Chapter 8 #2
It was absolutely crazy and it made no sense why she was hanging out with him.
But he chanced a glance and there she still was, with her megawatt smile, in the circle where he’d left her.
The sleeves of his tux covering half her hands as she clapped in rhythm with the crowd cheering them on.
She’s wearing your jacket. His brain stated the obvious, as his dick throbbed with the notion.
And it’s gonna totally smell like her after.
After what? The one meal they shared, if a few latke sliders and a bite of kugel ravioli was considered a meal? One prayer? One dance, which wasn’t exactly cheek-to-cheek? The boat had barely set sail. Surely the clock was ticking on his fifteen seconds with fame.
“Ground Control to Major Tom?” Avi tapped his ear, giving Jonah a WTF quirk of his dark brow. “No wonder you went radio silent. Dude.”
Oh yeah, that. His earpiece, long-forgotten, was in the pocket of said jacket.
“You missed the entire dumpster fire that went down with Jay’s assistant. The guy totally spaced and jumped ship. Like, literally pulled a runner right before we pulled anchor.”
“Is that why Jay relinquished his menorah duties?”
Avi nodded. “Rebecca has taken over logistics, it’s been all hands on deck. Where were you?”
“Where were you? I was watching from up on top.”
“On top, huh?” His best friend grinned. Jonah calculated how easy it would be with the slightest push to knock him on his Grammy-winning ass. “Fifty bucks says she’ll pull a Cinderella on you by midnight.”
“Make it one hundred,” he huffed. God, he was a glutton for punishment. “And you have to wear my Ugly Hanukkah sweater at your housewarming party tomorrow.” But the prospect of punishing Avi by making the rock god wear the cheap gaudy sweater was against-all-odds resistible.
“If I win, I get to burn it.”
“Deal.”
Together, they pulled each other up and out of the dance, back onto their feet to the cheer of the crowd.
Jonah knew he was going to pay tomorrow for showing off, beyond the hundred dollars – that old twinge in his hip from a long-ago football tackle was back.
But the look Kara gave him was everything as he limped his way back to her.
“Dancing with the Stars, Hanukkah edition?” She slow-clapped. “Impressive!”
He put a hand on his knee and held up a one moment, please finger. His lungs needed to get back inside his body, pronto. Passing out in front of Kara would be almost as bad as last year’s stunt.
The pounding in his ears eased, replaced by her laugh.
“You really would follow me anywhere, wouldn’t you?” she teased, cheeks flushed from the dance. “Six paces behind and ever-vigilant.”
He was still bent over, trying to catch his breath. “I – yeah – what?”
Kara reached for his hand yet again, but he wasn’t falling for it.
“Oh, no you don’t. One vicious circle was enough for me, thank you.” He guided her out of the mix and let the hora take off in the opposite direction without them, leaving them standing near one of Asher’s drink outposts. “Saved by the bar.”
“Oh, look at this place!”
Each bar on the ship had its own vibe. Offering passengers a different atmosphere with each round they knocked back.
This one had a distinct Old Hollywood feel, all onyx and chrome.
And watching the current A-list actress shimmy up to it was like that magical part of The Wizard of Oz, where the technicolor replaced the black and white.
“Do you know how to make a paradise cocktail?” she asked the bartender, who wore a white tux coat and waved a silver shaker.
“I promise I won’t smash the glass,” she joked.
“Like in the movie. One Way Passage? No? I guess it’s a bit obscure.
Pre-code – back when movies weren’t afraid to tackle controversial topics.
And women were more than just arm candy. ”
He liked how her hands did the talking when she was excited about something.
“I don’t know how to make that one, but I bet my boss does. Hey, Stein! What’s in a paradise cocktail?”
Jonah looked in the direction the bartender was shouting, and saw Asher rolling up. Literally, with a hand-cart of liquor boxes.
“Oh, hey! It’s my man, Maximum Deduction.” Asher grinned and high-fived Jonah from behind the small bar. “And good evening, Miss Koff. One paradise cocktail coming up. It’s basically gin and juice.”
Great, now he had the old Snoop song stuck in his head. Lyrics too dirty to repeat, so he tapped the bar in time as Asher took charge and his worker watched and learned.
Jonah was impressed, as always, as Asher pulled bottles, poured from high, shook from down low, and garnished artfully. His friend was burning off a bit of nervous energy, only noticeable in the shake of his fingers as he twisted an orange peel over Kara’s cocktail.
“Long night, man?”
“The longest.”
Jonah knew for a fact Asher – like Talia and the others – wasn’t officially working tonight. But since Avi had commented it was “all hands on deck” in the absence of Jay’s assistant, the libations master must’ve been put to work in some capacity, and maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing.
“One for me, too – hold the gin. Heavy on the juice.”
Asher pulled an identical coupe glass and gave Jonah’s version the same attention to detail.
“Yeah, no alcohol for ol’ Max here.” Kara grinned. “Not while he’s on the clock.”
Her gaze roamed over him and his brain emptied out.
“Nah, he’s just atoning for his sins,” Asher cracked. “Oh, wait, wrong holiday.”
“A toast anyway.” She clinked her glass to his. “To vicious circles.”
Giggling came from behind them: three women, about his mom’s age.
“Sorry, excuse us, but…ohmigod, we were always Team Rosie, back in the day. Can we get a photo with you?”
“For Team Rosie? Absolutely.” Kara smacked him lightly in the chest with her purse. “Here – guard this with your life,” she said, all diva-deadpan.
All eyes were on the actress as she joined her fan club, moving to the railing and posing patiently while one of the husbands took turns snapping photos with each of the women’s phones.
“Damn, Jo, look at you.” Asher whistled under his breath and unloaded a crate of booze from his cart. “Kara Koff in your orbit, cracking jokes? She obviously has you confused with someone way cooler.”
He knew Asher was only busting on him – just like all of his nicknames poking fun at Jonah’s savant-like ability to recall accounting stats. But in the tiny, insecure part of his brain, he had to wonder if maybe Kara did think he was someone else.
Was she playing him?
Or maybe she didn’t remember the drunk chump from last year after all.
As usual, the louder, flashier part – the one with a microphone and perma-grin – immediately started heckling it. Don’t make this weird, man.
“Yeah well, if that’s the case, don’t blow my cover.”
“Don’t blow your wad,” Asher retorted.
“Such a romantic, Stein.”
Asher cocked a grin, then poured himself a shot. “L to the C, buddy.”
“L’chaim, brother.”
He slung Kara’s purse across his shoulder, absurdly careful not to spill his drink. And took another swig. He had never had so much vitamin C on board the Baller.
They watched the actress sashay between the women, all smiles.
“Yeah, I’d guard that with my life, all right.” The other bartender smirked, topping off Jonah’s fruity concoction.
Guard…on the clock...vigilant…follow.
Not just someone else…her security detail?
No way.
“You – back to work.” Asher pointed at his worker. “And download a cocktail app, while you’re at it.”
His phone lit up on the bar. Sylvie.
I could die happy here.
Um…do we need to stage an intervention?
Thanks for your concern. But no – I’m scouting a location for a photo shoot.
A picture appeared, two hands, holding globes of rainbow ice. One bare wrist obviously hers; tanned, adorned with mala beads and a hamsa on a red string. The other wrist: buttoned, cufflinked and crisp white.
I even got Eli to try Hawaiian shave ice.
Toasting the Baller from here.
He took a photo of Kara’s pretty drink and sent it to Sylvie in return.
Paradise looks pretty good from here, too.
And watched Kara glance up his way and smile.
Maybe she really had mistaken him for someone steadier, more capable.
Because it seemed like she kept drifting back to him. Into his orbit…as if somehow, he’d accidentally become the safest place on this boat for her.
Posing with Rosie fans felt oddly natural. Also like riding a bike, Tzipi supposed. There was muscle memory buried in there somewhere. And a genuine appreciation for these fans who remembered the role.
And speaking of muscle…
She laughed at the sight of Max, chatting with the bartenders and wearing her purse on his shoulder with zero inhibition. That beaded clutch could contain state secrets…or just an emergency tampon and breath mints for all he knew. She had a feeling he’d protect them equally either way.
The bodyguard thing, Tzipi had to admit, was kind of nice.
Not that she actually needed protecting, but there was something about his presence, alert but unobtrusive, that made the overwhelm of the night fade into a manageable blur.
And the fact that he was easy on the eyes? Five stars, would recommend.
When she glanced back again, his expression wasn’t his easy grin from before. It was more intent – curious, maybe even a little concerned. Like he was trying to read her from across the deck.
She gave a quick nod, the universal I’m fine signal. The women had drifted a respectful distance away, and no one else seemed to be waiting their turn. His shoulders loosened. And that smile – the bright, reassuring one – began to crack again, ever wider as she made her way back to the bar.
And almost had a head-on collision with a familiar face.
“Bobby Bloom!”