Smooth Sailing. Lori Wilde
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“Wait!” Jeb called, pushing through the crowd.
But Haley didn’t even glance around. Her friend stood on the gangplank looking bewildered.
“Jeb, hey, I’ve been wanting to speak to you,” someone said.
“Great party.” A beautiful woman clutched at his arm.
A man clapped him on the shoulder. “We’re going to miss you on St. Michael’s.”
“Excuse me, excuse me.” Jeb shook off the people. Why was he so desperate to prevent her from leaving?
He blew past Haley’s friend, reached the end of the gangplank. Haley was a good twenty feet ahead of him. She was already off the dock and climbing the stairs to the marina parking lot.
“Haley!”
She didn’t turn around.
He was running now. Definitely uncool. Ruining your image, dude. Stop it.
Jeb reached the bottom of the stairs just as Haley crested them. “Baby, don’t go.”
She stopped in midstep and spun around to glower at him. One sexy gam perched on the landing, the other on the step below. “Excuse me?”
“Baby, please don’t go.”
“Baby? Did you just call me baby?”
He shrugged, chagrined. “Sorry. Figure of speech.”
“Do I look like an infant to you?”
“No, ma’am. Not in any way, shape or form.”
Slowly, she came back down the steps toward him, her eyes blazing fire. His pulse hammered hotly through his veins. “The word baby is also often used as a term of endearment between lovers,” she said.
“Uh-huh.” He nodded.
“Are we lovers?”
“Unfortunately, no.” What was he doing? Jackie was the one for him. He was trying not to seduce other women, and for a whole year, he’d been a very good boy. He should just tell Haley goodbye and go back to the party.
“I am not an infant and we are not lovers, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Then under no circumstances are you to call me baby. Got it?”
He gave a jaunty salute. “Got it. No baby. Not now, not ever. The word is stricken from my vocabulary.”
“Good. Even among lovers I find the word off-putting. Infantilizing each other isn’t the way to build a mature, loving bond.”
“You have strong opinions about it.”
“I do.”
“You really don’t like me all that much, do you?”
“Not especially.”
“Why did you come tonight?”
“My friend Ahmaya needed a wing woman and a ride. She doesn’t have a car.”
“You were just going to go off and leave her?”
For one second, she looked shamefaced, but quickly recovered. “Ahmaya’s a big girl. She can take care of herself.”
“And yet, you came with her.” Jeb raked his gaze over Haley. “Looking like that, I might add.”
A pink blush crept up her neck. “It’s Ahmaya’s dress.”
“You’re stunning.”
“Oh, I feel so special,” she said snidely. “I bet you said that to only a couple dozen women today.”
“More like a baker’s dozen,” he teased.
Her shoulders relaxed a little at that and a tiny smile briefly lit her lips. Small victory. With Haley, he’d take his triumphs where he could get them.
“Are you still planning on running away?”
“I’m not running away.”
“Seems to me you are.”
“I can’t run in these shoes. I was walking away or, more accurately, hobbling away.”
“Why?”
“I don’t like parties.”
“Why not?”
“They’re too crowded. I don’t like crowds.”
“Uh, you forget I saw you in action in those relief camps right after Hurricane Sylvia. The tents were packed tighter than sardine cans and you were right in the middle of it.”
“That was different. I was helping people.”
“C’mon back to the party,” he coaxed. “I’ll let you give the Heimlich maneuver if anyone chokes on a canapé.”
There was that brief smile again.
His heart gave a strange bunny hop. He held out a hand. “C’mon.”
They stood there a moment; Haley posed on the top steps, Jeb at the bottom, groveling, palm outstretched.
“Don’t leave me hanging, ba—” He almost said baby but stopped in the nick of time.
“Why should I come back to your party?”
“For one thing, you’re a good friend. Ahmaya needs you.”
“Low blow.”
“I’ll use any tool in the arsenal.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you care so much if I’m at your party or not?”
It was a very good question. He didn’t have a glib answer handy and ended up just blurting out the truth. “I’ve got enough yes-men and yes-women around me. I need someone who knows how to luff a sail.”
“A what?”
“There are no brakes on a sailboat. The only way to slow down is to luff the sail. That means to under-trim the sail so it doesn’t catch any wind.”
“In other words, I’m a brake, huh?”
“Well, you know you are a stickler for rules, etiquette, proper behavior and all that.” He waved a hand.