For the record, I wasn’t chatting up Brendan at the bar.
I wasn’t even supposed to be at the bar to begin with.
I’d been headed toward the boardwalk, lost in thought and barely getting over another stream of tears and hiccups when I noticed from across the deck there was only one bartender manning the huge bar.
He was flustered, not a lot older than twenty-three, with two huge patches of sweat adorning his armpits.
Helping others had always given me a sense of direction and soothed my soul. Seeing someone who may be more stressed than me in that moment meant I could make something better for someone, if not myself. Plus, it wasn’t like I had anything else to do while Cruz Costello was no doubt busy telling the entire world how much of an idiot I was.
Also—I was still wearing my Jerry & Sons uniform and looked like a waitress.
If that wasn’t fate, I didn’t know what was.
The bartender—Stevie—almost kissed me he was so grateful for the help. Apparently, both the barmaids who’d been supposed to work with him on this shift had fallen ill, and he was waiting for their replacements to get dressed.
I’d only helped him for twenty minutes before two veteran bartenders came to save the day. I was almost disappointed when they showed up, since I was making pretty neat tips and taking my mind off of the Elation/Ecstasy ordeal.
I even made a mental note to try to find work in cruises sometime before Bear went to college so I could, well, afford to send him to one. Hell, same job but not in a town that hated me? Where was the downside?
To show his appreciation, Stevie began sending all sorts of fancy cocktails my way—the type you had to pay for and didn’t come free with the all-you-can-drink package.
And soon, I had to hand some of them over to people around me to avoid alcohol poisoning. One of them, a Brendan McGinn from Louisiana, had decided to strike up a conversation with me.
Everything was going well, and I actually began to calm down a little until Cruz stormed in and made both of us look like slimy perverts.
The worst part was that I’d been blindsided by his behavior.
He’d never acted like this before. Not now. Not in high school. Heck, not even when we were both booger-ridden toddlers at the local nursery.
I knew Cruz would never embarrass himself (and me) like this within Fairhope city limits. But now, away from our town—from our state—apparently, all bets were off.
I was officially his humiliation amusement park, designed solely for his entertainment.
He was golden, royal, and never wrong. But for the next ten days, he planned to be whatever tickled his fancy.
Namely—my tormentor.
Now, Cruz and I were heading to the room together, since I didn’t know where it was, and trying very hard not to kill one another.
“Was that really necessary?” I hissed, plodding my way to the elevator.
Bad idea.
My feet still hadn’t recovered from my earlier floor-is-lava experience. I didn’t envy the poor maintenance person who had to scrape half of my dead skin from the deck tonight.
“Not at all, but it was really fun.”
“I wish the people of Fairhope could’ve seen you in action. Talking about adultery and incest.”
“Don’t forget the gonorrhea,” Cruz uttered casually.
“Seriously, how come people don’t see past your bull-peep?” I asked, just as the elevator slid open.
We both stepped in, along with the three people behind us whom we hadn’t noticed until right that moment, but they sure noticed us and stared at us with open curiosity.
Cruz didn’t seem to mind at all that he was the center of the wrong type of attention, the flint in his eyes telling me he’d never felt so comfortable.
“Well, for one thing, people are not all that insightful. Easy to blow smoke up their asses. For another, I save this part of my personality ’specially for you, Mrs. Weiner.”
“I should record you,” I muttered.
“I should sue you.”
“Oh, yeah?” I belched. “For what exactly?”
“Punching my throat, screwing up my one and only vacation this year. You name it.”
“You punched his throat?” A teenage girl with purple hair and a septum ring beside us turned to me, raising her fist for a bump. “Dude. Neat.”
I leaned toward her, angling my hand next to my mouth, as if telling a secret.
“He went down like a Jenga tower. It was beautiful.”
Everyone laughed.
The elevator slid open, and Cruz stepped outside. I followed him down a narrow hallway with navy carpet and gold imprints on it. The doors were made of heavy deep-mahogany wood, and the lingering scent of citrus and cleaning products wafted through the air.
Cruz slid the electronic card through the slot on the door and pushed it open. I noticed that, despite his intense dislike of me, he held the door open for me to get in first.
Forever the gentleman.
“Shotgun on the shower.” I traipsed in, throwing myself onto the one queen-size bed the room had to offer and inhaling the scent of the sheets, still fresh from a wash.
Cruz tossed the electronic card onto a nearby desk and leaned against the sliver of wall the cabin had to offer. It was about half the size of an average Holiday Inn hotel room, but impeccably furnished and extremely clean.
Still, I had no idea how I was going to survive ten days inside this place with Cruz Costello.
“Go ahead,” he said. “You seem to need it more than me.”
“Are you saying I smell?”
“I’m saying I relish every minute spent away from you.”
“You should write love songs,” I beamed at him. “That’s real romantic.”
“You do know relish is more than a condiment, right?” He delivered a low blow, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
Determined to salvage whatever it was that was left of this trip, I opted out of arguing with him, unzipping my suitcase and taking out my toiletries and some fresh clothes.
As soon as I walked into the tiny bathroom, I turned on both faucets and the shower to the max for privacy and went about my business. I reserved the right to let out a few dainty farts without being judged for it while I was in the comfort of my bathroom.
I took my time, showering, shampooing, brushing my teeth, applying all sorts of complimentary creams and slipping into fresh clothes I’d had the sense to carry up in my purse, knowing our luggage might not get delivered until after dinner. (Okay, Cruz had reminded me to snag the dress before we handed off our luggage with a snarky comment about dining room dress code.)
I even gave my hair a blow dry. I was tempted to pin it up and spray it to death like always, but then remembered I was not in Fairhope anymore. I could let myself be someone else, maybe the real me and not people’s expectations of me.
“All right, Perfect McPerfson, the shower is all yours.” I got out of the bathroom with a spring to my step.
Cruz was gone.
I found Cruz in the dining room thirty minutes later.
Walked in with my Anna Nicole Smith red lipstick and tight black mini dress that didn’t leave much room for imagination.
Our assigned table somehow boasted an ocean view (I did not believe luck had anything to do with it). Cruz shared his dinner with one of the cruise directors, whose sole job was to look sparkly and pretty while convincing guests they were having enough fun to book another cruise.
She was sitting in my assigned seat, giggling and tucking her hair behind her ears the entire time.
Disgusting.
Didn’t she know we were fake-married?
I squinted, trying to figure out if it looked like a date or not. She was the kind of attractive woman men like Cruz went for—brunette, petite, slender, confident, and dressed in a lazy yet expensive manner.
Ultimately, though, it was hard to figure out if a man had the intention of bedding a woman when all you could see was him asking her to pass the butter.
I also spotted Brendan McGinn. He was sitting by himself at a two-seater table, eating a burger they only offered on the kid’s menu. Brendan noticed both of us, too, and gave me a what-the-heck look when he saw Cruz with Cruise Director Lady Woman.
Marching over to Brendan, I took the empty seat, signaled his waiter, told him I’d have what Brendan was having, and struck up a conversation.
“Quite a husband you’ve got there.” Brendan snorted.
“He’s a doctor, you know,” I bragged.
I was pretty sure this would be my only chance to ever flaunt having a doctor as my husband.
Or any husband for that matter.
“Also your cousin.”
I waved my hand dismissively, unsure why I was entertaining Cruz’s madness.
“Cruz’s adopted. His mother was in the circus, and she did a lot of weird stuff with her body while pregnant. He came out with all sorts of problems. Haven’t you noticed his head is shaped a little like an eggplant?”
“Well, now that you’ve pointed that out…” Brendan trailed off, narrowing his eyes at Cruz.
My, that felt liberating.
I nodded.
“What else is wrong with him?” Brendan asked.
“I really shouldn’t say.”
“Go on. I can keep a secret.”
I was certain he couldn’t keep his cell phone on him at all times, let alone a secret, but that was the point, wasn’t it?
“He has…uhm, actually, there were a few articles about him back in the day.” I cleared my throat and dropped my voice ,“He has two penises.”
“He WHAT?”
I repeated the lie, something fluttering behind my chest. It was so much fun to get back at Cruz.
“Now I understand everything,” Brendan said. “It’s a sex thing.”
“What do you mean?” I asked darkly.
“You two are passionate. I can tell, even when you fight, that you have a great sex life.”
I sincerely hoped Brendan didn’t serve this country in the FBI or CIA, because his instincts were way off if he thought this was a kink.
“Yeah, too bad he is about to nail the pretty brunette cruise director from the lido deck before the night’s over,” I muttered bitterly.
Brendan nodded, probably deciding that he was going to take us for what we were and not ask too many questions.
We had a pleasant meal and an even more pleasant drink. When I peeked over my shoulder to see if Cruz was done with the woman, I saw he was only getting started.
A few more people, her colleagues, judging by their uniforms, had joined them, and now they were all having drinks.
Having drinks and glancing at me every now and then, like he was spreading lies about me, too.
A sudden zap ran through me, like an earthquake.
Cruz was here, having the time of his life without his family, free to be whomever he wanted to be, while I was away from Bear for the first time in my life and was probably not going to see him for the next ten days.
From the moment Bear was born, I hadn’t been away from him for more than twelve hours.
This was unheard of.
The pain of missing him gnawed inside me like a nocturnal animal.
Quickly, and before my logic overrode my intense sense of pity, I kissed Brendan’s cheek goodbye and retired to my stateroom. When I got there, I found my suitcase, along with Cruz’s, waiting by the door.
Ours were the only belongings still waiting in the hallway, sitting side by side but still far enough away, like two quarreling lovers.
I decided to bring both of them in, mainly because I didn’t want him to pin it on me if someone stole one of his precious Hermes socks or made-of-silver dental floss or whatever nonsense he was spending his salary on.
I shut the door, pressed my back against it, and closed my eyes.
When I opened them again, I noticed an upholstered crème vanity chair pushed beneath a mirrored desk. I pressed it against the door, its backrest jamming the door handle.
Then I slipped into my pajamas and slid into bed.
I was too tired to wait it out and see how Cruz would react to his position as a temporarily stateroom-less person.
Turned out, I didn’t have to.
He banged on the door like bloody murder at one in the morning, waking me up.
“Tennessee Turner. Open the damn door right now.”
Sitting upright in bed, I held my breath and stared at the door like he was going to Hulk his way through it.
I wasn’t mean.
I didn’t want to share a bed with Cruz Costello.
I didn’t trust him.
And besides, I hadn’t shared a bed with anyone in my entire life. Even my virginity had been taken on a patch of cool grass under the bleachers, peppered with weeds.
But most of all—I thought Cruz might make a move, seeing as I was the town’s favorite harlot. And I didn’t trust myself to turn him down as I obviously should.
“I know you’re awake,” he gritted out from the other side of the door.
“I am,” I said casually. “So what?”
“I’m not going to sleep outside.”
“Sure about that?” I yawned.
“Goddammit, Tennessee.”
“Don’t say God’s name in vain. He has nothing to do with this situation.”
“You’re going to pay for this.”
“Can I pay you with the same tips you give me? Because I think you should be investing in better manners now.”
Dropping my head back to a mountain of pillows, I grinned.
“Well, at least tonight you’re safe from my gonorrhea, Mr. Weiner.”
