4. Swamped
Chapter 4
Swamped
Haley
“ O h, Shayla, never in my life have I been this tired. Wait, that’s a lie. I had a twin have a twenty-first birthday on board once. Ten twenty-one-year-olds. The provisioner had to come out three times with more Mo?t 1942 and Grey Goose.” I shiver at the memory and stare at my plate. I’ve given up on eating the cold, bland pasta. Instead, Shayla and I have melted into a lump on the bench in the crew mess booth. Shayla’s head is in my lap, and I’m petting her hair like a dog.
“I’m pretty sure my soul left my body a long time ago,” Shayla moans.
She’s a lot. But so far, she’s been absolutely fantastic at her job. And even better yet, she’s taken every direction I’ve given her—even if she disagrees with it––without talking back. I just hope it continues. Having a strong second can be a blessing and a curse. Big time. But that’s not something I can make a list for.
I push the cold spaghetti around the plate. It wasn’t worth eating when it was warm. But I didn’t have to make it, so I’m not complaining.
“Ladies, I hope you’re about to go to bed.” Captain Sam’s deep voice shakes me awake, and my feet land on the floor.
Shayla bounces and jerks up, bumping her head on the underside of the table. “Shit.”
“Are you okay there?” He’s on her in a second, his fingers running through Shay’s long blonde strands. And I want it to be me. What in the hell is wrong with me?
She turns her head and gives me a wink. “Oh, right there? Am I bleeding, Captain Sam?”
“No blood. You’ll live.” He pats her head and steps away.
But Shayla clings to him. I can’t quite see—did she grab his ass? I might be down to one stew in the morning.
The captain turns to fill his coffee cup, and I give her my best death stare.
She laughs and slides off the bench. “Well, goodnight all. Or I guess I should say good morning.”
The captain raises his mug at me. “You too! Get some sleep.”
“When do you sleep?” It’s a silly question. Good captains don’t sleep. And if he’s anything like his brother, he’s a great captain. I just asked it to keep him from making his escape.
“I don’t.” His cheeks round up, and his eyes get a mischievous twinkle.
And now I’m wondering what his ass feels like.
“Get to bed, Haley,” he growls.
I hold up my trusty notebook. “I will. I just have a few more things to write down before I forget them.”
He laughs. “I get it. I’m the same way. Thanks for going the extra mile. But don’t forget you need sleep too.”
“Yes... I won’t.” I’ve had other captains with whom I’ve had a good rapport and would have joked, “Yes, Dad.” But Captain Sam is more of a Daddy. Heat rises to my cheeks. I don’t need to check a mirror to know there’s a blush spreading over my face. I’m sure my chest is blotchy all the way up my neck. “I’m twenty minutes out from hitting the sheets.” And now I’m blushing harder, thinking about him in my sheets.
Captain gives me a nod, and his eyes land on the floor. He’s leaning on the edge of the counter with his ankles crossed, sipping coffee. Not moving, like he’s waiting for me to finish.
I take a long sip from my water bottle. Captain Sam makes one heck of a thirst trap just standing there with his Mermaid’s Tale mug.
I flip the notepad open to the primary cabin, but the words float on the page. What were Shay and I talking about before? Is it his presence that’s keeping me from thinking? Or the jet lag and lack of sleep and food? Or quite frankly, all of it?
I circle a few things on the page and write “must do” down next to the primary closet. But I’ve totally forgotten the rest of the stuff Shay and I were discussing. Staying a moment longer, I hope it makes it look like I wasn’t just daydreaming about the captain’s ass. Oh, shit, now I’m truly thinking about his ass.
I glance up. He’s staring at me, and I can’t stop wondering what’s going on behind his blue eyes. “All done.” I raise the notebook and head out of the crew galley. “Have a good night, Captain.” Then I remember the plate on the table. I turn to get it.
He’s already scraped it and is washing it.
I rush to his side. “Oh, Captain. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to have to do that.”
“It’s fine, Haley. You’ve been working awfully hard, and it’s not going to get easier...” He trails off and nods. Like in a horror movie when the main character tells the clerk at the convenience store outside of town they’ve just inherited the mansion on the hill.
I clasp my notebook tightly to me, hugging it like a shield. It pushes my breasts up to an obscene level under my chin.
His eyes drop to my chest, then quickly flick up. I drop the notebook to my side. “Well. Thank you. I won’t forget in the future.” I turn to flee for the hallway to the crew quarters—mine is the first room on the starboard side—but then I spin around again and give the captain a quick wave.
He nods back. “I know you won’t.”
“Goodnight.” Racing to my cabin, I drop the notebook on the empty top bunk and collapse in my little bathroom. Small spaces have always made me feel secure. I did a transatlantic repositioning cruise from the Caribbean to the Med with no guests a few years ago—and as the only stew. I could have slept in an empty guest cabin. I did for one night. But I never fell asleep. I prefer my little bunk. I’m not crazy, though. I did use the palatial primary bathroom. As the person responsible for keeping it clean, my old captain let me decide.
That’s the thing with yachting. There are rules. And a lot of them are the same on each boat. But a lot of them depend on the personality of the captain. I’m getting good vibes from Sam. He cares about his crew.
I pull on my pajamas, which are yoga pants and an oversized crew T-shirt. It’s so big it would fit Calvin. After crawling into my bunk, I stare at the underside of the top bunk. It still has manufacturing stickers on it. My eyes close, but three a.m. means nothing to my buzzing brain. I’m so overtired. But I can’t stop cycling through everything we have left to do. And when the chef comes tomorrow, he’s going to flip out. The upstairs galley—the one he uses for the owners—is a shit show. Boxes stacked everywhere. The microwave isn’t even installed. One of the giant walk-in fridges is still off. And... chefs are always the craziest out of all the crew. They’re also the main reason for a big tip or no tip at all.
Anyway, I can help him. I will. I just hope he’s normal crazy, not over-the-top psycho. The pictures on his Instagram account look amazing. But not everything you see on Insta is real.
I have to turn my brain off. One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight...
Screw counting. I slide my hand down my stomach and into my underwear. BOB is in my suitcase under my bed. I wish for the hundredth time that I could get off without having to think of someone, but my brain doesn’t work that way. As my finger circles my clit, I picture it being Captain Sam’s hand.
My legs spread farther apart, and I push my yoga pants out of the way. His other hand is behind my head, those blue eyes of his locked onto mine. He kisses me.
I dip my index finger between my lips and spread the release around my clit, working it harder. When the captain pulls back, it’s Zane. It’s better not to think of the captain. I picture Zane kissing down my chest, his tongue circling my clit. When he lifts his head, it’s Calvin, the engineer who has to be a former linebacker. He picks me up and holds me against the bathroom door. It bangs with each of his thrusts. I hold on to his neck, clinging to his massive shoulders. Until I come.
My chest is heaving, and I pull up my pants, hoping my little activity didn’t make too much noise. I get up and wash my hands and, with the softest crew wash cloth I’ve ever touched, between my legs.
There’s a soft knock on my door. Crap. I pull my pants up and answer it. “Hey.”
Calvin stands in the doorframe. Like the whole thing. The man is massive. And while my little self-help session was, well, helpful, I’m betting this man in front of me could have made it better.
“I was just wondering,” he says, “is the electrical in your room flashing?”
“I don’t know. I was just going to sleep. I turned them off, like, twenty minutes ago.”
“Shit, sorry to wake you up. I’m chasing these circuits. Nothing’s labelled right. I’m trying to install the microwave.”
I glance back at my battery-powered clock. It’s running, but the one on the nightstand that’s built into the wall is dark. “That one is off.”
“Perfect.” Calvin flicks the dead switch on the wall. “Thanks. Sorry for waking you up. I heard you in the crew galley a few minutes ago and didn’t think you’d be asleep yet.”
“No, not asleep.” Just thinking of screwing you and half the boat. I pull my lips into my mouth.
“Okay, well, get some sleep.” He turns and heads back to the crew mess.
My feet shuffle after him on their own.
“Haley?”
My eyes are hooded. All I can think of is a nice cup of herbal tea. On land, I might have been tempted to take one of my mother’s old sleeping pills, but I never bring any of them on board with me. That’s a quick way to get fired. “Just looking for some tea.” I rummage through a cabinet near the coffee maker and come up with nothing.
“Tea?” Calvin asks.
“Herbal tea. Something to help me fall asleep.”
“You’re practically sleepwalking.”
“Maybe, but I can’t turn my brain off.”
“Well, you need to try.” Calvin sounds like the captain now.
“I’m not going to be able to.”
“Not with that attitude, you’re not.” His smile fills his face with blindingly white, straight teeth. He inclines his square jawline to the cabins. “Anders did the provisioning for the initial ride here, and he’s more into vitamin water. I’m more than sure he didn’t order any herbal tea. Lots of protein powder, though.”
“Right.” I nod, my eyes closed.
“I have something for you.” He takes my shoulders in his massive hands and guides me back to my cabin. “Climb in bed.” I do, and he pulls the covers up to my chin. “Stay there. I’ll be right back.” I close my eyes, but my to-do list dances at the speed of a Russian ballet behind my eyelids.
“Here.” He lifts the blanket and tucks something in with me. It’s soft and worn.
“What is this?”
“It’s my teddy bear. Works like a charm. And you can make fun of me if you want—I’m man enough to not care. Goodnight, Haley.” Calvin’s hair brushes the ceiling of my cabin.
“Thanks, Calvin.” I hug the bear to my chest, and it smells like him: man, a bit of diesel, and a cologne I can’t quite name. My brain is still trying to figure it out when I drift off to sleep.