“No,” said Morgan. “It isn’t.”

“But what do you want?”

Morgan’s wistful smile tore at Emilia. “Right now, I want to help you fix this boat so that you don’t drown before you make up your mind.”

Nell, who had observed her person’s behavior with canine indifference, chose this moment to flop down next to Morgan. Traitor.

“Okay then. Let’s do that.”

•   •   •

Stevie took one look at Morgan’s face when she hopped into the truck and frowned. “What did you have for lunch? Bad fish?”

“I didn’t eat.” Instead, she’d helped Emilia spread epoxy over the crack in the rowboat’s hull and had done her best not to scream in frustration.

“That was stupid. Here, eat this healthy bar thing that I stole from Lil.” Stevie handed her a protein bar, and she chewed without tasting it. Her body ached with unreleased tension.

“Then what did you do?” Stevie asked when Morgan didn’t volunteer any information.

“I helped Emilia with her boat.”

“And how is the good doctor?” Stevie’s banter carried a concerned edge.

“Fine.”

“So fine that you look like you want to hit something.”

“I don’t.”

“You most definitely do.”

“Drop it, Stevie.”

Stevie settled back in her seat with a hurt expression. Morgan hadn’t meant to snap at her. White showed in her knuckles where they gripped the wheel.

“She’s a top,” she said, not looking at Stevie.

“Oh no.” Stevie’s voice softened. “Morgan, you’re totally fucked.”

“I know.”

“How, exactly, did you discover this, Sherlock?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Can I play devil’s advocate?”

“Do you ever play anything else?”

“Touché. Seriously, though. I think I get why you’re fighting this, but let’s be real for a second.”

Morgan glanced at her friend. Stevie’s face was uncharacteristically sober.

“You’re going to get hurt either way. You might as well get laid in the process.”

“Thanks for that bit of wisdom.”

“You’re welcome.”

They drove the rest of the way in silence, listening to the radio. Morgan tried to calm the urge to beat her fist against the steering wheel. Why. Why did she have to be so responsible? Why hadn’t she pulled Emilia into the backseat of this truck . . . or maybe someplace with less dog hair, like the bathroom of the boathouse, not that that option was much more appealing. She hadn’t been with anyone since Kate, and her body screamed at her in thwarted fury. The memory of Emilia’s hand brushing near her clit as she withdrew from her pants nearly made her swerve into the shoulder. Fuck.

Women expected Morgan to take the lead. Even Kate, who had known her better than anyone, hadn’t managed to unhinge her quite so totally and had left things mostly up to Morgan in bed. Morgan had, once, drunkenly confessed how much this disappointed her to Stevie.