re an idiot.”

  “Well, let’s not beat around the bush, shall we?” I sit beside her and offer her the green glass bottle of sparkling water. “That’s not really news, babe. Hate to break it to you.”

  She takes a sip, hands it back. “Not like that. I mean, yeah, you’re an idiot. You take too many risks. You obviously have a death wish. That’s not new, and that’s not what I’m talking about.”