Bad Cruz(21)

“Excuse me, sir, do I know you?” she asked coldly.

She looked at me like I’d had a personality transplant, not sure where my easygoing attitude was coming from. The man glimpsed between us, turning slightly in his barstool to take me in.

“Very funny, Mrs. Weiner.” I slid between the two of them, giving him my back as I propped an elbow onto the counter. I didn’t mind being rude. No one on this cruise knew me but Tennessee, and her words were worth nothing in Fairhope. “Been lookin’ for you all over.”

“Are you…Mr. Weiner?” I heard the man ask behind me.

“The one and only,” I confirmed.

“So this is your husband?” This question was directed at her.

“Also yes,” I said, at the same time she corrected, “Cousin.”

I took a step back so they could see each other’s faces. For the first time since I’d gotten on this damn ship, I was having something that resembled, at least from afar, fun.

Tennessee’s face was as red as a ripe tomato. The old man paled, but upon a second peek of her shapely calves, squared his shoulders, and decided to give it another go.

“You’re married to your cousin?” he asked her, slowly as though deciding whether or not that was a dealbreaker.

Tennessee swung her gaze my way, pinning me with a look that promised me a slow, painful death involving fructification, starvation, and asphyxiation.

“We’re in the process of getting a divorce.” She played with her plastic earring coyly, doing her whole vixen act.

I flung my arm over her shoulder and swiveled to him.

“We were in the process of getting a divorce. We’ve decided to give it one last shot. Hence why we’re here, on this cruise. This is our make-or-break second honeymoon.”

“Where was your first honeymoon?” The man looked between us with a frown, obviously getting suspicious.

“Paris,” Tennessee said, at the same time I answered, “Fiji.”

He took a leisurely sip of his beer, waiting for us to get our stories straight.

But while I couldn’t give two shits about what he thought about me—finally, I was in an unchartered territory, where I could loosen up and be less than perfect—it was obvious from the way my companion was pretzeling her limbs and changing shades of red, that she was having a hard time trying to explain my existence.

“We went to Paris first, for a weekend, but then he wanted to go to Fiji. And we always do what he wants. That’s why we’re getting a divorce. Because it’s always Mr. Weiner’s way or the highway. He is the town’s beloved golden boy, you see.”

The man nodded knowingly, burying his hand into a bowl of wasabi peas and throwing a handful into his mouth.

“Been there, done that. Twice divorced now, with three kids between the ex-wives. Life got me real good after that second divorce. Reminded me that the sun don’t shine from my ass.”

“Yes!” Tennessee clapped her hands together, delighted to have an ally. “I don’t wish bad on a lot of people, but I hope my soon-to-be-ex-husband learns that he is, in fact, mortal.”

“I don’t think you’re telling him the whole story, sweetheart.” I unfurled my arm from her shoulder to grab her mysterious white cocktail, taking a sip. It tasted of coconut, charred marshmallow, and gin. “Tell him why we really found ourselves in a marital pickle in Fiji.”

She opened her mouth to stop me, but I was too far gone, driven by vengeance and anger and something else I couldn’t exactly put a name on, but made my blood run hotter.

“What’s your name again?” I asked Mr. Rich Tourist.

“Brendan.”

“So, Brendan, here I am, newly wed in Fiji, deliriously happy and deeply in love…with my cousin.”

This time I did drop a casual kiss on the crown of Tennessee’s head. I felt her stiffening beside me. Even her hair was hot with shame.

She pretended to wrap an arm around my waist, actually digging her claws into my abs, going for blood.

I ignored the pain, continuing, “I wanted to surprise her by getting her a black pearl necklace. No better place finding ’em than Fiji, amiright?”

“Pearls aren’t my favorite.” Tennessee made a show of examining her atrociously long fingernails. “They’re basically an oyster’s blisters. Did you guys know that? Oysters produce them to ease their pain when debris gets stuck in their bodies.”

“Please excuse her.” I smiled winningly, rubbing at her shoulder. “My bride here was raised by wolves. She doesn’t do well with polite conversation. Anyway, my wife had told me she was going to wait for me in the hotel. Didn’t think much of it at the time.”

“You should’ve,” Tennessee said adamantly. “I’d tried to escape our marriage five or six times at this point.”

I ignored her, chuckling as I shook my head, as if this was nothing more than our usual banter.

“Anyway, so here I am, purchasing her a grand black pearl necklace, to go with her grand black heart. I come upstairs to our room, and lo and behold…she is not alone.”

Tennessee rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her generous cleavage when she was sure she’d drawn enough blood under my shirt.

“It was the maintenance guy. My loving husband made a mess and clogged the toilet after going ham on the seafood the evening before.”