Page 60 of Single Malt Drama
Something large splashed nearby.
Marco shot to his feet, which made the boat rock from side to side. “What the hell was that?”
Holding on for dear life, I shouted, “Sit down before you fall in.”
A whistle split the silence, followed by Cyril’s unmistakable voice. “Y’all run out of gas?”
“Thank Christ.” He took his seat.
At this rate, he’d exhaust himself with fright before we ever reached the cabin. I had to do something to distract him, or what I’d hoped would be an eventful wedding night would end with a bottle of wine and sleep—or worse, an argument.
Marco turned and yanked the cord to start the motor.
It’s now or never. I stamped down my inhibitions and pretended I was one of my Parisian friends. “The way your biceps bulge when you do that is turning me on.”
He looked over his shoulder and grinned. “Yeah?”
I turned sideways on the bench, arched my back as if posing for the camera, and ran my hand down the front of my body. “It’s hot… The first thing I want to do when we get to the cabin is get out of these clothes.”
Marco swallowed hard. “Christ, Nic. Do you know what you’re doing to me?”
I pressed my index finger to my lower lip, dipped my chin, and gave him my best wide-eyed, innocent stare. “Am I making it hard for you to focus?”
He swore under his breath, opened the throttle, and sped after Cyril.
We reached the cabin five minutes later. Unfortunately, the flirty heat between us faded when we saw the place.
I wasn’t entirely sure what I’d expected when Marco told me we were going to stay at Shanna’s friend’s fishing cabin. Having never been to the bayou, I imagined a real-life version of the animated Disney movie with a Creole girl, a frog, and a firefly. I wasn’t that far off—the bayou itself looked exactly as I thought it would, but the cabin was unlike anything I’d ever seen.
The little house sat above the water, perched precariously on wooden legs. Instead of a garage, there was a small carport-like structure, complete with a cloth canopy, to park the boat.
Swallowing hard, I said, “This is…nice.”
“I promised you paradise,” he deadpanned.
Marco and I unloaded the supplies onto the floating dock. We glanced at each other and up at the house. Neither of us spoke. It was as if Cyril had dropped us off on some alien planet instead of a couple hours south of New Orleans.
“We should go inside.” I reached for the bags, but Marco stopped me.
“Let’s check it out first. There’s no one around to mess with our things.”
“We should at least take the food up.” I motioned to the trees. “There could be bears or racoons.”
Marco arched an eyebrow, but scanned the dark landscape as if searching for monsters. “Shit.”
“Just the food.” Smiling, I loaded my arms with cloth grocery bags and walked up the stairs. Once again, I tried to distract him. My weapon of choice this time? My sexy catwalk hip sway.
Marco sucked in a breath behind me.
I felt quite proud of myself until I walked through a spiderweb, missed a step, and tottered backward. He caught me before I sent us both tumbling to the dock below, but judging by the splashes, a couple of the bags didn’t fare as well.
“The eggs! Crap, and the bread. What else did I drop?” Still half in his arms, I peered over the railing. “Please tell me the wine survived.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll have Cyril replace whatever we lost.” He tightened his jaw.
Wiping my face with my upper arm, I said, “Let’s get inside. I’m covered in spider webs.”
Marco made a sound in the back of his throat. “Spiders?”