Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
“We had a boat, but it wasn’t anything like that. It was a shitty little cabin cruiser, and we lived on it full time.”
“Really? That sounds so cool!”
“There are parts that are nice. When you’re out on the water and the weather’s like this, it’s fucking beautiful. But most of the time it’s just dirty, cramped, and something is always damp.” He flashes a cocky smile. “I’m not just better looking than those other two. I’m also a fucking pirate.”
“Pirate. Sure. Yar harr harr.”
His gaze drifts down the river, focused on something I don’t think we can see. “My father ran drugs for the cartels. He didn’t sell personally, but he’d take shipments and deliver them along the coast. Stellar fucking role model, obviously. I know all the best spots to land up and down the coast out there. I’ve had to smuggle bags of cocaine under my fucking clothes, because they almost never search the kid.”
“Ran? He doesn’t do it anymore?”
“He got caught when I was sixteen. I spent a year and a half in juvie before I aged out. It sucked, but it’s the only reason I managed to graduate high school. He was still in jail last I knew.”
“Do you ever visit?”
He shakes his head, like he’s trying to dislodge the memory. “To say what? Thanks for doing your best to fuck up my life? Sorry, this was supposed to be fun.”
I lean into his side, snuggling under his arm until he’s forced to put it over my shoulders. “I didn’t exactly grow up with a father of the year either. He didn’t train me to be a drug mule, I’ll give him that much, but he was in jail for my whole third grade year, and again for a couple years when I was in middle school. I remember visiting him once, but that’s it. I only really knew about it because the other kids’ parents would talk, and then the kids would make fun of me.”
“That’s shitty.” He covers my hand with his.
“Is it funny that it never really bothered me? Mom and Dad acted like it was just a thing that happened sometimes. When you grow up with it, it feels normal.”
Riptide nods. “Were you close to your mom?”
I consider the question. “Yes and no. It was her and me against the world for my whole life, but she wasn’t a mom mom if that makes sense. Now that I’m a little older, I can see how she loved me, but probably just wanted to be Dad’s old lady. Being a parent all the time was exhausting for her. She lived for his visits. I think both of my parents love, or loved, me in their own way, but it wasn’t the warmest home to grow up in. I had a lot of time on my own. What happened to the boat?”
Riptide mouths ‘boom’, and mimes an explosion with his hands. “The cops impounded it, but one of the people Dad worked for must’ve rigged it to blow. Made the news even. I was fucking glad.”
The boats glide away from us, the big sailboat in front and the little ones still behind it, like a swan with its babies. The bridge squeaks and grinds again as it starts to lower.
“If there’s one good thing that man taught me, it’s that family’s earned, and he never managed to do that with me. So I couldn’t fucking care less about how he’s doing, as long as he doesn’t come for me.” Riptide leans back onto the bench, tilting his head so he’s looking up into the tree. He lets out a tired exhale.
I climb up into his lap, straddling him and resting my hands on his broad pecs. He tilts his head back so he can see me, looking curious. “What'cha up to?”
“Cheering you back up.” I have to get up on my knees and stretch, but I plant a brief kiss on his lips. “Inducting you into the shitty dads club. Membership: you, and me.”
He laughs at that, then pulls me close for another kiss. This one is deeper and a little more urgent, enough so that I gasp when we break apart.
“If I’d known all it took was a lifting bridge to turn you on, I woulda brought you to one earlier,” he teases.
“Why? Has it been that hard to turn me on?”
He looks away just for a moment, before finding me again. “You know you’re playing with fire, right? Sitting on top of me like that, kissing me like that.”
“Here? In public?” I glance around us. The bridge is high enough above us that unless someone’s physically standing on it and looking down, they probably wouldn’t see us. Definitely not the cars driving by. The tree blocks the view from the parking lot, and we’re a little down a hill anyway. For being in the middle of the city, it’s strangely private, even if it’s fully public.