Out of all his friends’ significant others on the boat, he knew her the least. But she had the potential to embarrass him the most.
Not only had Avi’s girlfriend been on deck with him when he faceplanted last year, she was also somehow connected to the grandmother of Kara’s date that night. It felt like a small world collision course that none of them needed to re-hash.
Compounded by Rob whatshisface – not a Celebrity Crush Island contestant, according to Kara. But a contender for her attention all the same. For the second time tonight. He was closing in, too. The short king was doing a meerkat-on-tiptoes scan of the crowd, craning his neck to see if and where he could insert himself into the fun.
Maybe the guy just wanted to bet it all on hay – he seemed like a half-pot full kind of guy.
Oh, and there was Kershaw. Drinking a beer by the high stakes spinagogue and leaning to leer at Leah’s ass as she hustled by in her long dress.
It was a trifecta of fuckery.
Jonah angled subtly closer to Kara, not touching her, not crowding her. Just enough to align himself between her and her former and current co-stars’ lines of sight.
But Leah was moving toward them, gathering speed.
And Kara was looking up at him.
Not for comfort, not for advice. For direction. For safety.
Because that’s what she thought he was here to provide.
Her bodyguard.
He didn’t have time to unpack it, he just needed to act. “Let’s move,” he breathed, as she leaned into the hand he slid, gentle, decisive, to the small of her back. “This way. Now.”
She didn’t argue.
Good.
He guided her through the throng, around the corner, straight into the photo booth alcove. It was crowded, couples spilling out of booths with glossy strips of pictures, or rummaging through the prop tables.
And it was Nora’s domain, apparently.
Jay or Rebecca tapping her to oversee the props so nothing walked away, and to put a kibosh on any sexy times in the booths, made perfect sense. Nora was, after all, in the costume biz, with Broadway being her bread and butter.
“Jah –” she started, but as soon as he grabbed her arm, her greeting turned into “Jesus Christ, dude!”
“We need to cut the line,” he pleaded with his Year Course friend. The one he’d bonded the most with, out of all the girls on their trip. Her calculated glance at the actress by his side, and shrewd gaze across the room from whence they came told her everything she needed to know.
“Grab some of those,” she directed, pointing at a pile of feathers and sequins. “The booth in the corner is coming up free next.”
Kara was a good getaway accomplice. She had already swung a complicated cape around her shoulders and was elbow-deep in the props. Nora swooped in to help her fasten a mask haloed with stars, obscuring her famous face.
“Damn, you’re good at this subterfuge thing.”
He heard Kara mock-gasp beneath it. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve just always wanted to use it in a sentence.”
She beckoned. “Kneel down.”
He obeyed, and she gently removed his glasses so she could press a half-mask to his face. He felt the warmth of her hand, and when her fingers brushed his curls to get the elastic band in place, heat seared straight through him.
Through the slits of the cheap mask and in the glow of ring lights, everything blurred into glitter. “Perfect,” Kara whispered.
They were anonymous.
Or as anonymous as one could be on a cruise to nowhere with two hundred other members of the tribe.
