Happily Never After

“THIS IS ADORABLE.”

“Right?” Max straightened from where he was leaning against his truck as I got out of my car. “Disgustingly cute.”

Dear Lord, the man looked good in “casual date” clothes. He was wearing jeans, a nice black T-shirt that showed off the width of his hard chest, and dark sunglasses.

The man looked very good.

I wasn’t sad when he texted that morning to see if I wanted to meet up to get more pictures for social media. Spending time with Max was my new favorite thing, and if it helped his career and mine, I considered it a win-win.

“How do you know about this place? Do you take all your lady friends out for paddleboating?” I locked my car and we started walking toward the marina building. “Or is it pedal?”

“I think it’s referred to as paddleboating, but you have to pedal, so I’m kind of at a loss.”

“Same.” I glanced over at him. “Should I have changed? How intensive is the pedal situation?”

I was still in the black sheath and polka-dot wedges I’d worn to work. We’d agreed to meet at six thirty, so I’d come straight from the office.

“I’m glad you didn’t change, I like that dress,” he said, and even though I couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, I could feel them on me. “And you’ll be fine. We’re here for photos, not speed records.”

“True.” I could smell his cologne, and memories of his hotel room flashed through my mind as I attempted to not spontaneously combust while we approached the marina. “So your dad is really buying the boat?”

“He said he made an offer.” Max put his hand on my lower back as we walked through the arch that led to where the boats were tied up, and the heat of his fingers messed with my head. My brain wanted to linger and remember all the places those fingers had touched, but I snapped back into focus when he said, “I seriously can’t believe our plan is working, Steinbeck.”

“Me, either,” I said, squinting in the evening sun, wishing I’d brought my sunglasses. It was a warm evening, still in the eighties, and the sun was bright on the water.

He pulled tickets out of his pocket and gave them to the scrawny kid with the Mohawk manning the boats (his name tag said dewey), who looked at me and asked, “Do you want a pink one?”

I heard Max’s snort, which made me reply, “No, but maybe this guy does.”

“I would love a pink one, thank you,” Max said, his mouth sliding easily into a smile.

Damn, but he has a great smile.

“Would you mind taking a picture of us?” I asked Dewey.

Max turned to me and said, “Can I pick you up?”

“What?”

“Fireman’s hold would be funny, don’t you think?” He looked so into the idea that his face had transformed itself into an expression a six-year-old would wear upon seeing a unicorn. “It’ll look like I’m throwing you into the boat.”

“But you’re not a fireman.”

“I think he just means when a guy throws a girl over his shoulder,” Dewey explained to me as if I were a moron. Apparently Dewey didn’t understand sarcasm, at least not from me, because he said slowly, “It’s called a fireman’s hold.”

I could tell Max was trying hard not to laugh. “Duh, Sophie.”

I shrugged and said, “Fine. Toss me over your shoulder, Parks.”

“Attagirl.” Max lowered his torso and then boom—just like that, I was dangling over his shoulder like I weighed nothing. The kid took a picture of Max with my ass in his face, and when he set me down and we looked at his phone, neither one of us could hold in our cackles.

Because Max was grinning from ear to ear like an obnoxious woman-hauling caveman, and I was making a face like he was absolutely annoying but I secretly loved it. Something about the shot was so us, as if we were an us, that I kind of wanted to print it off and put it in a frame.

“You look like a jackass in that picture,” I teased as I put my keys and phone into my pockets so they didn’t end up in the bottom of the murky pond.

“And you look like you’re being abducted by a jackass,” he agreed, putting his phone away. “I might just have to frame it and hang it in my office.”

“You would.”

When we got in the paddleboat and started pedaling, we took a few selfies. They were flirty and cute, exactly the friends-but-is-it-more vibe we wanted for social media. But then we each proceeded to forget all about the reason behind the visit because he said one very stupid thing.

“Thank God I don’t skip leg day, because you are really a slack-ass copilot, Steinbeck.”

I don’t consider myself obsessively competitive, but I’m self-aware enough to know that I do have a few issues regarding members of the male species when they behave as if they’re stronger/faster/smarter than me.

I knew he was just joking, but I started pedaling my ass off.

“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” Max gave me amused side-eye and started going harder on his pedals.

“Hell yes, it is,” I countered, and it was on.

The paddleboat had two separate propulsion systems, which meant that it was absolutely possible to see who was paddling faster because one side of the boat jutted farther ahead than the other. Our little vessel looked asinine as he and I pedaled as fast as either one of us had ever pedaled before.

My spin instructor would be proud as fuck.

“Keep trying, sunshine, you’ll get there,” Max said—well, panted, actually.

“It’s like your eyes don’t work or something—my side is clearly beating your side.”

“Optical illusion, Soph. Look again.”

Fuck. “Hold up, hold up, hold up—time-out,” I said, breathing hard as I reached out a hand to grasp his thigh so he’d stop pedaling. “The footwear makes it unfair. We’re both going to take off our shoes and start again.”

He frowned. “Why would I take off my shoes when they’re perfectly fine?”

“Because it’s unfair that you’ll be wearing athletic footwear when I will be barefoot.” I looked to my right, and suddenly he was grinning. I continued with, “That makes it a level playing field, unless you’re so pathetic that you need an unfair advantage.”

“Oh, no,” he said, still beaming, and I wished I could see his eyes behind his shades. I loved the way his eyes looked when he grinned. Not only did they have that whole mischievous twinkle thing going on, but they crinkled in a way that made it impossible not to smile back at him. “My mere existence is advantage enough.”

“I just threw up a little in my mouth.”

“Quit puking and let’s go, kid,” he said, and then he started removing his shoes.

One of my favorite things about him was the way he was able to just roll with the punches. Max was willing to jump headfirst into anything without getting rattled, and compared to Stuart, who lost his mind when things didn’t go perfectly according to his meticulous plans, Max was a total free spirit.

When we were each down to bare feet—which wasn’t a particularly comfortable way to pedal a vehicle—I gave him a countdown. “Three. Two. One. Go!”

Max

“What do you think that was?”

I glanced over at Sophie and shook my head, torn between wanting to laugh and also wondering how much one of these stupid boats could cost. They appeared to be old models, like they’d floated around this little man-made lake for decades, but that didn’t mean they were cheap to replace. “If I had to guess, I’d say we snapped a drive belt or something.”

And it was totally her fault. We’d been pedaling our asses off, pedaling ridiculously hard to the point that I was probably going to fall on my face when I stepped onto the dock with jelly legs, when Sophie jerked the steering handle.

In our chaotic rush to out-pedal each other, we’d completely ignored the boat’s steering capabilities. But as soon as she moved it and we realized we could mess with direction while hyper-pedaling, all bets were off.

Honestly, my abs were nearly as sore as my legs because we’d been cracking up the entire time we raced. (Technically it wasn’t racing since we were driving the same vessel, but also it was totally a race because it was.)

Until something snapped, and now we were sitting still with inoperable pedals.

“What are you doing?” I asked as she lifted her phone to her ear.

“I’m calling the park, so the kid who loaded us into this pink boat can find a way to come retrieve us.”

“His name is Dewey,” I corrected. “And I was just going to holler across the lake. Your way seems more efficient, though.”

“That’s because it is,” she muttered, obviously listening to something, because her eyebrows were up and her eyes were narrowed.

She was so pretty that it kind of took my breath away, and I was glad I was wearing sunglasses so she couldn’t see how much time I spent looking at her.

Because her pretty had layers.

Her red lips, brown eyes, long lashes—she was gorgeous. But her beauty was amplified by how smart she was and how fucking funny she could be. She was fascinating to be around, as in all I wanted to do was listen to her and learn all the weirdly wonderful ways her mind worked.

God, I was in deep.

“Nope.” She shook her head and lowered the phone. “That was a recording, telling me the office is closed and the marina doesn’t have a separate phone number. So start hollering, Parks.”

“I will after you say you’re sorry for mocking my holler method.”

“I didn’t mock, I was just agreeing with you on my method’s efficiency.”

“DEWEY!” I cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled, “OUR BOAT IS BROKEN! DEW-EEEY! OUR PEDALS DON’T WORK!”

“Love how hard you went on the e’s,” Sophie said around a giggle.

“DEW-EEEEEEEY!” I yelled again, just to make her laugh harder.

God, she had a great laugh.

But Dewey’s eyes didn’t even raise from the phone in his hand.

Fucking wonderful.

“Well,” she said brightly, “he has to notice us eventually, right?”

“I suppose.” I leaned back against the seat, not hating the idea of just floating around the lake with her. “So . . . now I guess we just wait for a bit.”

“At least it’s a nice evening,” Sophie said, amusement in her voice. “Not too hot, not dark yet, the view is . . . what is that?”

I followed her finger to the right side of the lake. “Is that—”

“Oh, dear God, that hawk is really going to town on what’s left of . . . whatever that poor creature was,” Sophie said disgustedly.

There was an enormous red-tailed hawk pulling . . . innards out of its prey, right at the edge of the field. “Well, this view is certainly memorable as fuck.”

Sophie snorted, holding a hand in front of her face so she couldn’t see the carnage. Giggling, she said, “Can you dip one of your shoes in the water and use it to turn us, so we’re looking at anything other than this horrifyingly gory Wild Kingdom dinner buffet?”

“Why not one of your shoes?” I asked, looking out at the green algae all over the surface of this side of the lake.

“Because,” she said, reaching down to protectively slide her black high heels farther underneath her. “And don’t you want to be chivalrous?”

“But these are my date shoes.”

She snorted again. “Do you seriously consider them your date shoes?”

“Kind of,” I admitted, giving in to a grin as she smiled at me like she found me absurdly childish. “I live in my Nikes when I’m not at work, so these leather bad boys are pretty much only worn to family brunches and hot dates.”

“That is adorable,” she said, tilting her head and pursing her lips. “Like a little kid with his church shoes, terrified to get a scuff.”

“I wore them for you, Soph, so you should be honored.” Her face was so close, so pretty, that I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out a hand to tug on a wavy blond curl.

“Oh, is this a hot date?” she teased, her eyes sliding over my face in a way that made me lean in a little closer. “The entrails threw me off, but every player has his game, I guess.”

“Admit it, Steinbeck,” I said, lowering my mouth toward hers. “It’s totally working.”

She swayed toward me, running her tongue across her bottom lip like she was thinking the same thing I was as her eyes dipped to my mouth. “Parks, do you—”

The hawk chose that moment to screech.

Which made Sophie gasp and turn her face away from me and toward the hawk, who was still picking apart his supper.

She sounded entirely unaffected when she said, “That bird is never going to stop, is he?”

I watched the attention-stealing asshole as he really started getting after his carcass desecration, and I let out an impressed whistle. “I mean, it is dinnertime.”

“That’s it,” she said, giving me a weird look before excitedly pulling her key ring out of her pocket.

“This thing doesn’t have an ignition, dipshit.”

“I see your usage of the word dipshit and raise you one, King Dipshit,” she said, before raising her keys to her face and blowing into a whistle that was hanging on the key ring. And it wasn’t just a whistle. It was the loudest, most high-pitched, most brain-scramblingly loud whistle I’d ever heard in my entire life.

Immediately, Dewey’s head came up, and within seconds, he made eye contact with my waving arms and Sophie’s shrieking whistle.

“OUR PEDALS ARE BROKEN, DEWEY! WE CAN’T MOVE!”

“NOT AT ALL?” he yelled back. “CAN YOU USE THE EMERGENCY OARS UNDER THE SEAT IN BACK?”

“Emergency oars?” Sophie leaned over into the back and lifted the seat. “Holy shit, there are two oars in here.”

I watched as she started extending one of the telescopic oars.

“THANKS, DEWEY!” I yelled.

“WELCOME!” the kid yelled back.

“You know, Maxxie,” Sophie said quietly, handing me the second oar. “It’s going to be even easier, when we’re rowing, to see which side of the boat is moving faster.”

“That’s true,” I agreed, taking the proffered oar.

“So we’re racing, then?” she asked, doing a stretch with her arms—and oar—over her head.

“Of course we are,” I replied, extending my paddle. “But don’t be sad when you lose, honey.”

“Shut up,” she said, pinching my bicep, “and get ready. Honey.”