“One Piña Colada, coming right up.”
Matthew passes me a foot-tall cocktail with a pineapple wedge and colorful umbrella perched inside. But before I can reach out to get it, he dumps one of the rum shots on top.
“Tastes better with a float,” he winks. “Cheers.”
Three ridiculously strong drinks and a table dance with Helen later, I’m starting to realize why Matthew likes these so much.
“I love this song!” I scream to my new bff as the DJ starts up a remix of Shania Twain’sMan, I Feel Like a Woman. She leans towards me, mascara covering her lower lids like a panda from the swim I took with her a few minutes ago. If you think waiting drunk in a bathroom line creates the ultimate girl bond, try chicken fighting on a floating trampoline in the South Pacific.
“What?” she screams.
“I said,” I lean forward and feel my bare foot slip on the slick wood. I reach out to catch something, but Helen jumps out of the way and I find myself falling into something hard behind me. It’snotthe floor. Two hands grab my shoulders and lift me to the ground.
“Hey!”
“Ok, cowgirl,” my rescuer interrupts me. “That’s enough head banging for you.”
I turn around at the sound of the familiar accent and find myself eyes to chin with none other than Captain Crankypants. I glare at him.
“What are you doing here?”
“The Warrens are all waiting for you in the tender. Unless you’d like to go home with these upstanding citizens.”
I look over to the lounges to see Rita and Liz takingbodyshots off one of the beer-bellied men from the table next to us. But Matthew and Steven are gone. Theyleftme here? Worse, they sent my mortal enemy up to collect me like an escaped sheep?
“Let go of me,” I tell him, grabbing my sea water-soaked t-shirt and marching towards the exit. This is definitelynotwhat I needed to prove to Caleb I’m not a wreck. It takes all my concentrated effort not to faceplant on the uneven boards.
“Whatever you say,” he groans.
“There she is!” Harry calls out as we reach the tender. He’s wearing a brand-new Cloud Nine hat to cover his sunburnt forehead. I’m about to step down to join him when Caleb shoves himself in front of me, blocking my way until he’s already down the ladder. He offers me his hand to help me in, but I smack it away, refusing to accept help from the man who, just a few hours ago, suggested throwing me overboard. Instead, I try to climb onto the rollicking dinghy myself.
“Stella, be—“ Jules starts. But I barely make it to the last step before I lose my balance and catapult straight into Caleb’s hard body.
“Shit,” I groan into the fabric of his shirt, cringing as my cheek smooshes into his armpit. I try to breathe through my mouth, expecting him to smell like brimstone and virgin’s blood and whatever other odors might suit a villain of his caliber, but I catch a whiff of something intoxicating instead. He smells like driftwood and salt and a hint of mountain pine.
Caleb tilts me upright and I peel my face off his uniform. He gives me a disgusted look, like I’ve just thrown up on his shoes. Which, to be fair, I might soon if I don’t get back to the Vela Bianca.
“Watch your step.”
I let go of Caleb’s arm as quickly as possible and throw myself down onto the seat beside my sister. He says “watch yourstep,” the way someone might say “watch your back,” or, “My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”
I glare at him as he starts up the jet to steer us back to the ship. If his goal is to prove to the Warrens what a moron I am and get me sent home, he’s doing a bang-up job. I can practically see the scoreboard flickering behind my drooping eyelids.
Caleb: 3. Stella: 0.
9
Somewhere between ten minutes and twelve hours later, I wake up, fully clothed, in my bed.Shit.I must have drifted off after my shower. I sit up to open the porthole shade and see if it’s still light out when something falls off of my chest: a piece of stationary with the Vela Bianca logo embossed in gold at the header.
Went ashore for dinner—couldn’t wake you. The crew can make you whatever you want!
-Jules
I groan audibly. Harry is relaxed about a great many things, but deviating from his carefully formulated schedule is probably not one of them. Icringe at the thought of Jules having to make excuses for me. I must have been pretty out of it for them not to get me up for dinner. My only job on this ship is to make Jules look good, and I’m already failing miserably.
I pull open the shades to reveal that it is, in fact, nighttime. My head pounds with the memory of the three + sugarycocktails I downed at the float bar. Here I am, face plastered with drool, while Matthew undoubtedly sips his scotch and laughs with the rest of the family at some bougie restaurant. I guess this is what I get for trying to keep up with a professional.
I reach for my water bottle, but find it’s empty. I must have polished it off before I passed out—at least I made one good decision. I’m just getting the nerve to stand up and fill it when I hear a soft knock at my door.
