Prologue
Hannah
Another day, another adventure. At least, not until tomorrow. Tonight, we party. I might be hungover for my first day back on the boat, but who cares? No one can deny a twenty-three-year-old her fun, right?
It’s the night before I spend my third summer on board the motor yachtSirenas the one and only stewardess for the owners, Dr. and Mr. Olivier. Several years ago during summer break from college, they learned I was looking for a job from my mother. I was lucky enough to have grown up playing in their gigantic backyard after school while my mom finished her daily duties as their housekeeper, so they offered me a position on their yacht for the summer. It’s not every day that a daughter of a housekeeper and an electrician gets a job on a luxury yacht, so I jumped at the opportunity and never looked back.
Growing up in Fort Lauderdale surrounded by big white boats with the ocean out your front door, adventure practically calls to you, and I was no exception. Sure, I went to college to appease my parents, but my heart longs to see the world. Mom wasn’t thrilled when I followed her footsteps and became a glorified maid on a boat, but I think of all the possibilities a job like this offers: fun, money, and adventure.
Since that first summer, I’ve traveled to many places I’ve only dreamed of seeing working as a stewardess hopping from boat to boat. Now, I’m finding myself back where I started, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. The Oliviers are amazing and working with them is more relaxed than during a normal charter season.
Let’s just call this my “vacation”. If you call working on a 40-meter yacht, cleaning all day, every day, and serving others a vacation.
“Hannah!” An accompanying bang on the bathroom door momentarily startles me, almost making me ruin my makeup. “Hurry your ass up!”
Not feeling one ounce of urgency, I take my time to fluff my chestnut tresses, the curls falling into soft waves flowing to my waist. Tiffany can bang on the door all she wants, but I’m taking my time.
Tiff and I met on my first charter after leaving motor yachtSiren. She worked as the second stewardess while I was the third. After spending six weeks together, we’d grown so close that it made sense for us to move in together during the off-season.
She’s the Christina to my Meredith, or whatever.
By the time I open the bathroom door, I look pretty damn close to perfect. The yellow dress hugs my tits and ass, making them appear more juicy than normal. They’re really just normal boobs, but tonight they look amazing. I went with a more minimal look when it came to my make-up, making my blue eyes seem bigger with neutral tones.
I feel hot as hell.
Tiff is perched on the couch with her eyes on her phone when I emerge from the bathroom. “I’m ready for my close-up,” I croon dramatically while leaning against the corner and doing a little shimmy.
It should be noted that I don’t act like this with everyone. Do I like to have fun? Absolutely. Do I always act like one of those party bimbos? No. Except for tonight. A girl has to have her exceptions, right? Otherwise, where would all the fun go?
Tiff rolls her brown eyes at me and pushes herself up onto her way too-tall heels, which I know are going to end up with me carrying them—and her—when we head home. “Finally, bitch. Let’s go.”
When she gets close enough, I grab her around her waist pulling her close as we walk arm-in-arm out the front door. “You know you love me,” I tease, leaning in and pressing a quick peck to her cheek.
“God, you’re ridiculous,” she laughs, playfully swiping away remnants of my lip gloss. “C’mon, Han. Let’s celebrate your last night of freedom.”
And fuck, do we ever.
Chapter One
Hannah
The morning sunlight beams its rays straight into my goddamn corneas. Blinding pain seems to spear into my still-hungover brain making me wince. I knew this was going to happen, but last night I didn’t care.
I sure as shit care now.
Every flicker of light off the water sends a sharp pain to my eyes that even my stylish sunglasses can’t block.
Tiff and I had taken shot after shot last night and danced until my feet felt like they were going to fall off. If you’re going to be a yachty, you’ve gotta party like one. But damn, am I paying for it today.
Dragging my bag behind me down the dock I try in vain to block the killer rays from frying my brain. Reaching up, I tug my floppy hat lower on my brow and block the sun with my hand just as a giant gust of wind blows right into me, making my white sundress rise over my waist. The sun hat perched on my head attempts to fly away, the floppy sides flapping in the wind threatening to take off while simultaneously slapping me in the face. An embarrassingly girly squeal squeaks its way out of my mouth as I fight the wind.
I would normally turn this into a graceful Marilyn Monroe-esque moment, but my hungover brain panics.
Shit, shit, shit.
My right hand covering my eyes reaches for my hat, holding the slapping thing in place, but for some reason, I can’t seem to work both my hands at the same damn time. My left hand must be superglued to the handle of my luggage for all the good it does to help keep my dress down, which is none. The flowing skirt swirls up my thighs, no doubt revealing my underwear to whoever happens to be looking.
Finally, it seems my muddled brain sends the signal to my hand to let go and I’m able to pry my grip free from the handle. My left-hand slams down on the flyaway skirt pinning what I can to my upper thigh, saving a bit of my modesty. My ass cheeks are most definitely making their appearance, the breeze gracing places that shouldn’t feel a breeze, but there’s nothing I can do about that now.
