Pretty much the only time that yacht got used was when there was a huge event downtown—like the Georgia-Florida game—and she wanted to make a big entrance. In Jacksonville, it doesn’t get much bigger than the Georgia-Florida game. Every year, the football rivalry between the universities of Florida and Georgia fills the stadium to it’s capacity of seventy thousand. Almost as many show up without tickets just for the tailgating, which is rightfully billed as the “World’s Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party”.

For the last three years, Kettleman had been paying ridiculous money for premium docking during Georgia-Florida weekend, right in front of the Landing. The Landing is a large mall—filled with bars and restaurants—in the heart of downtown on the St. Johns, and plays host to much of the partying. Carolyn and all her friends would spend the whole weekend on the yacht, looking like rockstars.

Kettleman didn’t mind, it made his wife happy. That was what a husband is supposed to do, make his wife happy. Right? Besides, it was only money.

And that was the key to the relationship. Kettleman never understood women, but he understood money. Until meeting Carolyn, being good with one did not help with the other.

Kettleman didn’t have any close friends, but he’d learned to network for business and so had lots of acquaintances. He was easy going, affable, and well liked, despite the fact that he was so quiet. He was good looking—tall, dark hair, dark eyes, athletic build—and very well established, financially speaking. In the eyes of those who knew him, Kettleman’s one failing was that he was single. And this was a problem many sought to fix by setting him up with this woman or that.

There were two men in a small boat approaching at about twelve knots, ignoring the fact that this was a No Wake zone. Kettleman had been coming out here for two years and hadn’t spotted a single manatee, despite what the sign suggested. The boat abruptly slowed to idle speed.

Kettleman had been on plenty of dates. And many of those dates had lead to subsequent dates. It wasn’t that he was bad with women, just that…

What the hell are these clowns doing?

Kettleman recast, intentionally in their direction. There was plenty of room out here. But they didn’t take the hint, kept right on coming.

“What’s biting?” asked the skinny one conversationally, killing the engine. It coughed and sputtered before dying.

“Nothing yet,” Kettleman answered, biting back on his irritation, munching on a mouthful of antacid. “Catfish and bass out here, usually.”