Inappropriate Pirates, Modern Love

"Water." She reached for one of the glasses he had filled. "Yes. Water would be good now. Gotta stay hydrated."

She smacked her lips after a deep gulp, drummed her fingers on the counter. "Yep. Good water."

He felt like it was his turn to break the silence. "So, I gotta wonder: how did you end up back here, your old swashbuckling, yard-arm swinging stomping grounds. After what, 10 years?"

"More like 12. Way too long. Good question, though, and a nice deflection from relationship talk and the inappropriate tears and stuff it can apparently lead to. Let's see." She paused before continuing.

"We had a couple of good sponsor opportunities, and Rusty set up face-to-face meetings. He's a face-to-face kinda guy, a promoter, a fast talker. Should probably get into politics."

"Who's Rusty? I heard Mr. Don't-Get-Baked's voice earlier. That him?"

A snort escaped her. "I don't listen so good sometimes. Ended up baked in more ways than one. Look."

She pressed fingers to the bare skin exposed between the lapels of his old robe. Reddened skin showed a white impression of half a hand, immediately returned to red.

"Ouch. You've got a slight burn there, fair lady."

"Yah. Think some aloe gel might help?"

"I'm sure we have some around here if you need it."

"Sir!" She made a face of open-mouthed, mock surprise. "Are you offering to rub soothing lotion over my tender, vulnerable flesh?"

"I don't think that would be a good idea.." Tempting though. He was pretty sure he hadn't said the last part out loud.

"Hmm. What self-control. I don't think the Rob I remember would have refused the chance if it was my mom offering up her burnt skin for some hands-on assistance."

"Well, that was then and I was younger and..."

"I'm too young? It that it? Innocent and inexperienced?"

"No.." Damn. She had a talent for keeping him off balance. "It's more about, well, I'm the captain, remember, and you're the crew, and fraternizing among the ranks is bad for maintaining discipline aboard ship."

Her laugh was back, immediate and genuine. "Well played, sir. Well played. And I'm not even going to touch that comment about 'discipline.' Beyond wondering if it includes spanking the crew."

She did it again. Just when he thought he had found stable ground, she threw him another loop, a sudden swell coming out of nowhere to rock his ship on otherwise calming seas.

"And now back to these sponsors and - was it Rusty?" He knew very well it was Rusty, but didn't want to admit that he already disliked the guy, for no better reason than jealousy. And something in the unseen fellow's tone had rubbed him the wrong way from the start. "Who's sponsoring whom for what?"

Her hands found her slim hips as she gave him a stare. "I told you. Don't you listen?"

He was lost. When had she told him any of this?

"Last time I saw you, I told you I'd be a ninja. An American Ninja Warrior. Since pirating wasn't likely to pan out as a career."

A light dawned. "Wow. Really? You did it? I've seen the show and it always reminded of you."

The faux glare melted. "You thought of me?"

"Definitely. Even when you were little, you impressed me as someone who would set a goal, focus, and reach it."

"Full disclosure: I compete, I have a fan-base, but I haven't won the whole shebang. Yet."

"A fan-base, huh? That's where the sponsors come in?"

"Exactly. Sponsors like loyal fans who buy stuff."

"And Rusty Bakerman?"

"Rusty Farnham, actually. He's my coach. And manager." The excitement in her bright eyes dimmed a little. "He wants to be more than that, he's made that obvious, but I don't think...well, I probably have given him some mixed signals and, uh, yah, let's just skip right over over that part.

"He almost made the finals back in the early days, then started coaching some up and comers. There was a big stink, a lawsuit and an arrest. All charges got dropped. I still don't know if anybody's version is really the whole truth, but he got a bad rep he probably didn't totally deserve."

"'Probably not totally.'"

"Yeah." A wry smile. "You listen good. I'll go that far. Probably not totally. Anyhow, he's now reinvented himself and on his comeback tour, with me as his star protege."

Rob liked this guy less and less. He struggled to ease the tension in his jaw. "So reprobate Rusty is riding you back to redemption."

She raised one eyebrow, studying him, jaw now set in a hard line. "Is that a clarifying question or a quickly drawn, rather harsh amalgam of conclusions and assumptions?"

"I thought it was a cleverly worded alliteration."

"Fair enough, my pirate-poet captain." She glanced at the clock on the microwave. "Shit. Is that the right time? I gotta start my afternoon workout, like, now."

She looked nervous, almost scared. Rob instantly blamed her reaction on this 'coach.' In almost no time this guy had moved very close to the top of his short list of disliked people.

Her hands went to the robe, her eyes to the bedroom doorway. "Uh, my suit is still wet. Can I wear this downstairs?"

She was already in motion, heading back to retrieve her bikini.

"Sure. Wear it as long as you like. Bring it back whenever." He spoke into the air where she had been.

Long legs striding out, suddenly a blur of anxious energy, she waved the retrieved tangle of damp blue swimsuit as she headed for the balcony. The pieces looked tiny, reminding him of how much glorious young body they had exposed.

"You can use the door if you want."

Hand on the rail, she looked back at him. "I don't have the key; the door's locked."

"I do. Remember, I'm your landlord."

"Oh yeah. Let's do that. I might flash a little too much with nothing on under this."

He fetched the keys and led her down the outside stairs, letting her into her own rental.

"Thanks." She slowed as he swung the door open. "For everything. You don't know how good it is to see you."

"You are very welcome. See you tomorrow?"

Her face lit up. "Yes. Definitely. I hope."

That last qualifier reminded him again of this sketchy coach. "Should I expect a dainty knock on the door or a cutlass-wielding boarder tossing a grappling hook over my balcony's gunwale."

She flashed him a cartoon snarl. "I don't do 'dainty' very well. Prepare to be boarded. And one more thing: he wants to in the worst way, but I have no intention of ever letting him ride me."

The afternoon still left a couple hours of daylight and he had no intention of wasting it trapped in a dusty, damp bathroom breaking tiles off the wall and floor. Grabbing a wide-brimmed straw hat, he settled on a walk up the beach. His hand on the door, he paused, went back and grabbed the remaining half joint and the lighter.

It wasn't hard to find an empty stretch of beach where the smoke wouldn't bother anyone else, before he set off to cover some ground, finding the extra muscular effort each step took as feet sunk into the sand satisfying. His unexpected visitor had, among other things, reminded him that he'd been slacking off lately from taking care of his own physical fitness.

Even with the surf and shorebirds, sunbathers, surfers and paddle-boarders, his former pirate pal - now grown up and gorgeous ninja - dominated his thoughts. His thoughts and more: her outburst of tears and painful sobs, her passion and freely shared doubts had genuinely touched him, at a heart-deep level.

On the walk back, the sky to the south and west coloring with the setting sun, his phone rang: Jennifer.

After the events of today, his lasting impression of their conversation was how dull, how superficial it was. How was the drive? How's the weather? Cold here. Rainy. Warm here. No rain. Yeah, the leak's not too bad. Sucks about the ski trip. Sure does. Good that they refunded the deposit on the cabin. Yeah, good. He wondered if Jennifer was left with the same takeaway.

He hit the bed early, after a long, steamy shower. Even soaping up rekindled his earlier encounter: a ridiculous worry that he might wash away all the scent JB had found so enticing. Even after the overnight drive sleep didn't come right away.

He couldn't even focus on one aspect of today's unexpected surprise. Had he really drooled all that much over JB's mom? Did he have any right to the visceral dislike he felt toward her coach? Would she really visit him tomorrow and was she thinking of him now? How could any body, any bare skin feel so incredibly good in his arms, under his touch?

Sunburn. Aloe. A white handprint surrounded by, vanishing back into red.

When that led to picturing her lean, strong, naked upper body, pale triangles defined by bright tan lines, punctuated by crinkled-tight nipples that had pressed into his chest, he found himself painfully erect. He resisted slipping a hand under the covers, to relieve the aching urge he felt. Sleep finally relinquished its refusal to cooperate.

He woke up late, almost 8. Yesterday slowly registered as reality rather than a odd confusing dream fueled by the return to Mom's Beach Place. Sipping his first mug of coffee, he saw a white bundle on the patio chair outside on the balcony. Had it been there last night?

It was his robe, neatly folded, but damp with morning dew, no doubt left by a nimble ninja while he was out on the beach. A sudden urge struck him to bury his face in the collar, seek out her scent. He gave in, burying his face in where her neck had been, snuffling down to where her bare breasts must have hidden. He thought he found a slight trace of feminine sweat before chiding himself for being a little bit too pervy. He'd returned the robe to its hook in his bathroom when a tiny glimmer caught his eye. He looked closer, plucked a long, fine blond hair from the terry cloth.

Holding the single strand high, he let the bright bath light catch, shine golden on it before he leaned closer. The solitary hair tickled across his cheek and nose, reminding him of closeness yesterday, her arms wrapping tight, her own nose sniffing at his neck. Okay. Definitely perving. Warmth colored his cheeks, embarrassed even with no witnesses to see him. Still, he couldn't throw this little part of her away, deposited it on the small silver tray that his mother had used to keep her every day jewelry.

After shaking his head at his own behavior, he began to demo the water-damaged part of the bath. Hopefully it was all contained in one wall around the sink.The work was noisy but his downstairs neighbors had to be awake by now.

It felt good to concentrate on the controlled destruction, isolated behind a heavy dust respirator, goggles, gloves. He didn't stop for anything other than a drink of water until almost noon. Now it was time to wash up, have some lunch and get recharged before hauling all the debris he had created down the stairs and to the dumpster.

Thrum. Even through his heavy boots he felt the floor's vibration. Thrum.

"Ahoy." Her voice was clear. He had slid open the patio door to let in some fresh air. Even on hotter days he had preferred the humid salty air to the dried-out, artificial feeling of air conditioning. JB's comment to Mr. Manager yesterday had reaffirmed that.

"Good timing, me matey." He started speaking before he looked up. What he saw made him stutter, choking back a surprised laugh. "Oh. My. Goodness. Golly. That's quite an outfit."

She posed on the balcony, arms wide. "You like?"

There was no shortage of eye-catching elements. Tight pants, striped vertically and ended below the knee with rough-cut fringe. Showcasing her midriff, the frilled white, wide-collared, long-sleeved shirt was unbuttoned down to just above the prominent knot, centered below her breasts. Topping it all was that remarkable hat, purple, wide-brimmed, and plumed with a huge fluffy feather. It all screamed 'Pirate!'

She removed the hat with a practiced flourish, bowing low, one bare foot slipping back behind the other.

"I like. I like. But I thought you had abandoned your dreams of full-time piracy."

"No. I decided to combine my acrobatic passions. Ninja Warriors likes to promote characters as much as athletes, so nicknames and...gimmicks are encouraged. You're looking at the latest incarnation of JB 'The Buccaneer' Buchanan. J-Buck to my friends."

"Buchanan? I thought your last name was Kirkwood."

She sighed as she slipped in the door, a flick of her wrist sending the hat onto the couch like a frisbee.

"It is. Buchanan is my stage name. Or ninja name. Whatever. It's Rusty's idea." He thought he saw an eye roll as she said it, but Rob wasn't going to pursue that. If she wanted to bring the guy up, she would.

"Thanks for bringing the robe back."

She flashed a half-smile. "Yeah. I didn't want to have to answer any questions about why I was wearing some other man's robe. Though...Can I tell you a secret?"

"Please do."

I thought about holding on to it for a while."

"Yeah? Why? I mean you could have if you wanted."

She shrugged. "It smelled like you. Never know when I might want to sneak a hit of that patented Cap'n Rob scent."

His breath caught, heart seeming to flutter as she went on. "Say. You've been working all morning, huh? Getting nice and sweaty?"

"As if you couldn't tell." He pulled at his shirt, dark, damp spots showing under both arms and in a rough stripe down the center of his chest.

She almost slinked toward him, like a carnivore on the prowl. "I could use a little hit right now. Hugs?"

Her arms stretched out, but she waited for him to give her permission.

"Anytime, sweet girl." He was thankful his voice didn't crack, nervousness running through him, abrupt, powerful.

She eased in against him, eyes down, suddenly shy.

Again, the hand he reached around her found bare skin.

Again, he relished the exquisitely smooth softness of her skin, the surprising strength in the lean muscles underneath.

"Mmm-mm." She exaggerated her sniffing inhale this time, almost making fun of herself. He savored another chance to bury his face in her hair, heat rising in his cheeks once more as it reminded him of the single blond strand he saved on its own silver tray.

"I've been thinking," he started, unsure how long it was proper to hold this slim beauty to him, even if she had initiated it.

Sweet laughter trilled from her. She eased back enough to look at him but kept her arms on his shoulders. Fingers lightly, gently played with the hair at his nape.

"Thinking? Kind, gentle, smells good, talented with his hands, and he has thoughts too? You're gonna make that box-checking hottie of yours regret missing a chance at romancing you in front of the fire in that cozy ski cabin."

She definitely had a talent for throwing him off balance. This time she must have seen it, prompting him to continue. "And what was it you were thinking?"

"You mentioned your mom yesterday..."

"Thinking about my foxy mom, huh? Probably in one of those clingy swimsuits she liked to wear. Is that an appropriate conversation to have with her innocent young daughter?"

The mischief clearly obvious in her face was the only thing that saved him from another bout of speechlessness.

"Bratty daughter, you mean."

"What!? Who are you calling a brat."

"You, ya brat. Now listen to your elder. Better yet, listen to your captain."

"Aye aye, sir." She gave him jaunty salute, dropped both arms to her sides, at rigid attention. He was relieved and disappointed both that the action took her fingers away from the back of his neck. It occurred to him that she might be overdoing the teasing banter to keep far away from the grief that had hit so hard yesterday.

"I was thinking about what you said about your mom. Choosing the wrong kinds of guys, falling for the broken projects that she might fix. Or that only she could fix."

She nodded. "'Broken projects.' That about sums it up. Especially if they had no desire to be fixed."

"Then you mentioned what's-his-name, the coach-manager guy."

She raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Rusty. As you well know."

"Yeah. Him. Working hard to redeem himself from some nebulous past rep that he might or might not deserve by promoting his promising young protege."

"Sounds like Rusty."

"So here's my thought. Or my question. Are you Rusty's protege, or is he your project? I mean, are you following in your mom's worst footsteps, the ones you respect the least?"

Bright blue eyes stared at him. He saw anger and pain before a reluctant smile resurfaced. "Damn it. There you go again. Paying attention and offering insights, gently but firmly. And way too accurately. No wonder the crew keeps on electing you captain."

"The only thing even approximating a vote that I recall was somewhere over a decade ago and the entire crew consisted of one gangly gibbon of a girl."

"Well, if I am still the entire crew of this ship of ours, the vote is still unanimous."

"So tell your unanimously elected captain more about your project-slash-coach-slash-manager."

She didn't respond immediately except to spin on one heel and walk to the couch, bouncing down on the overstuffed cushions. He couldn't - or didn't - prevent his eyes from following her firm muscular rear end. Somehow the tight striped and fringed pants, looking like something that might have appeared in an old Gidget movie, showed off her form at least as well as the bikini bottoms had.

"He's a real talker. And a natural promoter, and he's lined up some pretty good sponsors for me already. For a cut."

"A cut." It wasn't quite a question, but almost.

"Yeah." Her mouth screwed up tight. "He gets a cut as my coach. And a cut as my manager, and I'm starting to to think the whole fast-talker thing is working on me better than on the more lucrative sponsors."

He stayed quiet.

"There are a lot of promises and just-around-the-corner super-deals that never quite come to fruition." This sigh was bigger.

"Tomorrow he's meeting with the Veep of marketing for a big company I can't mention. You know them and probably have some product of theirs in your closet back home. They've already emailed and spoken on the phone. Now's time for the big face-to-face. Rusty likes face-to-faces."

She sounded more and more bothered, working through things out loud. "The funny thing is, I am the one who got the contact, the first emails and the interest. Not him. Then he insisted on taking over. He's the expert. 'You do what you do, I do what I do.' That's what he said. What he always says whenever I bring up the business side of things. Still, if he can nail down this one deal, I can train as a ninja full time, with no side job."

"'You do what you do.'" Rob repeated it slowly. "A little bit dismissive, don't you think? Condescending?"

"I'm starting to." Her voice was low, jaw tight.

"It sounds a lot like 'stay in your own lane' to me. Especially if it's your contact."

"I know. And - while I'll admit he's a good coach and knows the sport, my technique and time on the Salmon Ladder is way better for instance - as a manager and a negotiator, so far his 'do what he does' has been a whole lot of talking and promises and not a lot of sign on the dotted line. Except for a few small fry. Those add up, but they aren't paying the big bills."

Her hands balled up into twin fists, but she had enough control to bring them down slowly, barely indenting the cushion to either side of her thighs. She pushed herself up off the couch with them still clenched. "Damn it. Now I'm worked up. I think I need to burn off a little steam with some kettle bells. Maybe a swim."

Heading to the balcony, she stopped, retrieved her pirate hat before looking at him, shaking her head. "You and your insightful questions, Cap'n."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. This was going to come to a head sooner or later. Better sooner." Her hand was on the rail, hat back on her head.