I wake to the feel of the bed dipping, and I frown as I drag open my eyes. Christopher is sitting on the side of the bed, elbows on knees. He’s wringing his hands in front of him as if the world is about to end. Waging a war against himself.
Ugh . . . so not in the mood for his dramatics today.
I put my foot on his behind and gently push him. “Can you go get me a coffee, please?”
He frowns over at me. “You want coffee?”
“Yes, please.” I need to keep him busy and out of his own head.
He stands. “Okay. I can do that.”
“We need some fruit too.”
He begins to dress. “On it.”
“Oh, wait, you have your course on today, don’t you?”
“It doesn’t start until ten.”
“Okay.” I close my eyes. I have so much to say about his behavior last night, but now is not the time. He’s still processing. I’m giving him some space to get his head around it.
He gets dressed. “Do you want to come?”
“Not really.”
He lingers, long enough that I look up.
“I’d like you to come.”
I exhale heavily and flick the blankets back. “Fine.” I get out of bed and pull some clothes on as he watches.
“How are you so even tempered all the time?” he asks.
“I’m not even tempered. I’m being the adult in our relationship.”
He frowns.
“Your turn is next week, when I’m being ridiculous.”
He gives me a stifled smile. “Is that what you do . . . take turns?”
“Uh-huh.” I stand on my tippy-toes and kiss his big beautiful lips. “As long as we take it in turns to be the adult . . . everything will be fine.”
“And if we be dickheads at the same time?” he asks.
“Then the outcome isn’t good.” I kiss him softly again.
He nods and stares at me as if I have taught him a sacred secret . . . how doesn’t he know this stuff? For a worldly man, he’s so inexperienced about all things relationship.
“Buying coffee and fruit is pretty adult.” He smirks as he takes my hand in his.
I smile. “I guess it’s your turn today, then.”
Ten hours later
We stand on the sidewalk with our backpacks on the cement. Christopher glances at his watch. “Where is he? The cab is going to be here soon.”
“He’ll come.”
I look up the street. To be honest, I’m getting a little worried he won’t. Eddie is meant to be here to say goodbye to us, but he hasn’t shown.
It’s so unlike him.
Our flight to Germany leaves in a few hours, and we can’t wait much longer. “Call him again.”
Christopher calls his number, and it rings out. He stares up the street in search of his little friend. “If I knew his address, I would go there.” He begins to pace. “Damn it, why didn’t I get his address?”
He calls him again. “What if something’s happened to him?” He’s beginning to get frantic.
“Don’t worry . . . he’ll come.”
EDDIE
I stand in the alleyway, and from my spying spot I watch as Mr. Christo and Miss Hazen wait for me across the road in front of the hostel.
They’re here to say goodbye . . . and I want to go over.
But . . . I can’t.
I watch as Christo dials a number on his phone, and my phone vibrates again, the name lighting up on my screen.
Christo
My heart sinks, and I put it back into my pocket.
I watch as Christo paces and rants and raves as Hazen talks calmly to him.
With every moment that they wait, it gets worse. I want to run across the road and beg them not to leave.
But I know they will anyway . . . so what’s the point?
A cab pulls up, and Christo stares up the street to where I usually come from, and I get a lump in my throat. Through tears I watch him put their backpacks into the trunk.
Don’t go.
With one last look up the road, he finally gets into the cab, and it pulls out and drives away.
I drop my head . . . they’re gone.
One month later
Amsterdam
HAYDEN
Sightseeing by day, partying at work by night.
I’d always heard about Amsterdam. Everyone said it is the one place that you have to experience at least once in your lifetime. I imagined drug cafés and sex workers, high-as-a-kite people walking around being idiots in the streets.
What I didn’t expect was that it would be a culturally diverse, beautiful city.
Long canals that have these beautiful little bridges over them, twinkle lights that line the streets at night, beautiful restaurants, and the eclectic sound of laughter in the distance.
Christopher and I do love a chocolate brownie with magical ingredients and many a night get the giggles on our way home. This is such a fun place, and not one bit frightening like I imagined.
And the bicycles . . . I never expected to see so many.
People don’t drive in Amsterdam; they ride their bikes everywhere. So in front of every restaurant and club and shopping district are rows and rows of beautiful old-fashioned bikes, chained up in stands, the ones with little cane baskets attached to the front.
It’s so cool, and when you walk down the street, you don’t hear cars; you hear bicycle bells as people warn you they are coming fast.
It’s the little things about traveling, the idiosyncrasies that make each place different.
Never in a million years did I imagine that I would associate cute old-fashioned bikes with Amsterdam, but I know that I always will.
I walk around the tables and collect glasses with Basil. “This is the worst fucking job we ever had.” He rolls his eyes.
I giggle. “Will you look at us?”
Who would have ever thought that I would work in a place like this? Christopher has changed my outlook on life. Nothing is off limits anymore.
I feel liberated and sexually confident like never before.
We’re working in a nightclub in Amsterdam. There are live sex shows on stage for ten minutes every hour, and we’re scantily dressed. I’m in a short French maid outfit complete with suspender stockings and a long dark wig, and Basil is wearing black suit pants and a bow tie.
This place is hilarious, and the things we’ve seen would curl your hair.
Basil and I are the official glass collectors. Kimberly and Bernadette are in the kitchen, and Bodie and Christopher are behind the bar.
“Will you look at those two fucking wankers.” Basil curls his lip in disgust as he looks over to the bar.
Christopher is wearing black suit pants and a black bow tie, completely shirtless and a ball of rippled muscle. His dark hair is a little longer, with a curl to it, and he looks utterly gorgeous.
I smile as I watch him. He’s working the bar like a pro. Laughing and joking with the customers, shaking his cocktail shaker in the air as he and Bodie joke around.
He’s having the time of his life in this job.
A song that he loves starts, “Edamame,” by bbno$, and he starts to dance as he works; the female customers are lined up at the bar, enjoying the show . . . and I don’t mean on the stage.
I giggle as I watch them play off each other. “Hot wankers, though.”
“I’m so doing a bar course.” Basil sighs.
“You should.”
I keep collecting glasses and walk over past the bar. “Hayden,” Christopher yells across the crowd. I glance up, and he waves me over. He introduces me to a man sitting at the bar. “This is Mr. Escott.”
“Hello.” I smile.
“He’s offered a job on a luxury yacht in the Greek islands.” He keeps serving people.
“Oh.” My eyes widen. “Great.”
“All of us.” Christopher smiles excitedly.
My eyes flick to Mr. Escott. “The six of us?” I confirm.
“Yes, I need this energy on my fleet.” He gestures to Christopher, who is laughing out loud. He shakes a cocktail shaker for three women. His arm and stomach muscles are flexing as he shakes it. The women are all smiling goofily as they watch.
“That’s a whole lot of energy right there,” I agree.
“If you’re all like him, it’s going to be amazing.”
I laugh. “There is nobody like him, Mr. Escott. He’s in a league of his own.”
I smile as I watch my beautiful man. I’m not even joking—he really is. Every night I watch him work the crowd and fall a little bit more in love with him. I don’t feel one ounce of jealousy over the way he is.
He is who he is.
He isn’t sleazy or flirty; he’s playful and fun, and he makes me feel like I’m the only woman in the world.
And to him, I am.
Christopher comes back over. “Can you go and ask the others if they’re in?”
“Okay.” I smile.
“I’ll wait here for you,” Mr. Escott says.
“When would you want us to start?” I call over the loud music.
“Monday.”
“Oh.” I frown. “That soon?”
“Yes, we have had an entire crew for a charter trip come down with the chicken pox. It’s next week, or unfortunately I won’t be able to offer all of you a position.”
“Okay. I’ll go find out.” I take off through the crowd to find our friends.
Ten minutes later I return. “We’re in.” I smile to Mr. Escott.
“Great.” He hands me a business card. “Call me when you get to Mykonos.”
“Okay.” I put his card in my pocket.
“Ten minutes till break, Grumps?” Christopher yells over the music.
I glance at my watch. “Yeah, okay.”
We always take our tea breaks together.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Escott. See you next week.”
“I look forward to it.”
I take off through the crowd. I have a lot to do.
Twelve minutes later, I walk out into the back area and down the corridor. As I walk past a storeroom door, I’m yanked inside and pushed up against the wall as the door is slammed shut. Christopher’s lips drop to my neck as his hands lift my French maid skirt. “I know what I want for tea.”
This man and what he does to me . . . the deviant of all deviants.
Loving him has changed my life. He’s shown me a better version of myself.
A spontaneous, sexy version, and I like her a lot.
I giggle as I lift my leg and put it on a shelf. His hand slides over my suspender belt and up my thigh.
“The barmen at this establishment are always so helpful.” I smile against his lips.
“Happy to be of service.” He pushes my panties to the side and slides his fingers through the lips of my sex as he kisses me deeply. “My bad girl is ready.” He spins me around and bends me over. I hear his zipper right before he slides in deep.
My eyes flutter closed as we both moan in pleasure. He pulls out and slams back in. “I love this fucking job.”
Monday morning
Greece
CHRISTOPHER
We stand on the dock at the Mykonos marina as we wait. The luxury yachts are lined up.
“What the fuck do we know about boating?” Basil sighs as we watch all the crews on the yachts. “There seems to be a lot of shit to do.”
“I hope our uniforms are cute.” Kimberly smiles as she looks out.
“Can’t be worse than our last fucking uniform.” Basil frowns. “I should have just worked with a piece of meat strapped to my chest.”
“Those women did love you, Baz.” Hayden laughs.
Baz curls his lip in disgust.
A guy walks toward us. He’s very serious looking and wearing white shorts and a white short-sleeve button-up shirt. It has gold buttons and navy-blue straps over the shoulders. He’s got a formal captain hat on. “He looks like a pilot,” Bernadette whispers.
“Please be on our boat,” Kimberly says softly as her eyes linger on him.
“Yacht,” I correct her. “It isn’t a boat.”
“Please be on our yacht . . . and in my room,” she continues.
We all chuckle, and he reaches us. “Hello, I’m Captain Mark, the skipper. I’m assuming one of you is Hayden?”
“Yes, that’s me.” She smiles as she shakes his hand. Hayden always seems to be the point of contact for our jobs. She introduces us. “These are the others, Christo, Basil, Bodie, Kimberly, and Bernadette.”
“Hi.” He smiles. “Welcome.” He turns and walks down the dock, and we all follow. “You come with a very high recommendation,” he continues.
We all exchange glances. Nobody except me has even been on a yacht before.
Not that I can even admit to it.
“We’re very excited.” Hayden smiles as she tries to be friendly.
“Thank you so much for stepping up and helping. My entire crew has fallen ill and can’t work for another two weeks. We had charters booked all week, so you’ve saved the day.”
We all exchange looks again, and Hayden rolls her lips to hide her smile. This could be a real fucking disaster.
“There she is.” Captain Mark smiles. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
We all look up and stop still as the blood drains from our faces.
“Yes.” Everyone fakes a smile.
Oh no.
This isn’t a yacht; it’s a superyacht. Four stories high and at least 160 feet long. It’s black and sleek and . . . fuck.
How in the hell are we supposed to man this vessel? We have no fucking idea what we’re doing.
Oh . . . shit. I feel myself get hot under the collar.
OBSIDIAN.
That name . . . I frown. It’s familiar.
Obsidian . . . how do I know this yacht? I troll my mind for a memory of some sort.
“Is it always moored here?” I ask as I act casual.
“No, it’s usually in Monte Carlo.”
“Right.” I watch the Grand Prix from our yacht in Monte Carlo every year. Let’s hope it’s just from there.
Hayden’s scared eyes flick over to meet mine. “What the hell?” she whispers.
“It’s fine,” I mouth.
This is anything but fine. This is a living nightmare.
We walk across the bridge and onto the yacht, and over-the-top luxury hits us in the face.
A huge deck with a spa and plunge pool, an outdoor lounge area, bar—everything is the most beautiful wood and finished to perfection. I look around. Hmm . . . not bad.
We glance through the double doors into the inside. A huge luxurious living area with plush furnishings. An elevator and stairs going up and down are to the right, as well as a large corridor.
“Wow,” everyone whispers in awe as they look around.
“Come, and I’ll show you to the servants’ quarters belowdecks. We need to get ready. The owner is boarding tonight with a group of his friends.”
“Who owns this vessel?” I ask.
“Julian Masters,” he replies.
Fuck.
“Where’s he from?” I ask as I act dumb.
“The United Kingdom. Loaded, as you can tell. Old family money . . . but he’s a judge. He has his extended family from Australia over here for a bachelor party.”
The blood drains from my face. I know them. I know them all.
Julian Masters is one of my brother Jameson’s best friends. They went to boarding school together.
I’m totally fucked.
