He shrugs lightly. “I found her crying. She needed someone to drive her and couldn’t tell her family. None of her friends would help, and the jackass who should have been helping had ghosted her. So I went with her and waited, and then I drove her back home in her car. We’re friends, that’s all.”

I nod. “I see.”

“Someone saw us coming out of the clinic. That’s how the rumor started.”

“Assumptions aren’t facts,” I murmur, remembering things Bunny said.

“No, but people sure do love to make them.”

“They make a lot of them about you,” I note.

“Yep.”

“You don’t seem to mind. I think you want people to talk.”

“That’s absurd. Why would I want that?”

“I don’t know,” I say in a quiet voice. “Why would you?”

He stares at me.

I stare at him.

And something hangs in the air between us. Something unsaid that I almost understand, but not quite. Something he wants me to understand. He’s looking at me as if he’s stranded alone on a deserted island and I’ve found his message in a bottle. Like he wants me to rescue him.

But that can’t be right, can it? Because he’s the one with the savior complex—as Bunny said. He’s the one who rescued her … who took the fall for me. Why would he need help?

Our boat bobs in the water, threatening another wave of wooziness and joggling my arm into Lucky’s leg that’s propped up between the seats. I look down. The skin-to-skin contact is a shock. He’s so feverishly warm in the cool breeze blowing off the harbor. It feels … too intimate. As if I’ve crossed the line somehow by accidently touching him—which is ridiculous. It’s just a shin. Just my forearm. Nothing sexy. For the love of Pete, he was rubbing my back a second ago, practically a massage, which everyone knows is a million times more risqué, if we’re racking up steam points. Right … ?

But when I tear my gaze away from where our bodies are pressed together oh-so-casually and look up into his eyes, I see something unmistakably different there. He feels it too. Not casual. Not casual at all. Not friendly. Not old pals catching up.

What is this? What’s happening?

I move my arm away, heart beating wildly against my ribs, and I pretend that nothing has happened. Because nothing has.

I think the seasickness has seeped into my brain and caused a temporary malfunction. That’s probably all it is, right? Just need to breathe and stop thinking about it. I’ll be fine.

Lucky clears his throat. “You know, you could’ve just asked to meet me at the Quarterdeck again. Less nausea. More coffee. No mothers involved in the meetup.”