The Unhoneymooners(31)

He nods. “I bet she regrets not getting them back when she was enjoying my paychecks.”

“Well, there you go. Your fake new wife has great boobs. Be proud.”

Hesitating, he says, “But it has to be more than that.”

“What do you mean, ‘more than that’? I’m not going to wear a thong.”

“No, just—” He runs an exasperated hand through his hair. “It’s not only about me being with someone hot now.”

Wait, what? Hot?

He rolls on like he hasn’t said anything completely shocking. “You have to pretend to like me, too.”

A curl falls over his eye just after he’s said this, turning the moment into a Hollywood shot that completely mocks me. A small set of fireworks—only a sparkler, I swear—goes off beneath my breastbone, because he is so goddamn pretty. And seeing him vulnerable, even for a second, is so disorienting it makes me imagine a time when I can look at his face and not hate it.

“I can pretend to like you.” I pause, adding out of the self-preservation instinct, “Probably.”

Something softens in his demeanor. His hand moves closer, curling around mine, warm and encompassing. My reflex is to jerk away, but he holds me steady, gently, and says, “Good. Because we’re going to have to be a lot more convincing on that boat.”





chapter eight

The boat in question is enormous, with a wide lower deck, a plush indoor area with a bar and grill, and an upper rooftop deck in the full, bright sun. While the rest of the group finds places to stow their bags and get snacks, Ethan and I head straight for the bar, grab drinks, and make our way up the ladder to the empty rooftop. I’m sure the emptiness won’t last, but the tiny reprieve from feeling like we’re performers onstage is awesome.

It’s warm; I take off my cover-up, Ethan takes off his shirt, and then we’re both half-naked together, in broad daylight, drowning in silence.

We look at anything but each other. Suddenly I wish we were surrounded by people.

“Nice boat,” I say.

“Yeah.”

“How’s your drink?”

He shrugs. “Cheap liquor. It’s fine.”

Wind whips my hair into my face, and Ethan holds my vodka tonic while I pull a rubber band out of my bag and tie my hair up. His eyes dart from the horizon to my red bikini and back again.

“I saw that,” I say.

He sips his drink. “Saw what?”

“You checked out my chest.”

“Of course I did. It’s like having two other people up here with us. I don’t want to be rude.”

As if on cue, a head pops up at the top of the ladder—fucking Reject Daryl Dixon, of course, followed closely by Sophie. I swear I can hear Ethan’s soul scream.

They climb onto the deck, holding their own margaritas in plastic cups.

“Hey, guys!” Sophie says, approaching. “Ohmygod. Isn’t it gorge?”

“So gorge,” I agree, ignoring Ethan’s horrified expression. No way he’s judging me any harder than I’m judging myself.

We stand together, the world’s unlikeliest foursome, and I attempt to diffuse the uncomfortable tension between us. “So, Billy. Where did you two meet?”

Billy squints up into the sun. “At the grocery store.”

“Billy is assistant manager at a Cub Foods in St. Paul,” Sophie says. “He was stocking school supplies, and I was buying paper plates across the aisle.”

I wait, assuming there will be more. There isn’t.

The silence stretches on until Ethan comes to the rescue. “The one on Clarence or—?”

“Huh-uh,” she hums around her straw, shaking her head as she swallows. “Arcade.”

“I don’t usually go there,” I say. More silence. “I like the one on University.”

“Good produce department at that one,” Ethan agrees.

Sophie stares at me for a few seconds, and then looks at Ethan. “She looks like Dane’s girlfriend.”

My stomach drops and inside my cranium, my brain takes the shape of Munch’s The Scream. Of course Sophie would have met Ami. Together Ethan and I are above-average intelligent people, so why are we so stupid together?

I send him a barrage of panicked brain waves, but he just nods calmly. “Yeah, they’re twins.”

Billy lets out an impressed “Dude,” but Sophie is clearly less excited by the potential for homemade pornos.

“Isn’t that sort of weird?” she asks.

I want to shout YES—VERY—ALL OF THIS IS VERY WEIRD, but manage to clamp my mouth to my straw and drain about half of my drink. After a long pause of his own, Ethan says, “Not really.”

A seagull flies overhead. The boat rocks as we push through the waves. I reach the bottom of my drink and loudly suck watery air through my straw until Ethan elbows me in the side. This is so painful.

Eventually, Sophie and Billy decide it’s time to sit and make their way to a padded bench directly across the deck from where we’re standing—close enough that we’re very clearly sharing the same general space, but far enough that we no longer have to attempt conversation, or hear whatever disgusting thing Billy is currently whispering in Sophie’s ear.

Ethan clamps an arm around my shoulder in a clunky, robotic sign of We Are Also Affectionate; again, he was so much smoother last night. With ease, I reach up, sliding my hand around his waist. I’d forgotten he was shirtless, and my palm makes contact with his bare skin. Ethan stiffens a little beside me, so I lean in fully, stroking his hip bone with my thumb.