"Looks like it is," Stremmel replied.
"It can't be," I said, more heated this time. "There's just no way we're supposed to row ourselves down the river." I shook my head at the collection of small boats lined up along the dock in front of us at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology Sailing Pavilion. "We don't even know what we're doing."
"I can agree with that," he said under his breath.
"We'll just tell Milana this was a bridge too far."
Beside me, Sebastian snorted. When I turned a glare in his direction, he said, "It's funny. There are bridges on either side of us. I'm as shocked as anyone that you said something passably humorous." When I went on glaring at him, he continued, "We're here. It's the first thing in the fucking morning and it's bright as hell but we're here so let's get it over with. Why not? We only have to get from here to there." He gestured down the Charles River toward the Longfellow Bridge and the docks located immediately before it. "See? Here are the instructions Milana left. 'Cross the river to get to the other side.' Easy. It will take half an hour, tops."
I blinked at him, completely unconvinced. "Do you even know how to swim or do you rely on that ego for buoyancy?"
"Do I know how to swim?" he muttered. "I'm from Florida. Of course I know how to swim."
I eyed him with a touch of wary amusement. "Being from Florida can mean many things, Stremmel. No guarantees in that."
"Well then, Miss Quippy Questions, do you know how to swim?" He started down the dock, not waiting for my reply.
"Yes," I called. "I'm from Southern California."
"That explains a few things," he tossed over his shoulder.
"Why are you so excited to get in a little boat on freezing water with me?" I said to his back. "You're uncharacteristically eager to do this."
"Because it will be quick, and if we don't do it, we'll piss away another weekend morning with a different activity."
"But that activity won't involve a canoe—or kayak—or whatever the hell this thing is," I said with a gesture toward the two-seated boat at the end of the dock.
"But I am already out of bed," he growled back. I had to swallow hard to keep from feeling that growl inside me. "And I don't want to give up another weekend morning. I cherish my bedtime."
The image of a sleepy Sebastian swaddled in blankets and morning sunlight was not one I needed at the moment. Still, it was the one I got.
"Here." Sebastian shoved a life vest in my direction. "Put this on."
"Since when are you in charge of this exercise?"
"I'm not getting into another endless debate with you," he said. "Put on the vest. Get in the boat. Shut the hell up."
"You can wait a damn minute," I said, digging in my bag. "Give me your phone."
"If I wanted to chuck it in the river, I'd do it myself, thanks."
"Give me your phone," I repeated. "If we flip this boat like I think we will, I'd rather not lose my phone in the process. See?" I held up a reusable silicone pouch. "They'll float and stay dry."
He glared at the pouch as he handed over his device. "You had croutons in there the other day."
"You're going to have to choose, Stremmel. Crouton crumbs or river water. Can't make that choice for you."
He sighed as he cast a scowl over the water. "I'm too old for this shit."
"You're not wrong about that," I said as I secured the items in my bag.
"You think I'm old?"
"I think you crave attention and often get it through self-deprecating means." I zipped my fleece jacket all the way up to my chin. "Aren't you supposed to be in the boat? What are you waiting for?"
He turned that dark-eyed scowl on me, the one that should've tripped all my frantic people-pleasing alarms but only hit me with the buzz of a challenge. I didn't have to rescue anyone from those scowls, least of all me, not when I could stand toe to toe against them. He could yell and growl and complain all he wanted. It didn't scare me. It didn't even bother me—and that made hardly any sense at all.
Sharp words and a scowl of that magnitude should've sent cold panic through my veins yet all I could feel was the absolute certainty that I had nothing to fear. That scowl was the least threatening thing in the world. Not only that but I was firmly in control here.
"All right, Shap," he grumbled. "Get that fucking vest on, would you?"
It didn't take thirty minutes to get across the river. It took us thirty minutes to push off from the dock and point the boat in the right direction.
On most days, I took pleasure in Sebastian being wrong. This was not one of those days.
"We need to row more to the left," I said, lifting the left oar for emphasis.
"Could you just stop? Seriously, do less. You're going one way, I'm going the other. You're fucking us all up."
I hooked a glance over my shoulder at him. "If anyone's the problem here, it's you."
"If you'd let me do the rowing, we wouldn't have this problem," he fired back.
"I'm not going to sit here while you row us to the boathouse," I said, slapping my oar against the surface. The oar connected with the water harder than I'd intended, sending a spray back at Sebastian.
"Shap," he growled. "There will be no splashing this morning."
"It was an accident!"
"You cause a lot of accidents," he muttered. "Something to consider."
We got our oars into position and started rowing in a slow, sloppy rhythm. We weren't going anywhere quickly but we weren't veering off in a circle this time. At this pace, we had at least another hour of rowing ahead of us.
"You know…this is bullshit," Sebastian grumbled from behind me.
"What are you complaining about now?"
"All these exercises where we have to work together to get to the end—they're bullshit."
"Did you just now discover the point of all this?" I asked. "And if so, can I ask where you went to med school because I have questions."
"UCLA, and no, I didn't discover it now. I'm just annoyed about it now."
I glanced back at him. "UCLA? I went to USC undergrad."
"What did I tell you about the splashing!" he yelled as he ran a hand down his face and shook water droplets from his fingers. "You want to talk about LA, you do it without turning around or wiggling in your seat. The next time I get wet, you get wet."
I knew what he meant.
I understood the context clearly.
The only trouble was, he was right behind me. Right there. And those words were so rough and impatient and deep that the primordial portion of my brain heard something different than a threat about rogue waves in rowing. My brain heard growls and groans, and skin moving together. My brain heard all the unthinkably good things that happened when we argued while naked. My brain loved those sounds.
And I hated that I went there. I hated that he could awaken those thoughts in me without trying. I hated that I wanted it, regardless of whether it was very, very bad for me.