C2 2

“What happened this time?”

“I don’t know for sure, but when Jacks woke me up, he was out of his crib, and the alarm was on the floor with all the settings changed. He must’ve climbed out and played with the buttons.” And now I need to figure out the logistics of moving him to a toddler bed.

“Did you tell Colt that?”

I grimace. “Are you kidding? It’s the single-mom version of the dog ate my paper. I’d rather he believe yesterday’s makeup and this coffee are behind my tardiness.” At the reminder of the makeup, I pull a baby wipe from my purse and rub it under my eyes. I fell asleep at the computer last night, and when I realized I needed to drag myself to bed, I couldn’t be bothered to wash my face.

Chuckling, Amelia props her elbows on the counter. “Why don’t you just tell him you drop your kid off with Star at the coffee shop? Why let him think you stand in line for coffee even on the days you’re running behind?”

“Because it’s none of his business. He’s the one who assumes the worst. That’s on him.” I toss the wipe in the trash and reach for my lip gloss. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror when I brushed my teeth this morning, and it’s downright insulting that Colton believes I took time on this look.

“You sure push his buttons.”

“Understatement of the century,” I mutter. There’s not much about me that doesn’t piss off Colton. “I’m pretty sure he would’ve fired me by now if he weren’t so worried about staying in the Jacksons’ good graces. Hell, I would’ve fired me already.”

“The guys won’t let him. You’re too valuable to fire, and they’d kick his ass if they lost you because of his temper. He knows that.”

“If you say so.” Colton and his friends are all equal owners in Heartbreak Bay Adventures, but while I know the other guys might appreciate me more than he does, Colton could make a hell of a case against me if he wanted.

Because you can’t seem to get your shit together and you sabotage everything good in your life, the old familiar voice in my head reminds me. I slam the door on that bitch, take a deep breath, and focus on my work.

I click through emails, clearing out the spam and forwarding the messages that Colton or his business partners need to handle to their respective addresses.

“You look tired,” Amelia says, watching me work. There’s so much worry in her voice that I can’t be offended. “Another late night writing papers?”

I nod, my attention half on an email inquiry about weddings on the lake. “At least this one was interesting. The correlation of abstinence-only education and college dropout rates among women. I could’ve aced it, but the student was aiming for a B.”

“If they’re paying so much for a paper, don’t they want an A?”

I shake my head. “The perfect paper makes instructors suspicious.”

Amelia makes a sour face. “I hated writing papers in school. You couldn’t pay me to write someone else’s essay.”

“It’s not so bad.” I have more issues with the ethics of my side hustle than I do with the work itself. I have a teaching degree, for goodness’ sake. I believe students should write their own damn papers, not use their trust funds to pay a desperate single mom two hundred bucks a pop to crank them out for them. But ethical high ground is a lot easier to stand on when your nine-to-five pays the bills. “And it’s something I can do from home while Jacks sleeps. Win-win.”

“I still think you’re paying too much for that tiny room,” she says. “Wasn’t the whole point of renting a room from June that it’d be a small fraction of the cost of your own place?”

“It still is. Even after her rent hikes.” I’ve lived there less than six months, and she’s already raised the price for my room twice. The dark side of living without a lease. It’s overpriced, but so is everything in Jackson Harbor, and at least our place is safe until I can find something better for me and Jacks.

“But it’s temporary, right?” Amelia asks, worry pulling at her fine features. “You’re saving money to get a place of your own where you can have some privacy for once?”

I frown at the computer, unwilling to meet my friend’s eyes and let her see how stuck I am. “That’s the plan.”

“Thank God. You need to be able to bring a guy home and get yourself a little something for once.”

I scoff. “I wouldn’t know what to do with a guy in my bedroom. I’m in such a dry spell that even my vibrator has abandonment issues. Hell, at this point I’d settle for fifteen minutes alone to get reacquainted with her.”

Crosley emerges from the garage that’s tucked behind the reception area. He’s drying his hands on a shop towel, but streaks of motor oil are smeared across his forearms. He props the swinging door open with a jean-clad hip. “Reacquainted with who?”

“It’s with whom,” Amelia tells her brother.

Crosley rolls his eyes at his sister, and I bite back a smile. I’ve always liked Amelia and Crosley, but I might feel a special connection to them because, like me and Nic, they’re twins. “Reacquainted with whom?” He draws the words out with a fake British accent.

“No one,” I say at the same time as Amelia says, “Her vibrator.”

“Thanks for respecting my privacy, Mele,” I mutter.

Crosley wipes his cheek on his shoulder, grinning. “Your vibrator is a her?”

Amelia props her hands on her hips and glares at her brother. “Why are you still lurking?”

“I work here.” He turns to me. “Explain, please?”

“Variable speeds means she’s adaptable. She always gets the job done and never asks for anything in return?” I turn up my palms. “Obviously female.”

Crosley cringes. “Damn. What kind of lame-ass man gave you that impression?”

“All of them,” Amelia and I say in unison.

“That’s tragic,” he mutters.

“And you’re not part of this conversation, so go away,” Amelia says, shooting him a glare before turning her attention back to me. “You need more than a vibrator. You need a man. Or a woman, if you’re into that.” It’s officially been so long since I’ve seen any action that Amelia, one of my best friends, isn’t even sure of my sexual preference. Maybe she has a point. “But, you know, actual human lovin’.”

“And when would I find time for this? Between bath time and writing freshman comp essays for cheating college kids?”

Folding his arms, Crosley rocks on his heels and looks back and forth between us, clearly not intending to leave anytime soon. “I could swing by about then,” he says.