CHAPTER 5
TATE
My dad calls when I’m on my way to meet the boys at the Rip Tide. The Bluetooth kicks in and I answer with a quick, “Hey, Dad, what’s up?” Since I’ve got the top down on the Jeep, I ease up on the gas, driving slower so the wind doesn’t drown out his voice.
“Can you do me a solid tomorrow, kid?”
I can’t help rolling my eyes. I’m twenty-three and he still calls me kid. Meanwhile, if anyone is a kid, it’s Gavin Bartlett. My dad is basically an overgrown boy, so full of energy and life it honestly gets overwhelming sometimes. He was a big baseball hero back in Georgia, so I grew up hearing from everyone on the island how awesome my father was. Then we moved to Avalon Bay, a place where he didn’t know a soul, and within a year he had the entire bay singing his praises too. Everywhere he goes, people love him. He’s just one of those universally likable dudes. Doesn’t possess a shred of arrogance. Always puts his family first. He’s humble. Hilarious. And other than his occasional grumbling when I was a teenager about me not being interested in following in his athletic footsteps, he’s a pretty great dad. Luckily, our shared love of the water made up for my disinterest in baseball, so we still had plenty to bond over.
“Depends,” I tell him, since I know better than to blindly agree to favors. “What’s up?”
“Can you come into work tomorrow morning for a couple hours? I want to take your mom to Starfish Cove.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“Does there need to be one? A man can’t take his wife on a spontaneous Sunday picnic? It’s romantic!”
“Dude. I don’t want to think about my parents making out at a romantic picnic, please and thank you.”
“Making out? We’re going to third base at least, kid.”
I make a loud gagging noise, mostly for his benefit. Truthfully, there are worse things in this world than having parents who are still madly in love after twenty-five years of marriage.
I’m one of the rare members of my friend group whose family is wholly, disgustingly normal. I’m an only child, so I never had to deal with any of that sibling rivalry shit. Mom loves to garden and Dad still plays baseball with a men’s league in town. When people ask me why I’m so laid-back and take everything in stride, it’s because, well, I haven’t encountered many hardships in my life. The closest thing to turmoil we experienced as a family was a brief rough period when we moved from St. Simon’s to Avalon Bay. The stress of the move, combined with Dad changing careers, caused some arguing between my parents, a bit of friction around the house. And then it passed.
I’ve been lucky, I guess.
“Sure, I can do that,” I relent. As much as I hate the idea of working two jobs tomorrow—morning at the dealership and then afternoon at the yacht club—I know Mom would enjoy a picnic at Starfish Cove. And I’m one of those assholes who likes making my parents happy.
“Thanks, kid. I owe you one. Oh, and keep an eye out for a man named Alfred. Or Albert? Can’t remember. Anyway, he’s coming in around nine to look at the fifty-foot Beneteau that Sam Powell just brought in.”
“What? Sam’s selling the Beneteau?” I ask in dismay.
“Already did. We closed the deal on Friday.”
“Shit, really? Didn’t he just do a refit in 2019? And he spent a chunk on that new teak deck, no?”
“That’s why he’s selling now—the refit upped the value. This is the time to sell.”
“But Sam loves that boat.”
“Loves his kid more. And she got into Harvard. Gotta pay for that Ivy League tuition somehow, right?”
“That’s rough.”
We chat for a few more minutes before hanging up. As I turn left onto the main road leading downtown, my mind is still on Sam Powell parting with his beloved sailboat. Man, I never want to be in the position where I need to choose between my kid and my boat. Not that I have either one of those yet, but my goal is to at least start working toward securing the latter. I could probably buy a used forty-foot Bristol, maybe even a Beneteau Oceanis in the next couple years if I’m able to save more money.
After that, well, ideally I’d be sailing her around the world, although that’s more a dream than a goal. A pipe dream, at that, because there’s no way I can just fuck off for months on end. Dad already has it all planned out—he wants to retire early, and once he does, I’ll be taking over Bartlett Marine, selling other people their dream boats rather than sailing my own. And while I can’t deny the dealership turns a serious profit, it hasn’t exactly been my lifelong dream to run it.
Main Street is already packed with cars, not an open space to be found. I end up having to pull into one of the gravel beach-access lots and hoof it half a mile to the Rip Tide, where I find my friends gathered around a high-top table near the stage. Our buddy Jordy and his reggae band play this venue most weekends, but they’re not here tonight. In their place is a metal outfit with a lead singer who’s scream-singing unintelligible lyrics as I sidle up to the boys.
Cooper, clad in a black T-shirt and ripped jeans, is sipping on a beer and wincing at the ungodly noises coming from the stage. His other half is nowhere to be found, and by that I mean Evan, his twin. Mackenzie would be his better half, the chick who got Cooper to smile more times in the last year than in all the years I’ve known him combined. Genuine smiles, too, and not the cocky smirks he’d flash right before we used to fuck shit up.
Chase is next to Coop, engrossed with his phone, while Danny listens to the band with a pained expression.
“These guys are awful,” I say, wondering who the hell decided to book them. The singer is now making strange breathing noises while the two guitarists whisper into their microphones. “Why are they whispering now?”
“Is he saying my skull is weeping?” Cooper demands, wrinkling his brow.
“No. It’s my soul is sleeping,” Danny tells him.
“It’s both,” Chase says without looking up from his phone. “My skull is weeping/my soul is sleeping. Those are the lyrics.”
“Deep,” I say dryly, and my own skull nearly weeps with relief when the song—if you could call it that—ends, and the singer—if you could call him that—announces they’re taking a ten-minute break.
“Oh thank fuck,” Danny breathes.
My peripheral vision catches the blur of a waitress, and I twist around to signal her before she can disappear. “Becca,” I call, because everyone knows everyone in this town.
“Tate! Hey! What can I get ya?”
“Could I trouble you for a Good Boy?” I ask, naming one of our locally brewed beers.
“You got it. A Good Boy for a good boy.” She winks and hurries off.
Cooper sighs. “Between you and my brother, I don’t think there’s a waitress in town who hasn’t seen your dicks.”
“And?” I counter, grinning. “Are waitresses off-limits now?”
“Only if you break their hearts. I don’t need anyone spitting in our drinks.”
“Ha, talk to your brother then. I’ve never had a hookup end on anything other than good terms. Can’t say the same for Evan. And speaking of Evan—where is he? Wasn’t it his idea to come here tonight?”
“Yup.” Cooper rolls his eyes. “But then he got the better idea of locking Genevieve in their bedroom after we got home from work, and nobody’s seen him since.”
I have to laugh. Evan had been itching to get back together with Genevieve West since she moved back to the Bay after a year away in Charleston. Not only did he win her back, but they’re now engaged. Good for Evan, though. He’s loved the girl since the eighth grade, for fuck’s sake. He deserves the win.
“I can’t believe they’re actually getting married,” Chase says, shaking his head.
“It’s wild,” I concur.
“I hear you’re next,” Danny pipes up, elbowing me in the arm. “When do you plan on proposing to Alana?”
I pretend to think it over. “I’m gonna have to go with … never. I don’t think I’ve met anyone less interested in marriage than Alana. Besides, that’s not happening anymore.”
Coop glances over, intrigued. “No?”
“No more friends with benefits,” I tell him, shrugging. “We’re back to being regular old friends.”
Danny hoots. “She dump you?”
“Dumping would imply being in a relationship, and we definitely weren’t in one.”
“Did you break the news to Steph yet?” Cooper snickers. “I think the girls had a bet going that you would fall in love with Alana. Pretty sure Steph staked her life savings on yes.”
“Love?” I raise a brow. “Dude, I can’t be held responsible for Steph’s irresponsible gambling choices. Has she met me?”
What the hell is love, anyway? It’s one of those words that gets thrown around so haphazardly, like grains of rice at a wedding. I love this. I love that. Love you. Love you too. I’ve experienced platonic love, sure. I love my family, my friends. But romantic love? The kind of love that runs so deep you feel the other person in your soul? My only real relationship was with a girl I dated in high school for a year. We had a good time together. The sex was phenomenal. But was I in love with her?
When it boils down to it, I suspect it was just lust. Same as the rest of my encounters with the opposite sex. The string of hookups, the flings … love didn’t play a role in any of those, and that includes my arrangement with Alana.
“Yo. Tate.” A coaster nails me in the forehead.
I blink back to reality and hear the boys chortling. “What the hell was that?” I growl, rubbing my forehead.
“You literally zoned out for ten minutes,” Danny informs me.
“Ten minutes?” I challenge.
“Okay, maybe, like, ten seconds, but still. Becca dropped off your beer and you didn’t even say thanks.”
Oh shit. I look over my shoulder, but Becca is already serving another table. I reach for my Good Boy and take a sip, just as the flinch-inducing shriek of microphone feedback fills the bar.
“No,” Danny blurts out. “Fuck, no. They’re back.”
Unenthused, the four of us turn toward the stage, where the band has indeed returned. They waste no time bursting into a song that starts with an inexplicable surf riff that’s completely incongruous to the plaintive wails leaving the lead singer’s mouth.
“Yeah, no,” Cooper says. He slams his bottle down and glances at me. “Chug that beer so we can get the hell out of here. I can’t listen to this all night.”
“Joe’s has half-price shots tonight,” Chase says, already sliding off his stool. “I vote we go there.”
Danny frowns when he notices I’m not drinking. “Didn’t you hear the man? Chug,” he orders, pointing to my bottle. “My ears are rebelling, bro.”
“Fine.” I grimace, then tip my head back and drain about two-thirds of my Good Boy before calling it quits.
While the band continues to assault the eardrums of the Rip Tide’s patrons, my friends and I bail, hurriedly climbing the narrow staircase up to the street. We emerge into the night a moment later, the balmy heat warming my face. It’s just as noisy out here on the main strip, but I prefer loud voices, raucous laughter, and faint carnival noises to the torture chamber we left behind.
We’ve made it about three steps down the sidewalk when a familiar face enters my line of sight.
Well, look at that. My new temporary neighbor. She’s with a friend, a tall chick with flat-ironed hair and flawless skin. Both girls wear short dresses, although the friend’s is much tighter than Cassie’s.
“Seriously, ginger?” I call out, grinning. “You’ve been in town, what, less than a week and somehow I’ve run into you eighty-nine times already? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were stalking me.”
Cassie’s jaw drops. “I am not. And stop calling me ginger. I told you I’m not a ginger, I’m a copper.” She crosses her arms as if to emphasize her outrage, but all it does is emphasize her chest, pressing her tits together in a seriously appealing way.
Fuck. That rack. I can’t handle it. It doesn’t go unmissed by the others, either. Even Cooper, who has a girlfriend with whom he’s nauseatingly smitten, briefly flicks his dark eyes toward Cassie’s chest. She notices the attention, because her faces flushes and her arms drop to her sides.
The friend looks highly amused. “Don’t deny it, Cass.” She winks at me. “We totally followed you here.”
“We did not,” Cassie insists, poking her friend in the side. Then she gestures to the door of the Rip Tide. “We’re just here to see the band.”
“Oh, you don’t want to do that,” I warn. “Trust me. They’re total shit.”
“Aw, no, really?” Her expression conveys disappointment. “This is one of the only places that’s featuring a live band tonight. Why are they shit? What kind of music is it?”
Cooper snorts. “Fucked if I know.”
Danny thinks it over. “All right. If I had to pin down a genre, I’d say it was, like … rockabilly surf emo metal.”
My gaze swivels to him. “Dude. That’s actually pretty fucking accurate.”
Cassie and her friend make identical faces, scrunching up their noses. “That sounds awful,” Cassie complains.
“I think Sharkey’s has a band playing tonight,” Chase says helpfully.
The friend shakes her head. “Yeah, we can’t go there,” she answers, pouting. “It’s the one place we always get carded.”
Cooper spins toward me. “Bro, we’re making friends with underage girls now?” He sighs.
“Hey. I’m twenty-one,” protests the friend. She jabs a French-tipped fingernail at Cassie. “She’s the one holding us back.”
“Gee, thanks,” Cassie says, her voice dry.
“But don’t you worry,” the friend assures Cooper, clearly having set her sights on him. “Cassie’s birthday is next month, so she and I will be happy to meet you two”—that bossy fingernail snaps the air between me and Coop—“at Sharkey’s once my girl is legal. How does that sound? One month from now. Eight o’clock. Sharkey’s. It’s a date.”
“Joy,” Cassie chides. She looks back at me. “She’s just joking.”
I raise a brow. “So it’s not your birthday next month?”
“No, it is. That’s not the part she’s joking about. We’re not going on a double date, I promise.”
“I would’ve been up for a double date,” Danny proclaims with a sad moan, pretending to be wounded. “But I wasn’t invited.”
“I’m gay, so I don’t care,” Chase tells the women.
Cooper lets out another snort.
“Anyway, it was nice seeing you again,” Cassie tells me, already edging away. She glances at my friends. “I’m Cassie, by the way. This is Joy. And I’m not a stalker, no matter what your stupid friend says. I’ve never stalked anyone in my life. Well, unless you count that one week in high school when I kept refreshing this guy’s Facebook page hoping his relationship status would change because I heard he and his girlfriend were having problems, but that’s more cyberstalking, I guess, and I’m not sure that actually counts—” She stops abruptly when she realizes she’s babbling.
Openly grinning, Joy doesn’t come to her friend’s aid. I suspect she’s used to Cassie’s blabbering, and I kind of love that she doesn’t jump in and rescue her. Just lets her dig that hole deeper.
“Tate,” I introduce myself to Joy, and she smirks in a way that tells me she knows who I am. Reputation precedes me, I guess. I introduce the others, ending with Cooper, and it turns out both girls know exactly who he is too.
“You’re one of the bad-boy twins,” Joy says with barely disguised glee.
He offers a faint smile. “Everything you’ve heard about us is a lie.”
“Excellent,” she says, flashing a sassy smile. “Because I heard you have a girlfriend. Now that I know you don’t…”
I smother a laugh. She’s got him there.
“Okay, that one is true,” he amends, laughing softly.
“He’s very much spoken for,” I confirm. “Living happily ever after and building a hotel empire with his girl.”
“Oh, right,” Joy exclaims. “I heard about that.” She looks at Cassie. “His girlfriend is the new owner of the Beacon.”
That captures Cassie’s interest. She instantly focuses on Cooper. “Your girlfriend is the one who bought the Beacon?”
He nods. “We’ve spent the past year restoring the place. The grand reopening is in September.”
“I know. That’s why I’m here. My grandmother was the seller. The Beacon was in my family for more than fifty years before she sold.”
Coop is startled. “No shit? Lydia Tanner is your grandmother?”
“She is,” Cassie confirms. “I’m staying with her for the summer. We sold her house here, too. It closes in October and then she’s moving up north to be near family. My whole family is coming to the reopening. Grandma’s really excited for it.”
“Damn, don’t tell my girlfriend that.” Coop grins. “Mac is stressing so hard about it. She doesn’t want to let your grandmother down.”
“I’m sure she won’t. Honestly, Grandma is just happy the new owner is dedicated to preserving her original vision for the place.”
“We did our best,” he says, his tone sincere. And now that he’s realized these chicks are more than just thirsty boardwalk tourists looking to hook up, he’s a lot more amenable to their plight. “Go to Big Molly’s instead of Sharkey’s,” he advises. “They’ve got a band tonight too, and I have it on good authority the bartender there isn’t above serving a cocktail or two to a twenty-year-old.” He winks. “Tell Jesse that Coop says hi.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Cassie says, flashing a grateful smile.
Danny steps in, clearly bored with all the chitchat. “All right, ladies. Nice running into you, but we’ve got some alcohol to consume, fellas.”
We say goodbye and part ways, moving in opposite directions. From behind me I hear Cassie tell Joy she needs to use the restroom before they hit Big Molly’s. “I’ll wait out here” is Joy’s faint response, and the guys and I are almost a block away when I hear high heels on the pavement.
“Tate,” a voice hisses. “Wait.”
I look over my shoulder to find Joy barreling our way, heels clicking and slinky red dress swirling around her toned thighs.
“Interesting,” Cooper murmurs, clearly amused.
“One second,” I tell the boys. I break off from the group and meet Joy about ten feet away.
She’s breathless from running in heels. “I gotta be quick,” she blurts out. “Before Cass comes out.”
Shit. Is she hitting on me? I hope not, because that feels kind of shady, doing it behind Cassie’s back like that.
But she surprises me by asking, “What do you think of Cassie?”
I furrow my brow. “In what way?”
“In all ways. Think she’s cute?”
“Smoking hot,” I correct, a grin springing up.
Joy brightens. “Oh. Perfect. That was easy. And you’re okay with all the nervous babbling?”
“In what way?” I echo. “What do you mean by okay with it? What’s happening right now?” I feel stupid. Sometimes it feels like women are speaking an entirely different language from me. My mom does it all the time, carrying on these conversations she must have started in her head, because I have no clue what she’s saying, and Dad and I will constantly lock gazes over her head, like, what the fuck?
“Listen,” Joy says in a serious tone. “Cass and I are fling shopping.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Well, she’s fling shopping. I may or may not be back together with my selfish ass of an ex Isaiah, but that’s a whole other drama.” She waves a manicured hand. “Anyway, Cassie’s looking for a summer fling, and I think you’d be the perfect candidate.”
I’m having trouble containing my amusement, biting my lip to keep from laughing. “Is that so?”
“Oh, it’s so. But she’s never going to ask you out, so I’ve taken it upon myself to intervene. Especially after I saw you two interact. It seemed like, I don’t know, there was a little banter happening? From where I was standing, it looked like you might be interested in … dot dot dot…”
“I might,” I say slowly. “I mean, I’m always up for … dot dot dot…”
She beams at me. “Excellent. Then I’m giving you her number.”
I offer a smug look. “Already have it.”
Her jaw drops. “Seriously? That sneaky little…” She shakes her head. “Well, okay then. That was supposed to be my role in this whole transaction. You know, putting the idea out there in the universe, that if you were to be into her, she might be into you too. I’m the sexual communications facilitator.”
“Of course. Because that’s a real job.” I tip my head. “Are we at the part where you hand me the note that says Do you like Cassie? and I have to check the yes or no box?”
“Oh, honey, we’re in the era of dick pics and u up? texts,” she replies, rolling her eyes. “You can figure it out from here.”