Poseidon (Contemporary Mythos Book 5)

We’d road-tripped down to West Palm Beach, all eight hours of it, listening to a pirate fantasy novel On These Black Sands on audiobook for the duration of the drive. When we settled into our hotel room for the night, after lugging all equipment from my Jeep inside, I stared at myself in the mirror while Meg showered. The same face, same reflection from the past thirty-three years gazed back at me, but an unsettling notion—a feeling that I didn’t recognize myself anymore made my stomach twist into knots. The reflection flashed for a split moment, and I caught a glimpse of myself in a plaid-patterned dress with rolling green hills behind me. One blink and I would’ve missed it.

“Should I go back into the bathroom?” Meg had walked out at some time, towel drying her cropped hair with a raised brow. “You look like you’re about to…self-indulge.”

My chest tightened, and I snapped my gaze to my fingers trailing between my breasts. “I—”

Meg paused and canted her head at me, brushing her bare feet across the carpet until she stood next to me.

“Do I look different to you, Meg?”

She curled her finger under one strap of her ribbed tank top, moving between me and the mirror. “You’ve got a glaze in your eyes lately. Like you’re lost in thought more often than you’re here on planet Earth. Other than that? No.”

I turned for my suitcase, grabbing toiletry items and pajamas.

“In fact,” Meg continued, following me. “You’ve been weird ever since meeting surfer boy. A connection? Methinks so. Do your loins simply burn for him, my dear?”

“My loins, Meg?” I bit back a laugh.

“Yeah. Isn’t that how all your romance novels describe it?”

Rolling my eyes, I brushed past her. “Maybe if I liked bodice rippers.”

“Bodice, what now?”

“I’m taking a shower,” I said, ignoring her question with a chuckle as I ducked into the bathroom.

Considering hotels never seemed to run out of hot water, I cranked it up as high as my skin could tolerate. Pressing my hands against the marble tiles, I leaned forward, dropping my head and letting the heat roll down my neck and back. Raising my lips toward the showerhead, I opened my mouth, letting the water collect, filling it. For a moment, I thought I could breathe despite the water blocking my throat and nostrils. I even tried to. Coughing, sputtering, and gasping, I pressed my back to the shower wall, dragging the water droplets from my face.

What the hell was wrong with me? Who drowns themselves in a shower standing up?

The door creaked open.

“Are you dying in here, Cor?” Meg asked.

After gulping down another helping of air, I replied, “No. Just trying to breathe water.”

“Ah. As much as I know you long to be a mermaid, please remember…”

“I don’t have gills.” I pursed my lips.

“Good. You haven’t floated completely to the clouds yet. Just scream if you slip or something because you’re trying to dive into extremely shallow waters.”

The door clicked closed.

After finishing up and managing not to kill myself, I headed back to the living room to find Meg sitting on the edge of her bed, staring at her phone screen.

“Meg?”

Her hand shook, and she didn’t blink.

Quickly wrapping the towel around my dripping wet hair, I crossed the room and slid a hand on her shoulder. “Meg.”

“She—” Meg gulped, and looked at me with bloodshot eyes. “She texted me. She wants me back.”

My chest ached and I sat on the bed next to her, forcing her to look at me as I gently grabbed her chin. “Megara, don’t do this to yourself.”

One of the first things we found out that we both had in common when we met was our love of Disney’s Hercules after I called her Megara for the first time. It’d stuck from then on out.

“I love her, Cory.” Meg’s grip tightened on the phone.

I curled my fingers around the phone, prying it from her grip. “I know you do. But what she did to you is unforgivable, and I’d be willing to bet anything the only reason she’s texting you is because the man she was dating dumped her.”

After a few tugs, Meg let go with a sigh.

“You’re probably right. I just can’t stand the thought of starting over again. It’s hard enough finding other gay women, let alone one I’m also interested in dating.” Meg sighed and flopped onto her back.

I followed and rested my head on her shoulder. “It’ll happen, Meg. You do you for now. Heal. Be happy. And it’ll happen.”

She rested her head on mine. “Not sure what I’d do without you, Hobbit.”

I poked her ribs, and she let out a yelp. “Can I do you a favor?”

“What do you mean?”

I held up the phone like an Olympic torch. “By deleting her number.”

“Cory…” Meg shot to her elbows, the skin between her eyes cinching. “I don’t know.”

“Did you want to be friends with her?”

“I—I couldn’t do that.” Meg bit her lip and looked away.

After pulling up her contacts list, I clicked into her ex’s name and showed Meg the screen.

With one glance at the phone, she closed her eyes. “Do it.”

And so, I did.

We sat on the boat the following day, sipping on our second can of Red Bull. Meg had started crying in the middle of the night, and I spent hours stroking her hair, trying to coax her back to sleep. She sat next to me on the bench seat as the captain sailed us to the dive spot. She had her head tilted up, letting the sun warm her cheeks, eyes closed behind her sunglasses.

“How are you doing, Megara?” I bumped her arm.

She took a long, deep breath. “Better. Much better. The sun always rejuvenates me.” She shoved the sunglasses to the top of her head. “I’m sorry for keeping you up last night.”

“Oh, no. You’re not saying any of that. Remember when I broke up with Ted?”

She exaggerated her plump bottom lip sticking out, making it press against the middle of her chin. “I’d rather not remember Ted. But man, did we binge-watch the hell out of some Vampire Diaries.”

Sighing, I leaned back and dragged a hand down my throat. “Damon will get any girl through a breakup, I swear.”

“Mm, Caroline.”

We eyed each other sidelong before laughing.

“We’re five minutes out, ladies,” the boat captain announced to give us time to suit up.

After going through the formal process of slipping on wet suits, flippers, and masks, we hoisted the tanks onto each other’s backs. I dangled my mask by its strap from my arm, double-checking I had a new SD card in my camera. We were diving in the North Double Ledges to look for prime spots for sea turtles. West Palm, in particular, had strong currents, which made for harsh swimming conditions. It called for drift diving, which would carry us over the reef with little need to swim. It also meant a negative entry, a straight descent to the bottom without stopping at the surface. It was a challenge that I loved because you had to be quick on the shutter to catch your subject matter in time.

The assistant on board yelled, “Dive, dive,” once the dive entry was clear, the boat bobbed against the harsh current.

Meg and I hopped in, descending to the bottom as soon as our flippers slipped beneath the surface. A divemaster joined us because our entry and exit points were on opposite sides. Meg would serve as a spotter and backup for the dive, given the conditions. With how often I would have to slow down for photos, however, I wasn’t sure how likely it’d be to stay with the divemaster. Even Meg and I would drift apart occasionally if she missed my signal that I was stopping.

I readied my camera as the drift carried me along, relaxing my limbs and letting water curl around me like a dense fog. Fish of all colors and varieties fluttered amidst the coral reef. Snapping several photos, I didn’t entirely stop for them, striving to save my energy for the sea turtles. A group of fish swam over to me, spiraling my arms and doing repeated circles around my torso.

I’d never seen fish act like this before. Especially not with a human.

A sea turtle swam directly below me, but with my new fish friends distracting me, I didn’t raise the camera in time before drifting straight past it.

Dammit.

We spent the next hour taking photos of anything and everything that the magazine would pay us for, including over a dozen breathtaking shots of majestic sea turtles. During that time, more fish circled my arms and legs, an eel stared me down, and a nurse shark swam beside me for almost ten minutes straight. To say I was bewildered would’ve been putting it mildly. A storm had rolled in at some point during our dive, causing the current to grow more intense. Our steady drift had turned into a catapult, and we were no longer in sight of the divemaster. I tossed a hand signal to Meg, letting her know to stay within range.

Removing the delayed surface marker buoy from my utility belt, I started to unravel it, resting the camera at my side with the strap secured around my neck. I reached behind me for the alternate air source on my tank and slipped it into the underside of the buoy. I paused with a small puff of air to ensure no leaks before fully inflating it, and letting go, keeping hold of the reel. Once Meg and I were near each other, I started to tug on the buoy, signaling our new location to the boat.

No sooner had we breached the surface, the choppy waters tossed us. The boat rocked with such force the dock dipped in and out of the water. A crewman stood on the edge in a raincoat holding his hands out, instructing us to wait for a safer moment to board. The divemaster had already made it, and she too waved her hands at us.

I yanked my regulator from my mouth. “Meg, go first.”

“Are you crazy?” She sputtered as our bodies bobbed in the water like matching buoys.

“I’m a stronger swimmer than you. We both know that. I’ll be behind you and help you get on the boat.”

The crewman frantically waved his hands for us to swim to the boat.

Meg grumbled. “Fine.”

Following behind her, I treaded water with my flippers and held the camera out to her once she was safely on board. Wrapping my hands around the ladder, I pulled myself up. A massive gust of wind sent a wave over my head, tossing me from the ladder and back into the dark water. I sputtered, scrambling for my regulator as the choppy waves tossed me around like a ragdoll and carried me away from the boat.

“Cory,” Meg shouted.

My breathing grew erratic, and I managed to shove the regulator in my mouth, kicking my arms and legs as fast as possible, but the current was too strong. The sight of the boat grew smaller and smaller.

A sudden force bubbled beneath me until it reached my legs and launched me forward like two dolphins were pushing the bottoms of my feet but…there was nothing but water and air. I held my arms at my sides, watching the streaks of bubbles on either side of me form straight lines as my body propelled through the water with ease against the current. And in the distance, I caught sight of several suckers like an octopus tentacle. It disappeared into the shadows before I could look again to confirm.

Once I neared the boat, the water lifted me to the ladder. I snapped my head over my shoulder, determined to catch a glimpse of the mysterious force. But there was nothing except the waves cutting against each other and the water turning black from torrential downpours of rain.

“Jesus Christ, Cory, are you alright?” Meg asked, yanking me onto the dock.

Water beads collected on my eyelashes, and I blinked them away, staring at the unruly surface of the ocean. “A bit shook up, yeah. But I’m fine.”

Meg jolted me from my daydream when she wrapped her arms around me in a soggy embrace. “You scared the shit out of me, Hobbit.”

Finally able to tear my eyes away from the water, I hugged her back and numbly patted her shoulder blades.

The rain slowed once we reached the shore as luck would have it. No matter, however, we’d gotten what we came for—sea turtle photos. I scrolled through the shots on my camera. Only two were blurry. The rest were bright, crisp, and centered.

“Isn’t that the surfer guy?” Meg swatted my shoulder and pointed.

My stomach fluttered as soon as I spotted him.

Simon. He talked to a woman in a yellow string bikini, swiveling her hips and pushing her boobs together. Simon grinned, showing those sparkly white teeth, but his eyes stayed glued to her face. He rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. The woman’s arms fell at her sides, and she frowned before turning away with a flick of her wrist.

The boat lurched as we nestled against the dock and I sat still, frozen. Simon peeled the top part of his wet suit from his chest, letting it hang from his hips. My mouth dried at the sight of his bare chest despite seeing it days prior.

Meg snapped her fingers in front of my face. “The boat charges by the hour, you know?” She grinned.

“Right.” I glanced at my watch. We had two minutes before they’d charge us for another hour. “Shit. Let’s move.”

Chuckling, I scooped my equipment into my arms and hobbled over the edge of the boat to the dock, waving at the crew with my only free hand. When I turned around, I came face-to…. abs with Simon. With a gulp I was sure was audible to everyone else on the dock, I panned my eyes up until they met his gaze.

The sun peeked through the clouds above him, framing his face with a sort of ethereal glow.

“Cordelia. Fancy seeing you here.” He smiled, bright and magnificent.

“I—” I started to speak but abruptly stopped, spying our charity’s logo, a circle comprised of a blue wave, on the arm of his wetsuit, as well as an even bigger one on the surfboard tucked under his arm.

I’d completely forgotten to send him the images.

“How did you—” I started again, but this time, Meg stuck her hand between us.

“I’m Meg. We spoke via e-mail?”

With the two of them being the same height—giants—I stood at sea level, trying to ignore that they towered over me.

“Oh, right.” Simon shook her hand. “I slapped it on my board the same day. You like?” He held the board up, giving it a twirl.

“We love it.” Meg elbowed me. “Don’t we, Cory?”

I yelped, given my sides were beyond ticklish. “Yes. Thank you so much. I’m sure it will help our donations immensely.”

“My pleasure. Anything I can do to help the seas and its—” He caught my gaze, his eyes seeming to turn into two pools with gently rolling waves. “—aquatic life.”

“Well, Cory.” Meg slapped my back. “I’m going to stop in the gift shop. Meet me there?”

“Meet you?” I turned to face her, still holding a mountain of equipment in my arms.

“Nice to meet you in the uh—flesh, Simon.” Meg gave a small wave, eyed me, and bolted down the dock.

“Did you…want some help with all of that?”

My throat tightened, and I whipped back around to face him, the bag on my shoulder slipping off and making a loud thud as it hit the dock.

With the same radiant grin, he picked the bag up. “Here.” He reached for the other bag resting over my forearms. “Listen, do you…want to talk?”

“Talk?” My brows bobbed.

“Yeah. You know, like normal people?” He chuckled, his eyes dropping to his bare feet, pausing before looking back to me.

I snorted. “Oh, man. Not sure I’ve ever considered myself—normal.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” The oceans in his eyes swirled like a typhoon as he stared down at me. “What do you say?” He nudged his head at a vacant bench facing the beach.

“Sure. Okay.”

As we walked to the bench, every patron we passed whispered and pointed at him. I shouldn’t have been surprised, considering how famous of a surfer he was. But I’d never been one to follow “celebrities.” How silly of me to have forgotten I was in the company of a “surf god.”

Simon sat on the bench, resting my bags on the sand at his feet. He patted the space next to him, flashing me a smile that could have melted the bikini top I wore underneath my wetsuit. After running my hands over my salty wet hair, I took a seat the farthest I could from him without falling off the edge.

He glanced down at the wide gap between us. “I promise I don’t bite.”

“I know of you, but I don’t know you.” I offered a weak smile.

But I did feel like I knew him. As if I’d known him my entire life. That in itself jarred me more than sitting on a bench with a stranger.

“I suppose I do need to earn your trust, don’t I?” He curled his hands on the edge of the bench and leaned forward.

A tickle swirled in my belly at his words. “What are you doing in West Palm?”

He casually kicked his surfboard. “I did have a competition. Small one. But they canceled it on account of the storm.” He gazed skyward.

I, too, looked up, and we both laughed at the blue skies and sun shining brightly. Such was life in Florida.

“You?” He drummed his fingers on the bench.

“Sea turtles.” I bit my lower lip, mimicking his position and hugging my arms against my thighs.

“I’m sorry?” He rose a brow, making his forehead wrinkle.

I chuckled at his expression. “I’m an oceanographer. A magazine hired us to take photos of sea turtles. West Palm has some of the best scenery for them.”

“You took photos? Even during the storm?” He pointed at the water, almost at the precise spot I’d gotten swept away.

Bile climbed up my throat. “Yeah. It got a little dicey there toward the end.” I pinched my knees together, staring at them.

“Are you okay?” He dipped his head, trying to look at my face.

“Yeah. Yes.” I sat straight, rubbing both collar bones with one hand. “I’d gotten thrown into the current. But there was this weird—gust underwater. It brought me right back to the boat.”

He coughed. “A gust, you say?”

“Yes.” I scooted closer to him. “Have you ever experienced something like that?”

His grip tightened on the bench. “Can’t say I have. Just waves and curls.”

Suddenly, he couldn’t look at me, and I slid closer.

He shot up like a rocket. “Listen, I have to go, but—” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’d really like to see you again. Would you consider possibly exchanging numbers?”

It’d been so long since a man asked for my number in person, I’d forgotten how to respond in this situation properly.

“Numbers?” It came out as a squeak.

He chuckled, deep and masculine. “Yeah. Phone numbers? To contact each other? Maybe I might ask you out?”

My heart thundered in my chest. “You? Simon Thalassa. A famous surfer with abs for days…wants to see me again?”

He gave a snarky smile as he tapped his fingers against his stomach. I took notice for a split second before forcing them back to his face.

“Are surfers with toned muscles not allowed to date?”

I pressed two fingers between my eyes and stood. “I’m sorry, I’m horrible at this whole…socializing thing in general, I suppose.”

A gooey smile spread over his lips, and he said under his breath, “You always have been.”

“What did you say?”

His eyes darted to mine. “I didn’t say anything.”

I scratched my cheek as I dug my toes in the sand, willing the grains to calm my nerves.

“We could always rely on fate throwing us in each other’s path again, but I’d much rather do it the old-fashioned way.” He clasped his hands in front of him.

I liked him. I did. So, what the hell was wrong with me?

“I don’t have my phone on me, but I have a pen?” Crouching, I unzipped the front pocket of my camera bag and stood with pen in hand like an elegant quill.

He offered his tanned corded forearm to me, keeping his gaze locked to mine.

My fingers grazed his skin, the tautness of it—the light scattering of hair—made warmth pool in my belly. Gripping the pen tightly to keep my hand from shaking, I wrote my phone number on him. His scent floated through the air in front of me like waterfall mist—sea spray mixed with citrus and sun. I wanted to melt against him, mold to him.

“I think we’re good, Cordelia,” he whispered near my ear.

My eyes flew open, and I jumped back, realizing my hand still rested on his forearm, and I’d leaned toward him.

I curled the pen into my chest, clutching it with both hands. “That number is a one-time deal. Don’t let it wash away.”

He plucked the surfboard from the sand and folded it under his arm. “I will never let the opportunity to see you again wash away.” He willed my eyes to him, and before he turned to walk away, my mind played tricks on me once more. Because I could’ve sworn, he whispered, “Not anymore.”