Bad Cruz(17)

“Not particularly, but that ’stache gives you a flasher’s vibe. Better be safe than sorry.”

He scooped me up with such ease, an indolent purr escaped me. I let my arms flap aimlessly beside my body, because holding onto his neck seemed too damsel in distress for my taste.

Still, it felt divine, borderline euphoric, when he carried me honeymoon-style in front of dozens of people who boarded the ship and were now aww-ing and ooo-ing, smiling at us with open admiration.

Look at that couple. They’re like Gisele and Tom Brady, but sufferable.

He must give her oral sex all the time, they probably thought. Not just on weekends and after a few drinks.

If only they knew there was nothing Cruz wanted more than to hurl me overboard like an anchor and watch me get dismembered by an angry mob of seals.

One woman elbowed her husband and asked why he couldn’t be that romantic, and another man put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. “Yeah, baby. That’s how you get some.” Which, naturally, earned him a slap on the head from his partner.

“They said they were by the upper deck’s waterpark, drinking at the bar,” I supplied.

Cruz made his way to the stairway because the cruise would be over before the line to the elevators emptied. I decided that he was my favorite form of transportation.

And also that he had extremely strong biceps.

I tried not to think of other ways he could give me a ride.

“Call them,” Cruz instructed.

My phone was already pressed to my ear. “There’s no signal down here.”

“It’s pretty loud in here,” Cruz said when we got to the upper deck, and I finally got a signal only to get Bear’s voicemail.

The waterpark.

Bear wasn’t kidding.

This place was as big as a city.

“Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

“You’re welcome, Catty Woman.”

“Wit looks good on you, Dr. Costello.”

“You should see what’s underneath it.”

That was the first time we’d treaded on the verge of flirting, and even that had enough venom to kill a herd of elephants.

“Might take you up on the offer,” I drawled sarcastically. “Everyone in Fairhope knows I give out the goods easily.”

He screeched to a stop, his chin sloping down, his deep-blue eyes darkening. Suddenly, we were staring at each other, our noses not even an inch apart, and the noise and shrieks and laughter and kids cannonballing into pools ceased to exist.

Cruz Costello looked…hungry.

And not for food.

My heart cartwheeled into a pool of something warm and gooey, and I resisted to urge to lick my lips.

For a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me. He clutched me deeper against his pecs, muscular as a Greek god, and every nerve ending in my body sizzled.

My insides turned into thick, syrupy liquid…and then I remembered who he was and what he’d done to me.

And also, that he had a girlfriend I hated (sometimes. In my head).

I snapped my head to the other side, making a show of checking out my two-inch nails.

“What the heck was that, Costello?”

“Nothing, Turner. You were just looking at me weird, so I searched for obvious signs of a heart attack. Your pupils are dilated, by the way.”

“Uh-huh. Just remember you have a girlfriend.”

“I don’t, actually.”

I had no business feeling as gleeful as I felt when he said that.

He resumed his sauntering with me in his arms. Only now, he was trudging. I felt his irritated footsteps on my spine.

We still couldn’t spot our families at the bar. It was packed, loud, and spilling over with people in different states of undress and intoxication.

The scent of BO, chlorine, and cheap alcohol drifted into my nostrils. Heaven. How come no one had ever bottled it into a perfume?

“Nawwww.” I made an exaggerated gesture, placing a hand on my heart. “But you were so perfect together. Oatmeal Couple of the Year. So, am I your next conquest? Your rebound?”

“Rebounds aren’t my speed.”

Was it me, or had he not flat-out denied it?

“So why’d you look like you were going to kiss me? Is it because I don’t fall at your feet?” I taunted.

“I usually like my dates at crotch level. If they’re at my feet, they’re doing something wrong.”

“Gross. Also—sexist.”

“Natural. Also—not if I’m reciprocating. Which, for your general knowledge, I always do. Anyway, you said I could be myself around you, right? That’s me. Take it or leave it.”

“I choose to leave it,” I said emphatically, my heart beating a thousand miles a minute, because what was going on?

Were we actually discussing sex?

“Well, sweetheart, I was never yours to begin with. Now call your parents again. I’ll try my mother.”

He put me down, having had enough of my malice. I caught a glimpse of the ocean for the first time. It was endless and blue and promising, spread at my feet, and I reminded myself that in a few minutes, I wouldn’t have to deal with Haughty McHotson at all.

I’d be too busy with my family, my son, and my tan.

No more basket making, no more tables to serve. Things were finally, finally looking up.