Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Sawyer

The water was choppy today, thanks to a stiff breeze. My windbreaker whipped around me and only my ball cap restrained my mop of curly hair from doing the same.

"All right, everyone, you can see the lights of the Shallow Beach strip on your port side." I paused. "That's left, for you landlubbers."

The vivid neon lights were easy to read even from halfway across the lake. Wet Dreams. Fantasea. The Thirsty Mermaid . I'd never been to Vegas, but I imagined this was our own mini strip, full of bars, nightclubs, and overpriced restaurants.

There was some laughter, then, "Wait, Shallow Beach? Isn't it Swallow Beach?"

Oops. I hitched on my most charming grin, which probably wasn't that charming at the end of a double shift to cover this last-minute boat tour, but I did my best.

This early in the season, Swallow Adventures was operating with a skeleton crew. Mainly, me and the owner, Hudson Nash.

"Ah, you caught me! It's just a little joke we locals have," I called, craning my head to glance over my shoulder toward the group perched on the semicircle of pleather seating. "Swallow Cove folks call the beach shallow because it's a party destination."

The chill wind bit my cheeks, but I'd gotten used to how damn cold it could get on the boats at night when we weren't in the full blast of summer. May was still nippy, but that didn't stop folks from starting their summer vacations.

As for my tour group? They weren't feeling the cold, not with the alcohol warming their veins. Every one of them held a drink, and judging by the nearly overflowing recycling bin, they weren't on their first.

At least the lake wasn't truly busy yet. We had a few weeks before it turned into a roiling expressway of overly large boats to go with inflated egos, drunken partiers crowding pontoons, anglers, and water sports enthusiasts.

Speaking of drunken partiers, a cheer went up from the group on my boat and was echoed back with a few catcalls and whistles from a pontoon that I already recognized from its garish paint job.

Great, a DreamBoat.

The months between seasons when I hadn't had to deal with those jack wagons had been sweet relief. I'd hoped it would last a little longer.

All the old irritation rose like a tide. And along with it, the niggling thought, It better not be Ash.

My booze cruise was relatively tame tonight, a group of middle-aged executives on a team-building weekend trip. They were drinking enough to get loud and happy, but they weren't looking to orgy right on the boat.

The same could not be said for the DreamBoat.

The cherry-red pontoon heading toward us looked tame enough, except for the fact it was packed with rowdy, dancing people. DreamBoats marketed themselves as a party boat service and they mostly entertained large groups.

Judging from the sheer number of women, I was guessing that tonight it was a bachelorette party.

I slowed the boat to safely cross paths with them. As they neared, a wide, shit-eating grin came into view.

Goddammit .

Perfect teeth, strong jawline behind a short beard, wavy blond hair tousled by the wind and still looking perfectly styled?

It was Ash, all right.

The golden boy of the Ozarks. The man who got everything he wanted in life.

Once, that had been my friendship. But when my family imploded and I had to move to Swallow Cove, I'd soon learned loyalty wasn't something he possessed.

I'd lost my home, my school, my girlfriend.

And when I'd needed my best friend, where was he? Busy hooking up with my ex without so much as a courtesy call or text. We'd gone from teammates to rivals overnight, but I'd always thought we'd be friends when it counted.

Wrong.

As far as I was concerned, Ash Dixon could stay the fuck away from me.

But as large as the Lake of the Ozarks was, it was also too small for the two of us. I couldn't seem to avoid the guy.

Ash picked up the small bullhorn he carried to be heard over the music pumping loudly through the boat's speaker system.

"Hey, party people, say hi to Sawyer of Swallow Hole!"

There was a ruckus of greetings, cheers, and laugher spilling from the boat.

Roger Dieter, who'd claimed the co-captain's seat next to me, guffawed. "Oh-ho! They've got a nickname for y'all too!"

I glowered at Ash. "They sure do."

Ash carried on. "Sawyer and I are old friends. And I mean, really old, learned to potty train together friends. But now he doesn't like me anymore."

"Awww," the crowd cried.

"I know!" Ash said. "I'm deeply hurt because?—"

"Well, I like you!" a bosomy young redhead cried, rubbing his chest like a cat in heat. "You've got a good heart. I can tell!"

"Pretty sure it's not his heart she's after," I grumbled under my breath.

Roger chuckled in agreement.

Ash looked down toward her, his charming smile never faltering.

Not even when she pulled him into an X-rated kiss.

What Ash was going to say, I'd never know. No doubt something designed to taunt me. Because his mouth was otherwise occupied.

And so was his focus.

The pontoon drifted closer. I blared the horn to warn them away, and the redhead jumped away from Ash's glistening lips.

I averted my gaze, uncomfortable with the wanton display. I s he a tour guide or a freaking gigolo?

It wasn't uncommon for us to get hit on in this job, and sometimes we even took someone up on their flirtations. But for fuck's sake, we didn't make out for an audience right there on the boat.

Ash lifted the bullhorn. "Geez, Saw, dramatic much? We're not that close."

"You weren't paying attention!" I called loud enough I didn't need a bullhorn for my voice to carry. "Stop making out with tourists and keep your eyes on the fucking water!"

For a brief second, Ash's face tightened. Then that shit-eating grin returned once more.

He lifted the bullhorn.

"I think someone's jealous."

His drunken party laughed at me. The redhead still hung off his arm and would no doubt be angling for an invitation into his bed.

But I wasn't jealous of that. I didn't want anyone groping and hanging on me while I tried to work. And I certainly didn't want to endanger everyone's safety with that kind of behavior.

"It's not a fucking joke, Ash!"

I steered away, accelerating again, leaving the DreamBoat and Ash in my wake. Unfortunately, the irritation of our exchange clung to me for the rest of the night, making a long-ass day even harder to get through.

I was so tired by the time the tour wrapped up that I nearly went straight to the Swallow's Nest Lake Resort—where Swallow Adventures Boating Tours had moved—without dropping off the tourists at the Treehouse B&B where they were staying.

I cussed under my breath as I turned the boat away from the commercial docks, heading a little farther south and east.

Swallow's Nest was due to open next week—so hopefully we'd be running cruises that started and ended there soon—but until then we had to pick up and drop off tourists, especially the boozy ones, at various locales around the lake.

The business professionals tumbled out after I'd tied the boat in place, looking a little worse for wear after a night of drinking.

"When did I get old?" Sandra, a forty-something woman, asked me as she staggered from the boat to the deck, a deathly tight grip on my arm to maintain her balance.

"Old? You don't look a day over twenty."

She belted out a throaty laugh. "All right, darlin.' Now, you get a tip."

She dug into her large purse and extracted a twenty.

"Thanks," I said, always feeling a little awkward about this portion of the business.

Tips weren't expected, necessarily, but when someone offered, we took them.

Next, I helped Carlos, a slender man with the kind of sculpted eyebrows that made me suspect he might get along with some of my queer friends. Not that I had the gaydar to tell for sure.

"Mm, that other boater was a real dreamboat , huh?" he teased as I helped him onto the deck.

Okay, my gaydar wasn't so bad that I wouldn't recognize that tone.

"More like a pain in my ass," I grumbled.

His tone turned flirty. "Aw, don't worry, you're awfully cute too."

"Yeah, thanks," I said shortly, scowling at the thought of the kiss Ash exchanged with that woman, annoyed all over again.

Carlos tensed, the playful smile slipping from his face. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that. It was just a joke. I didn't mean?—"

He tried to step away from me too quickly and stumbled on the dock.

"Whoa, it's okay," I said quickly, grasping his arm to steady him. "You're safe with me."

His eyes were wide and wary.

Shit. Sometimes I forgot the world was a crappy place outside of my little social bubble. Especially in the Ozarks, which was still conservative country.

"Carlos, are you okay?" one of the other women called from the boat.

He drew a breath and steadied himself. "Fine!" he called. "Just clumsy! You know me."

She laughed.

Seeing his fear, then the instinct to hide it, made my gut twist uncomfortably.

"Sorry. I'm a grumpy ass tonight, but it's not about you. Ash annoyed me."

"Okay," he said.

"Seriously, man. Call me cute anytime you like." I summoned up my best smile, and I was sure it was shit, but Carlos chuckled, some of the tension flowing from him.

"Well, if you want to make Ash jealous…"

"No, no." I laughed. "He's a douche, that's all. I'm straight."

"Okay." He flashed me a small smile. "Well, it's good to see that there's a few open-minded straights even in a backwoods place like this."

"You'd be surprised," I said with a chuckle. "Where did you travel from?"

"St. Louis."

"Ah, so you're a city boy. No wonder you thought I'd go all homophobic hick on you."

"Guilty," he said. "But I'm glad to be wrong."

"Hey, I'm glad too. If you have any trouble while you're here, you give me a call at the office. I'll take care of it."

His expression warmed. "Thanks, man. I'm sure I'll be fine. I usually don't speak without thinking, but with all the alcohol…"

I chuckled. "Yeah, I hear a lot of things when the booze starts flowing. Don't worry about it."

Carlos moved on, allowing me to unload the rest of the boat. Once the group had gone, I headed to the resort and set about clearing out the trash and wiping down the boat's interior.

It was a relatively easy job tonight. I'd had to hose puke off the side of the boats a time or two. Tonight had been smooth sailing by comparison.

But that Ash sighting was still under my skin, making it impossible to wind down.

I pulled out my phone and texted Brooks.

Me:

Too late to grab a beer?

Brooks:

Nah, man. I'll meet you in the bar. I've been meaning to catch up with you anyway.

Me :

Cool. Don't tell Mom.

My mother ran the kitchen for the resort, and she'd been hard at work finalizing a menu this week. No doubt, she'd have a few things to say about me working a double shift, then adding a beer to the mix before going home, but my fridge was empty and I was wired.

I slipped in through the back staff entrance, walked down a silent corridor, and crossed the darkened, empty bar. Soon enough, the resort would open and these spaces would be filled with light and tourists and chatter. But for now, I enjoyed the quiet.

I wasn't antisocial, by any means. I couldn't be a boat tour guide if I were. But I preferred small groups to massive crowds. One reason I had chosen to work for Swallow Adventures instead of a place like DreamBoats. Our outings were limited in size, and we catered to vacationing families and small friend groups more than the rowdier parties.

The bar and restaurant was on the ground floor, just across from the lobby. There was another smaller bar on the top balcony that would be open only during the busiest summer months.

Already, the staff had casually started calling them Top and Bottom. And by staff, I meant our friend Cash, who'd taken a job working the front desk. He'd started it. Probably just to annoy Brooks.

It'd taken on a life of its own now, so no matter how Brooks grumbled, it continued. Probably because Skylar hadn't been able to hide his amusement, both at the names and how they riled up Brooks.

I weaved through tables set up with white tablecloths. The resort might not be open yet, but it looked ready to serve its next meal at the drop of a hat.

Brooks came through the lobby, looking like I'd pulled him from bed. His hair was sticking up in the back, his T-shirt was rumpled, and his smile was a little too satisfied.

"Did I wake you up?" I asked as he made his way behind the bar.

"Nah, I'm not that fucking old."

"Did I interrupt something then?"

He smirked. "Do you really think I'd leave my sexy boyfriend to pour you a beer if you did?"

"Probably not."

He grabbed a pint glass and moved to one of the taps to pull my favorite Ozark Beer Company lager.

"So, I was wanting to tell you—" he started.

"Ash was a fucking tool again tonight!" I burst out at the same time.

Brooks paused. "Oh?"

"Total asshat," I confirmed with a huff. "I needed a drink just to calm down so I can fucking sleep tonight."

"What happened?"

I hesitated. I wasn't sure why, but I didn't want to rehash our run-in. "Just the usual bullshit."

Brooks set the glass in front of me. "Maybe you two should bury the hatchet."

I took a long drink, giving him a skeptical look over the rim. "You know what he did."

"I know," Brooks said in an almost placating tone I hated. Was I really being so unreasonable? "I'm just saying, you were teenagers. You've grown up. Maybe you'd be happier if you didn't dwell?—"

"Maybe if he wasn't a jackass every time I run into him," I grumbled. "No, man. Maybe I could forgive him if he was sorry for what he did, but he's not, and I don't see that changing."

Brooks sighed. "All right. Let's change the subject, because this isn't getting you any more relaxed."

"You're right about that," I said, starting to lower my beer. "So what were you doing before I called?"

Brooks chuckled, and something about it sounded dirty. "I don't think you want to hear about that either."

I rolled my eyes. "You two are insatiable."

"Just wait. One day you'll understand."

I scoffed. "Okay, Dad."

Truth was, I dated and hooked up here and there, but lightning had never struck. I went through the motions everyone else did. But where they found happiness, I couldn't get past the feeling that I was missing something.

Something everyone else found.

Something right under my nose but also impossibly out of reach.