Chapter 7
7
Josefine
We’re here for dinner, but the stranger I’m sitting with is looking like a damn snack. So far, Mr. Hottie-With-A-Backward-Ball-Cap is not a serial killer. But the night is young .
What luck that we’re both passengers on the same cruise ship. Sure, I could handle this whole debacle by myself (cue Kelly Clarkson’s “Miss Independent”), but this beautiful man with hazel eyes seated next to me is just the distraction I need. I won’t make a move on him or anything, but I’ll enjoy the view until we make it back to the ship. His bronzed face, symmetrical nose, and strong jaw are all bits and pieces of the world’s best eye candy.
We were so starved we dropped our bags in the room and turned around for dinner without even bothering to change clothes. The taverna inside the bed-and-breakfast, which looks to be held up by plywood, is far from a five-star restaurant anyway. My white tank is almost dry, thus revealing only a hint of my neon pink bathing suit. Now that I’m not soaked, I’m no longer chilly, so my nipples have retreated for the night, thank you very much .
The wobbly table is outfitted with a basket of bread, olive oil, vinegar, napkins, and utensils. Katerina from the front desk drops off menus with Greek and English descriptions snuggled side by side. A prepubescent boy fills our water glasses, then leaves the plastic bottle on the blue-and-white checkered tablecloth. After a day like today, I’d love to stress-chomp some ice, but unfortunately ice isn’t really Europe’s thing. Though wine is Crete’s thing. The boy returns with a carafe of local white that is supposedly known for being the best on the island.
Cameron and I clink our glasses and smile at one another. I don’t know anything impressive about wine. My philosophy is if I like it, then it’s good. The crisp, effervescent flavor is the perfect amount of sweet, which is to say, barely . The rain, while no longer coming down in fast and heavy droplets, offers a peaceful soundtrack against the tin awning. Plastic coverings hang perpendicular, protecting the surrounding tables packed with guests. With weather like this, the taverna is the main attraction.
For the first time in what feels like hours, I have a moment to think. So, naturally, my mind goes back to last night. Tyler and I fought recently, but we patched things up quickly, and that was more than a week ago. While I’ve turned a blind eye to rumors of him cheating in the past, I never imagined he’d sink so low as to cheat while on vacation with me.
On the anniversary of my father’s death, no less.
What a dick. The dickiest dick there ever was.
How did it all go to shit?
Until yesterday, we were having a great time—sleeping in when we didn’t have to be off the boat early, lounging around with cocktails on the beach or pool deck, holding hands while wandering the alleyways of the islands.
Then, at the dance club last night, we encountered a crew of people from New York who recognized him. Famous Tyler (read: inflated-ego Tyler) is my least favorite version of him, so I politely dipped out to refresh my drink at the bar while he schmoozed. He’s not so obviously famous that people recognize him wherever he goes, but occasionally, it happens. I was perfectly content fading into the background while he hung out with his mini fan club. For a while, I got lost in conversation with the bartender—also a writer—and before I knew it, an hour had passed. Ready to reunite with my boyfriend, I headed back to the last place I’d seen him, only he was nowhere to be found. Some of the New York folks said they saw him go into the restroom, so I headed that way, hoping to catch him on the way out.
At first, I thought there was just a long line outside the women’s restroom, so I wandered closer to the wall to wait, but then I overheard a girl say, “Did you see who Tyler Jones went into the bathroom with?” followed by “I’d like a turn with him. Think I need to take a number?”
The hell? I broke out in a cold sweat and my vision blurred at my periphery.
Elbows out, I shoved my way through the crowd, wobbling on my heels. When I flung the bathroom door open, I think it smacked a girl in the eye. Not that I stopped to check.
Inside, I was assaulted by the last thing I would have expected. Right there in the club bathroom was my boyfriend. And he was getting his dick ridden by a chick with a butterfly tattoo.
“What the fuck, Tyler?” I yelled so loudly they could hear me on the mainland.
The blonde jumped and attempted to leap off his lap, but he held on to her by the back of her shirt, keeping his junk out of sight of the crowd behind me and the plethora of cameras trained on him.
He didn’t even say anything, just hid his face in her chest. He knew. Whatever he was about to say was not going to dig him out of his premature grave. With both middle fingers in the air, I left him there with his pants around his ankles .
A girl stopped me on the way out and sent me a photo via AirDrop. “Just in case he tries to deny it tomorrow.” She squeezed my forearm gently.
When I thanked her, she replied, “Don’t mention it, honey. I’ve been there.” The sympathetic look she gave me was the same expression I got all the time after my dad died.
From there, I rushed to my cabin and showered, desperately scrubbing his scent from my skin. With weak knees, I cried uncontrollably against the fiberglass wall. I was still crying an hour later when he came in, sloppy and stumbling and smelling like her expensive perfume. He tried to talk to me, but I wasn’t having it. I ignored him until he eventually passed out on top of the bed with his clothes still on.
This morning, he insisted on coming along for the excursion. As much as I couldn’t stand the idea of even looking at him, I sure as hell wasn’t going to miss snorkeling off the coast of Greece. Whether he went, too, was his choice. I couldn’t stop him.
On the short chartered boat ride that took us to a designated snorkeling spot, we really got into it.
“I’m sorry, Beck. I’ve just been under so much pressure from the record label.” He grabbed at my waist and tried to tug me closer.
I swatted him away. “You said that last week. You promised this cruise would be a stress reliever for us both. What the fuck, Ty?”
“I got a little too drunk and made some bad choices. It’s not a big deal, Beck. We can get over it.”
“Not a big deal? How is cheating not a big deal ? It’s the biggest fucking deal there is . ”
“Keep your voice down,” he gritted out, scanning the people nearby who were obviously listening in.
“Don’t tell me to fucking keep my voice down.” The audacity. He was trying to save face now? That only made me steam more.
“I was so drunk I didn’t even know what I was doing. She doesn’t mean anything.” She meaning the preppy blonde he had his cock shoved up. “It doesn’t count. It wasn’t really me.”
“That’s the biggest load of horseshit I’ve ever heard.”
“Come on, are you really going to throw away what we have?”
“ What we have ? Are you serious right now? From where I’m sitting, what we have is a whole lot of nothing. You’re a cheating asshole, so yeah, I’m gonna throw it all away. Right in the fucking trash where it belongs. You’re garbage. A real piece of shit. We’re done.”
God, I should have listened to those rumors.
He tried the we’re-so-good-together-baby line once more, and I nearly kicked him in the balls in front of the whole excursion group. Call it compartmentalization to protect my emotions, but at that moment, I stuffed Tyler and his bullshit in a metaphorical dumpster and leaped off that boat with the biggest smile on my face.
Blessedly, it’s virtually impossible to talk while snorkeling. Despite the drama that went down on the boat, I thoroughly enjoyed my time in the crystal-clear water.
Once or twice, those pesky problems found their way out of the dumpster, despite my best efforts to lock that shit up, and I nearly choked on my mouthpiece when the thought of Brooks saying, “But it’s for the plot !” popped into my brain. Maybe someday I’ll look back and agree, but not today.
When it was time for lunch, the charter boat collected our snorkel gear and dropped us at the dock, but I wasn’t hungry. I grabbed my bag and hightailed it onto the beach, but Tyler was close on my heels.
“Go to hell. Do not follow me!” I yelled, striding away.
Before long, I found myself dozing off in a hammock. The sun and stress had worn me out. What felt like moments after I climbed in, though, I was startled awake by fat raindrops. I raced back to the beach, where I discovered zero boats left on the water. So I threw my hair in a topknot, and, looking like a drowned rat, I made my way to the hotel’s lobby in search of help. I was mid-panic when a gorgeous man who had to be at least a few inches over six foot came marching up beside me.
I’m not going to lie. As terrible as it felt to realize I’d been left behind, this is a nice reprieve. And by this , I mean being separated from Tyler. If I never see his lying ass again, it’ll be too soon. If only. Unfortunately, I’ll have to collect my things from the ship and our apartment. But for now, I’ll enjoy a fresh seafood dish and a glass (or two) of wine on this gorgeous island. The B&B may need a little TLC, but the view is delicious.