Bad Cruz(24)

“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.”





“Could’ve happened to anyone.”

Bear shrugged adamantly the next day, referring to the Cruisegate debacle—again—while we were FaceTiming.

I held my phone high in the air, drifting around my room in my hot pink bikini, over which I’d thrown a pearl caftan that looked very much like something you’d find in Victoria’s Secret’s raunchier side of the store, not the beach.

I headed over to the bathroom where I slathered my face with makeup.

“No, it couldn’t. And anyway, it didn’t happen to anyone. It happened to me.” I pouted at the mirror in front of me.

“I just don’t understand why you’d make us look so bad.” My mother, of course.