Each section is packed with suggestive options in oversized lettering. Truth And Temptation, Pleasure And Punishment, Moans And Mayhem, Stroke Of Luck, and a bunch of others that make even me blush.
“Oh, this will be good,” someone behind me says, as Daniel holds his arms out wide.
“Now, this little game requires a few brave volunteers.”
No… No, it does not.
I'm all forfunand living life on the edge, but I am not the one. The crowd starts buzzing as the stage lights dim, plunging the theatre into a dramatic silence. A beat passes, and I look over at Haze, who crouches down into his seat. Good idea.
A single spotlight snaps on and it starts to slowly sweep the audience, gliding from row to row like it's hunting for prey.
“Not me, bitch,” I mutter, as it lands on a guy on the other side of the room who immediately sinks into his seat. I gulp when he doesn't choose couples, but individuals, and one by one they start making their way to the stage. The crowd cheers as the embarrassed chosen ones stand side by side, each wearing expressions that show their nervousness.This was not on the website.
“We need two more volunteers!” Veneers shouts, and I feel like I'm having a heart attack. I might be charismatic, but I don't do spotlights. The beam starts sweeping in our section, wobbling back and forth. It hesitates, hovering over West and me, and I think I might piss myself.
“Come on up, Lover!” theassholeannounces, but I realize it's not me that he wants. HA! The beam is hovering directly over West and I breathe out a sigh of relief. West shoots me a death glare and I respond with my best puppy dog eyes, hoping they don't pick me next.
West swipes a hand down his face, then slowly rises from his seat, and the crowd roars with applause. Haze howls and barks, and I fucking guarantee he's going to pay for that later.
“Hello, handsome, or should I say…Daddy!” Daniel says flirtatiously and Haze and I snort at the same time. If only they knew. West takes the stage and stands with the others. His face as red as a fucking tomato. I reach into my pocket for my phone because there's no hope in hell I'm missing out on capturing this.
“Fuck, this is the best night of my life.” Haze is literally crying from laughter, swiping away tears.
“Who's gonna be our lucky last volunteer?” The beam flicks through the crowd, teasing people as it weaves through the rows, and when it disappears, I turn around to see it hovering above a section at the very back.
Thank fuck for that. I feel like I dodged a bullet.
“Come on down, Princess. Show ‘em how it's done!” I squint my eyes to see who it is, but I can't make anything out from this distance. Turning back to the stage, I snap as many photos of West as I can, and his expression shifts from beet red to ghostly white. I flick my gaze to the woman slowly climbing the stairs and all my thoughts evaporate.
Wow.
Jovi moves across the stage with all the grace of a damn star, every sway of her hips landing like a punch straight to my groin, and the whistles from the men in the audience have me tempted to throat punch someone. She doesn't seem to care, though. Confidence clings to her like a second skin, almost as perfectly as that tight pink dress hugging every curve. Fuck, she's even hotter than she was in high school. When her eyes land on West, she falters. West’s jaw tightens as he gazes down at her, but it's not anger or embarrassment I see.
It's attraction.
He's aware of every inch of her, and I'm not the only one who notices. Haze reaches for my hand, leaning in close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him.
“Will you look at that, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and amused. “West Carrington is cutting your grass.” A crooked grin tugs at the corner of my lips, but I don't take my eyes off West and Jovi. West might lie to himself, but he can't lie to me. He wants her. I see it, Haze sees it, whether he admits it to himself or not. It's written all over his face. And if I have anything to do with it, this game has only just begun.
CHAPTER 7
JOVI
SCORE POINTS NOT FEELINGS
Remind me the next time I feel the urge to live life on the edge that I should take up a hobby instead. Something safe. Something like knitting or patchwork. Anything that doesn’t end with me questioning every decision I’ve ever made while floating in the middle of the fucking ocean. When I finally came to terms with this vacation, surrendered myself to the idea that maybe taking time off might just be a healthy choice for me, I regretted it almost immediately. The second I caught sight of this ship, every positive vibe I’d been clinging to went up in smoke. Because this isn’t your typical Caribbean cruise. Oh no. It’s a fucking Valentine’s Day cruise for couples! And I have to be on this thing for fourteen days. Alone. Surrounded by romance that's practically dripping off every surface.
There are hundreds of passengers wandering around sucking each other’s faces off at any given moment, and I can't help but feel like the universe is laughing at me. As if it thought that this would be a perfect way for me to celebrate a break-up. It's safe to say this will be my last cruise.
I told myself I wouldn't let it get to me. That I wouldn’t let a breakup or an unfortunate number of aggressively affectionate strangers ruin what was supposed to be my escape. I would get my money’s worth and experience everything this trip had to offer, whether I liked it or not, because there is no way I can just write off ten grand. I know my brothers are loaded, thanks to their wildly successful rockstar careers, but I’m not in the business of asking for handouts. Replenishing my savings will take forever, but at least I’ll know I earned every cent.
So, when unpacking my luggage earlier today, I made myself a promise. The only way I’ll get through this without spiraling is to stop looking back and start choosing myself. Say yes when I’d usually say no. Take my chances and make memories.
Be bold.
Which is exactly what I’m doing.
I didn't expect that I'd be summoned to a stage in front of an entire theatre full of people, yet here I am. I walk down the aisle, each step on full display to the room as the blinding, obnoxious spotlight tracks my every move, searing straight into my retinas.
