Chapter 6
Squeak. Thump. Grunt.Scream. Bouncy squeak, thump, thump, thump. Moan. Moan. Groan. Squeak. Scream, clatter, clatter, clink.
I toss and turn on my hard bunk and fling off the sheets, giving up any semblance of sleep.
The walls of my cabin are paper thin, and it sounds like a herd of grunting elephants next door are having an orgy.
To top it all off, the bunk next to me is empty, so I can’t even send Jordan over to complain.
My stars. A glance at Jordan’s annoying projecting alarm clock tells me it’s two in the morning.
Is he seriously spending the night with Dr. Lin, retired rocket scientist?
I have a headache, thanks to drinking too much to dull the pain of being Sven’s sticky sweet arm candy. The evening ended when I finally ginned up the courage to tell him I have a headache and need to go back to my cabin—alone.
My ears are ringing from the boom, boom, boom of his too masculine voice, and he was starting to repeat himself with the stories of his heroic exploits.
Fortunately, he was agreeable, and we passed under all of the dangling mistletoe sprigs without any tongue-jockeying incidents—unlike a certain Jordan Reed who would have tempted me to a dozen pitstops, or should I say, mistlestops.
Back to Sven.
He’s a natural-born politician, always sprucing himself up for a photo-op. Kind of reminds me of the last budding politician I got engaged to.
He politely walked me to my cabin, thanked me for the date, and promised to call and text. I didn’t mention I had no phone. For that, I’d have to wait until I was stateside to retrieve my text messages or check for its location at an internet café once I get on land.
As soon as I entered my cabin, I checked for Saran wrap on the toilet seat. There was none. My toothpaste was not doctored, and there were no paper cups filled with water on my bunk.
Was Jordan turning out to be a dud?
Oh, right, he had a hot date complete with rocket fuel, slide rules, and pocket protectors in lieu of condoms.
Since he hadn’t bothered to prank me, I fell asleep only to be awakened by the moans and bumps of the horny herd of elephants next door.
I pound the wall. “Will you guys knock it off? Some of us are trying to sleep.”
The sounds stop momentarily, and then a deep, husky voice says, “You sound sexy. Come on over.”
I cover my head with my pillow and roar into the bunk. “I sound angry. No, thank you.”
That voice sounded sexy and growly enough to be my ideal audiobook male counterpart, if I were ever so brave as to find one.
Truth to tell, my business has taken a hit now that romance authors are auditioning male/female pairs to do their narrations. Two voices play off each other better, and there’s no denying the chemistry, especially in the steamy parts.
No matter how well I lower my voice, I can’t get the male parts as deep as a real man can.
The only problem? How to audition for a male partner without embarrassing myself to death. I’m prone to getting aroused and drooling so much I can’t enunciate sounds other than s’s.
A dirty mind is a hard thing to clean, and these days, thanks to my real-life sex drought and reading habits, my mind is filthy to the core.
To the point I can’t stop imagining it’s Jordan next door doing the dirty with the aged Dr. Lin.
Yikes.
Bleach my brain.
I punch the wall for good measure, and the man on the other side punches back.
Then it’s off to the races with furniture bumping the wall, squeals of excitement, and a strange, clattering sound like it’s raining wood.
