“I’ve been reading it again lately.”
“Oh, that’s not a sign of insanity or anything.”
I shrug.
“Dude. Listen to me, okay?” Colby says. “Whenever you find this girl, as you surely will because you’re the most relentless motherfucker of all of us, I strongly recommend youdon’ttell her right off the bat about this crazy-as-shit ‘Captain Ahab’ quest you’ve been on for her. I mean, anyone who knows you would know this crazy search is a once in a lifetime thing, but she doesn’t know you. More than likely, if she finds out you hacked a bunch of airlines to find her, she’s gonna think you’re a total nut job. So, please, just take my advice this time, and, when you finally find your whale, just play your cards close to your vest at first, at least ’til she gets to know you a bit.”
“How can I do that? When I finally contact her, out of the blue after three months, she’s gonna ask me how the hell I tracked her down. And what can I say to that? At that point, I won’t have any choice but to tell her the whole truth.”
Colby considers that. “Yeah, shit. You’re right. Bummer. I guess there’s no way around it. Oh well. Hopefully, she won’t run away screaming when you tell her you’re a fucking loon.”
“I can’t worry about that now. First things first, I gotta find the whale—second things second, I’ll do whatever’s necessary to harpoon her.” I swat Colby’s thigh. “Now start the movie, Old Wise One. Distract ‘Captain Ahab’ from his fucking ‘iron rails.’”
20
Tessa
Whew. I’ve just finished walking Josh and Kat through my detailed itinerary for the coming week—a jaw-dropping smorgasbord of water sports, tours, luaus, booze cruises, and more, all of it cooked up by my amazing activities director and me—and, thank God, both Josh and Kat have expressed unadulterated elation about all of it.
“Fantastic,” I say, exhaling with relief. “Now let’s move on to the menus I’ve preliminarily approved with the head chef.”
“I’m sure the food’s gonna be great,” Josh says breezily. “‘In T-Rod we trust.’ What I really wanna know is what’s inside that box?” He motions to the large cardboard box I left sitting by the front door when I came in.
Kat squeals. “Oh my God, is that the jerseys, Tessa?”
I put down my iPad. I should have known these two happy-campers would rubber-stamp all my decisions, from top to bottom, seeing as how that’s what they’ve done every step of the way over the past two months. “Yup,” I reply. “The box arrived in the nick of time. There was a last-minute glitch, but don’t worry—I handled it.”
At Kat’s direction, Josh retrieves the box and opens it, revealing two hundred brightly colored sports jerseys, each of them two-color-reversible with SPF protection and emblazoned with “Team Josh and Kat” across their fronts.
“I figured they’d be a cute party favor for guests,” Kat says proudly. “And they’re functional, too. We can switch up team colors during volleyball and cornhole and stuff.” Josh begins to express his enthusiastic approval, but Kat cuts him off. “But, wait, there’s more!” she exclaims. “Nicknames!” Kat turns the two jerseys in her hands over to reveal they’re stamped across their backs with Josh and Kat’s respective pet names for each other: “Playboy” and “Party Girl.”
“I love it!” Josh says. He leaps up, peels off his white linen shirt and pulls his brand-new jersey over his head. It’s a maneuver that reveals Josh’s mouth-watering torso and tattoos for a brief moment and, admittedly, makes my clit jolt as surely as if he’d just pressed a vibrator between my legs.
Hey,maybe I’ll track down that hot bartender later tonight, right after the opening party, instead of waiting until the end of the week.
“It’s perfect!” Kat exclaims, beaming at Josh in his bright blue jersey. She leaps up from the couch, her baby bump leading the way, and throws her arms around her fiancé’s neck. Of course, Josh proceeds to kiss the hell out of Kat and for the next minute or so, the two of them get completely lost in each other.
Ho hum. My boss and his fiancée are practically dry-humping each other in front of me. La, la.
After watching Josh and Kat kiss for a long beat (it’s kind of hot, actually), I finally force myself to look away, my face on fire and my clit pounding like a jackhammer.Damn. That’s some sexy kissing going on over there. (And, man, do I wanna do that very thing with a hot guy—anyfreaking hot guy at this point.)
Finally, when I hear Josh say, “Show me all the jerseys, babe,” I look at them again. They’re seated together on the couch, side by side, their limbs intertwined.
I clear my throat. “Yeah, Kat, let’s see the jerseys,” I say brightly, even though I don’t have any desire to see them. I mean, I’m sure the nicknames are cute and all, but I’ve got a mountain of stuff to check up on before the Morgans arrive in thirty minutes, and, as a practical matter, I won’t recognize any of the nicknames. I’ve never met ninety percent of the people invited here by Josh and Kat, after all, and I’ve never scrutinized their guest list, either, since all travel for this week was arranged by the travel agent and wedding stuff by the wedding coordinator. But, of course, since my disinterest in the names is immaterial (and understandably so), the Parade of Nicknames dutifully begins.
“Suzy B, Issy, Coco Puff, Soph-a-Loph, Perv, Hockey-Makeup, Dripper, Cha-Cha, Lala!” Kat exclaims as she pulls each jersey out of the box and tosses it onto a nearby chair. “Brooklyn Bridge, Silverback, Selina-Bellina, Rocky, Trishy-Wishy, KC, Ketchup, Jacky-V!”
Gah. I was right—I don’t recognize any of these nicknames. I covertly check the time on my phone and quietly have a heart attack. The Morgans should be here in about twenty minutes. But Kat’s still going strong with the jerseys.
“Baby Cuz, Cheese, Rock Star, Peen, Captain...”
Okay, I can’t resist asking about that second-to-last one. “Peen?” I blurt. “Who’s that?”
Kat giggles. “My brother, Keane.”
“Is Keane gonna be pissed you’re making him wear ‘Peen’ on his back all week?”
“Not at all—everyone calls him ‘Peen.’ As a matter of fact, when Keane used to play baseball—he was a star pitcher in the Cubs’ minor league system—his fans would hold up signs whenever he struck out a batter that said ‘We love Peen!’”
