Page 33 of Jesse

“What time do you get off?”

She glances nervously over my shoulder at the people waiting in line behind me, then says, “Are you serious right now? I’m working.”

“What time?” I say again. Because I’m not walking away from this girl without a date.

“Seven.”

“I’ll be back at seven.”

I take my pink cup and walk away. And I swear to fucking God, I have never grinned so big in all my life.

The only thing I really remember about later was on the deck of the yacht. I didn’t have my team with me because I wasn’t racing, I was down in the Keys fucking off. No reason, really. Just ended up there. I hooked up with a few guys from the racing circuit and that’s who I was bumming around with.

But that night with Emma it was just her and me under the stars. We missed the sunset. Didn’t care. There was plenty to look at up there after it was gone.

She was standing at the railing and I was behind her.

Every time I touched her she said, “No.”

But it was the sweetest fucking no ever. And eventually I had my arms around her. My hand between her legs. She never even took her shorts off and I made her come with just my fingers.

After that I was pretty sure she was just gonna bail on me and never come back, but she didn’t. She took off her shirt, then her shorts, and placed both hands on my bare chest, pushing me down onto the cushions of the top-deck couch. And the next thing I knew she was climbing into my lap.

She stayed the whole night.

I remember that because I was surprised. Every minute that ticked off, I was surprised. I kept thinking, Any second now. She’s gonna get up and leave and I’ll never see her again.

It hurt. Thinking that fucking hurt. Because I liked this girl. She was the first girl—the only girl—I’d ever longed for.

But all those minutes kept passing by and she was still there. I don’t think we slept. I know I didn’t. If she was gonna sneak out in the middle of the night I wanted one last chance to talk her out of it before she disappeared from my life as quick as she blew into it.

And the funny thing is… I’d been high and drunk for weeks at that point. So high, so drunk, I didn’t even know the difference anymore.

But that night we didn’t even drink. Not one joint. Not even a fucking cigarette. I had one tomato in the fridge and a slab of good mozzarella. And that’s what we ate. Sliced tomatoes with cheese.

That was it. And it was enough.

She was enough.

For the first time in my life, I felt… full.

And then the next day Johnny showed up and I never saw her again.

Until tonight.

There are brief periods when I know I’m in a boat. My mind doesn’t have to be awake to be aware of the water underneath me. This is just something I feel.

I hear them too. Little bits of this and that.

“His suit is ruined.” And, “Jesus Christ, he’s fucking heavy.” And, “He’s such an asshole.”

But none of it makes sense because the words just float there like a dream. Then there’s a moment when everything rushes at me, all at once. Like I’m being blown over by a cyclone of words and suddenly—I’m awake.

My eyes are open, but I can’t see anything but the inside of a black hood over my head. I can hear and I’m breathing. So two out of three isn’t bad.

“He’s coming around,” a female voice says.

And the only thing I can think of is… How fucking ironic is this?