Carol Lynne - Slow Play

A Total-E-Bound Publication

www.total-e-bound.com

Slow-Play

ISBN # 978-1-907010-42-2

Copyright Carol Lynne 2009

Cover Art by April Martinez Copyright June 2009

Edited by Claire Siemaszkiewicz

Total-E-Bound Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the authors imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2009 by Total-E-Bound Publishing 1 The Corner,

Faldingworth Road , Spridlington, Market Rasen, Lincolnshire, LN8 2DE, UK.

Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-burning.

Poker Night

SLOW-PLAY

Carol Lynne

Dedication

Thanks to everyone in my Carol Lynne yahoo group. You make me smile every morning, especially Silver and her Good Moaning emails.

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Grand Banks Trawler: Grand Banks Yachts, LTD.

Jeep: Chrysler UK Ltd.

Firebird: General Motors Co.

Jaguar: Jaguar Carsa Limited

Prius: Toyota PLC

Rolls Royce: Rolls-Royce plc

Sea World: Busch Entertainment Corporation

Chapter One

Is this what I pay you to do?

From his position on the lounge chair, Bobby Quinn opened his eyes and stared up at the silhouette of his brother Brad. God he hated the sonofabitch. Im not out on a charter, so you arent paying me at all.

So why arent you out busting your balls to get a charter?

Bobby sat up and gestured towards the virtually empty marina. Its Wednesday. Do you see a lot of tourists around?

Brad made that little sound in his throat Bobby hated. Could be something to do with the location, or maybe I need to find a captain whos willing to get out and drum up business.

Standing, Bobbys hands clenched into fists. You threatening me? Your own brother?

Brad stuck his hands in his designer suit pockets and shrugged. Half-brother. Besides, its business.

Bobby knew Brad was lying. It wasnt business at all. Since the day hed been born, Brad had hated his guts. Was it his fault their mutual father had fucked his secretary and then divorced his wife when his mistress, aka Bobbys mother, turned up pregnant?

From the way Brad treated him, Bobby guessed his half-brothers answer to the question would be a resounding yes. And just where am I supposed to find people who can afford the prices youre charging for a day out on the ocean?

Brad shrugged again in that I cant be bothered with details way he had. Thats your problem.

Is there anything else you need? Bobby asked, ready for the conversation to be over.

Brad walked around the 1970 Grand Banks trawler. Nope. Just checking up on my investment, making sure youre doing the required upkeep on her.

Fuck you, he seethed.

Bobby had spent eight years, and every penny he had, restoring the fifty-foot trawler back to its original glory, only to have Brad swoop in and buy it from the bank when he missed a couple of payments. He knew the only reason his brother had done it was to piss him off. Bobby was left with no choice but to work for Brad in order to care for the boat hed come to love. The Gypsy meant everything to him, and Brad knew it.

What about your quarters? Are you keeping them clean like I instructed? Brad asked.

Two seconds away from pushing him into the Pacific Ocean, Bobby climbed down to the main deck and across the gang plank. He heard Brad yelling after him, but he didnt dare turn around.

Bobby stormed his way towards the parking lot and hopped into his rusted 1983 Jeep. He turned off

Capistrano Road onto Highway One and headed north. Dammit. He knew Brad would try to get him to move the boat closer to San Francisco, but the bay wasnt where he wanted to be. He liked the open waters of the Pacific, and he sure as hell liked the people of Pillar Point better than the snobs hed run into in San Francisco.

He had no idea where he was going, until he arrived at Baker Construction. Pulling to a stop, he waved at Bill, the guard on duty, who opened the heavy steal gate to let him pass. He was lucky Kent had room at the back of the lot for him to store his boat. He wove in and out of the various pieces of construction equipment and supplies, until he reached MySecond Chance.

A 1966 Pacemaker 53 Flush Deck yacht, My Second Chance was no where near ocean-worthy. Bobby still had several years, and more than a few thousand dollars, before that particular dream would become a reality.

He parked beside the make-shift scaffolding he and his buddies had erected to hold the old girl upright, and climbed the ladder. Once aboard, Bobby went below deck and looked around. He hadnt done nearly enough work to the old yacht in the two years hed had her. Of course he knew the reason. Hed had his heart broken when hed lost The Gypsy.

Thinking the emptiness could be replaced, hed saved his money and purchased My Second Chance. As he looked around the salon he realised it hadnt happened. Hell, maybe he should just sell it?

Living and working almost an hour away from where the boat was stored didnt give him enough time to work on it. Bobby picked up his sanding block and began to work on a small section of the woodwork.

Two hours later, he set the block down and picked up a piece of cheesecloth, running it over the smooth mahogany. He felt better than he had in a week. Getting to his feet, he sat in the cracked leather chair and surveyed what hed managed to accomplish. He knew restoring the interior of the yacht wouldnt get her into the water any faster, but then he didnt have the money to put her into the ocean anyway.

As he studied the small cabin, he took inventory of everything yet to be done. It was liveable the way it was, but liveable had never been good enough before. What was the point of restoring, if you didnt do it right.

His cell phone rang, bringing him out of his thoughts. Bobby reached into his shorts pocket and looked at the display.

Hey, he answered.

Hey, buddy. Eric wanted me to call and make sure everything was still set for Dr. Peters cruise? Zac asked.

Far as I know. Of course, I might not have a job in the morning.

Shit. Brad?

Yeah. Same old, same old.

Hes such an asshole.

Bobby agreed wholeheartedly. Unfortunately, unless I wanna find another job and place to live, Im kinda stuck dealing with his bullshit.

Bobbys gaze took in the yachts interior once again. He knew if it came down to it, living aboard My Second Chance was an option, but the thought of completely abandoning

Next page