Sharron McClellan - Breathless

She returned his smile. This was going to be fun. For her. “Born ready,” she said.

The bar wasn’t what she expected. No tacky swordfish or old nets with the occasional ornamental starfish graced the dark paneled walls.

Instead, it was small. Dimly lit. And crowded with what she thought were locals since there wasn’t anyone dancing on the table or doing body shots. Heads turned as they walked past the tables and shouts of recognition followed before everyone returned to their drinks.

She’d called it right—this was a local hangout.

Zach herded the crew toward a long table at the back of the room, and in seconds, two pitchers of beer and a round of shots filled with something dark were in front of them. Jess raised a brow.

“What’s wrong?” Zach asked. “You don’t drink?”

She looked him up and down. She might have believed his wide-eyed innocence if his grin didn’t scream troublemaker.

If she had to guess, she’d peg him as the instigator. “I’m a Marine. I can drink you under the table,” Jess snapped back. “But we’re leaving in the morning. Aren’t shots a little excessive?”

“Excessive would be if we made you do all the shots,” Liz said. She held the tiny glass in the air. “To the ship!”

They all raised their drinks then paused, watching Jess. She knew that if she refused, she’d always be the one who backed down.

The Marine who backed down.

She raised her shot glass high and toasted the group. In one smooth movement, she downed the drink. Rum. The strong liquid burned her throat, but she swallowed the urge to cough. “Smooth,” she croaked.

The crew shouted and whistled, as she set her glass upside down on the table in front of her, then all downed theirs in unison.

She glanced at Zach, silently asking him if they were going to push her to get drunk. She hoped not. She’d hate to waste good rum by pouring it on the floor under the table.

Zach handed her a beer, winking at her when the others weren’t watching.

She relaxed, confident he wouldn’t let her initiation go too far. He was an islander in many ways, but she sensed that his “island attitude” didn’t go all the way to the bone. In fact, watching him and how he held himself, she’d bet her weapon that beneath the carefree attitude was steel.

There had to be. Zach was a successful computer genius that worked with the government. Successful men knew when to play. Knew when to work. And knew the line between good fun and excessive stupidity.

It would serve her well to remember the steel beneath the surface, she realized as she caught herself smiling back, and once again, staring into his emerald-green eyes. She turned her attention to her drink.

“They’re like emeralds,” Liz whispered in her ear.

Jess found herself flushing. “What is?” she asked, playing dumb.

“His eyes.” She giggled.

Jess flushed deeper and was grateful for the dim lighting of the bar. She realized there was something else she could learn while she was here—how these people related on a more personal level. “Um, are you and Zach…”

Liz’s nose wrinkled. “What?”

“You know?” She nodded toward Zach and wiggled her eyebrows. “You? Him? Involved?”

“Oh,” Liz said with a start, realizing what Jess was getting at. “Oh, God no. That’s just icky.”

Icky wasn’t how Jess would describe sleeping with a man like Zach. Not at all. Sensuous. Fun. Erotic.

But not icky.

Liz nodded toward Nate. “I’m married.”

“To Nate?” He was probably twenty years the girl’s senior. At least. She glanced at Liz’s bare left hand.

“I kept losing it,” Liz said, following Jess’s line of sight. “It was simply getting too expensive.” She leaned in. “I know. He’s older. But he knows things, if you know what I mean.”

“I get it,” Jess said with a knowing nod, praying the young woman didn’t elaborate.

“Besides,” Liz said, “He’s as smart as Zach, and I love smart men, don’t you? You seem like you’d need a challenge. Like Zach.”

“Um, yeah,” Jess replied, not sure she wanted to go where this conversation was heading.

Nate’s muscled arm pulled Liz away, saving Jess. “No more girl talk. It’s time!”

At the announcement, a cheer rumbled through the bar and the chant of, “Jess. Jess. Jess!”

Heat flamed Jess’s cheeks as she realized that getting her drunk wasn’t the objective. There was more, much more, and it seemed to involve not just the crew but everyone.

“Sorry!” Liz called out over the chanting. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a rolled-up piece of paper. “Here.” She handed it to Jess.

“What’s this?” Jess asked, opening it. The original paper was stained but covered with something shiny and smooth. Jess ran her hand over it. Laminated.

She brought it closer to the light. There was a poem printed on it. A badly written poem, both in content and penmanship. “What am I suppose to do with this?” Jess asked, waving the paper, fairly sure she was going to hate the answer.

Zach leaned in so she could hear him. “It’s a song. We want you to sing it.”

Jess’s smile faded. “Sing this?” She’d rather do rum shots.

“Yes. It goes to the tune of ‘Row Row Row Your Boat.’”

For a moment, Jess stared at the crowd, her mouth open. “Of course it does,” she finally managed to say.

Zach grinned at her, daring her to back down.

Oh, hell no. She was not going to give him the satisfaction. She gave a curt nod, and he motioned for the bar to be quiet. The chanting died back. She glared at him. He was a dead man. Later. Taking a deep breath, she sang, “Sail, sail—”

“Wait,” Liz cut her off.

Jess stopped. “What? Was it that bad? I never said I could sing.”

“It’s not that,” Liz said, looking to Zach.

Zach took Jess’s hand. “You have to stand up on the seat. The bar needs to hear it.”

Horrified, Jess shook her head. “No. I draw the line at standing on chairs.”

The bar started clapping and Zach shrugged. “Okay. It’s a bench. Not a chair. And you’ll disappoint everyone.”

She shook her head. “I’m not doing it,” she said through clenched teeth.

“It’s tradition,” Zach countered, his hand tightening around hers.

Tradition. The one phrase he knew she’d give in to. She glared at him. He’d better have steel beneath all that charm, because after this, she was going to beat the hell out of him, given half a chance.

“You’re a dead man, Holiday.”

The threat only made him smile wider.

She pulled her hand away. “I can get up by myself.”

Liz shoved another shot in her hand. “This helps.”

Jess downed it and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Wobbly with the second shot, she managed to stand on the rickety bench. She waved to the room, and they grew silent.

“I’ll get food,” Liz said. “When you’re finished, we’ll eat.” She scooted out but not before kissing her husband.

Nate held up a globe candle, spotlighting her. “So you can see,” he explained.

“If that’s your story.” She turned her attention back to the sheet of laminated paper. There were six stanzas. It was signed Diego.

She glanced down at him. The quiet ones. They were the worst.

Diego grinned and gave her a thumbs-up.

“Sing!” an unknown voice called out.

God, she hated this. “Sail, Sail, Sail a boat, above the briny deep. Watch out for land, watch out for crabs, and never fall asleep.”

She stopped. “Crabs? This is stupid. I mean, really, really, stupid.”

“Louder!” someone shouted.

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “Catch, catch, catch a fish from the ocean green. Make it fresh, make it large, with scales like aquamarine.”