Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 69365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
“Shoresies?” they question in tandem.
“People who belong on the shore and not on my trip.”
Much like the inquiring, the frowning is done together.
Yeah…I hate myself for finding moments like this irresistible.
They did it at bedtime when I considered not cuddling.
They did it again at breakfast when I declined to join them.
And now.
I should know better.
I should be able to do better.
Yet…yet… I find myself becoming slightly – like pearl in a shell small – addicted to something about them.
Not just separately either.
I mean together.
Zero is port, Garcia is starboard, and I’m the bow or stern depending on which way we need to go. They’re opposite sides, sure, but when they’re working together?
Literal.
Smooth.
Sailing.
And shit doesn’t get much sexier than that.
“You don’t anchor this far into the ocean, guppies.” My body continues backing up towards the area I need to grab my gear from. “We could use drift socks, but the water and weather don’t warrant it at this time. Now, if you two could please hold all further questions, so that I may change before that does, it would be greatly appreciated.”
Two slightly embarrassed expressions are flashed prior to me sassily strutting away towards the rear of the boat where all equipment is stored.
While I absolutely prefer free dive scouting missions – the type that don’t require me to look like a deep blue sea nightmare – I can and do have the equipment for ones like this. As nice as it would be for treasure to literally be floating near my feet when I get in, the combination of time, currents, and other natural elements moving shit around makes that impossible.
Okay.
Maybe not impossible but highly fucking improbable.
“Look for shipwreck markers first,” Garcia needlessly advises during my drysuit dressing. “There’s no need for heavy searching in the wrong area.”
“It’s not the wrong area,” murmurs Zero at the same time he posts up against the railing.
“The pieces might not be as obvious as you think. The wreckage is quite old, and the materials are severely weathered and-”
“And you are micromanaging me like you didn’t surf a ten-footer to recruit me for this because you know I’m the best.”
“You are.”
“I am what?” I teasingly poke and pull on my footwear. “I wanna hear you say it.”
Seeing Zero smirk out of the corner of my eye doesn’t distract me.
But it comes close.
He just has one of those smiles.
Those sweet, goofy, kiss me I’m a seal grins.
And I mean seal, not sea lions.
Those bitches are not to be fucked with.
Actually, I would be the sea lion in this trio.
“You are the best,” Garcia smoothly announces prior to shoving his hands into his navy shorts pockets, “but-”
“No backhanded compliments welcomed.”
“Time is a factor, Salay.”
Stuffing my head into the covering is accompanied by a twitched glare. “And so is respect.” We all remain utterly silent until I’ve finished tucking everything in. “Which is what I’m not receiving and what we both know I fucking deserve.”
“This is about protecting Zero.”
“I didn’t ask for protection,” he unhappily grouses. “I hit F1 for a little help.”
“Help that he went out of his way to get,” is propelled at him before my focus shifts back to the other person on board, “and help that you are paying me a shit load to provide. Now, how about you let me do the thing I get paid very well to do, the thing my father snubs his nose at me doing because it isn’t for the fucking local PD or feds, and mind your tone about it going forward before you too end up marooned on Isn’t Allowed To Speak to Salay Island?”
To no surprise, Garcia clamps his mouth closed.
Releases a heavy breath.
Begrudgingly nods and gestures a hand towards my gas tank that’s waiting to be slipped on.
“Unbelievable,” Zero dumbfoundedly whispers. “He just…backs down…to you…”
“Happens when your balls are bigger than this.” I wink.
Post getting my container where it needs to be, my eyewear on, and the piece that goes in my mouth actually there, I mentally give myself a once over to ensure I have everything I need for my first drop down.
There’s heavier gear for a longer search and seizure but that’s fucking pointless if we’re in the wrong spot.
And Mr. Technology swears up and down on the Steve Irwin shirt he has framed in his apartment that we aren’t.
The thing is…when it comes to treasure hunting in real life rather than a cartoon, there isn’t a big x marks the spot for where the shit is.
There’s actually rarely more than particular marine life to let you know you are even on the right course.
I tried to explain that.
He tried not to be distracted by my tits going into my swim top.
Using the yacht’s ladder, I gradually ease into the water, allowing beautiful colors to begin their assault almost immediately.
Every time I slip into the ocean’s grasp like this – whether its warm or cold – one word always comes to mind.