Chapter 3
Chapter Three
We arrived at the ferry terminal on schedule and joined the long line of vehicles waiting to board. I stood, grabbed the microphone, and turned to the passengers.
“Okay, troublemakers, listen up. Once we’re on board the ferry, you have about ninety minutes to wander around. A word of warning: the French pastries are guaranteed to add five pounds to your waistline, and the coffee has been known to remove nail polish. And no sneaking off into naughty little corners. I’m talking to you, Mike.”
His face lit up. “I will if you show me where they are?”
Holy smokes he’s hot. He’d ignite kindling with those smoking blue eyes.
He put his hand behind his head and did a weird chest pump thing. Two of his friends clapped him on the back, grinning like horny college jocks.
Typical. The cute ones were always the dickheads.
Ignoring them, I said, “Just make sure you’re back on board by the time we dock at the other side. ”
“Or what?” Another American in the far corner may’ve underestimated my hearing.
“Or I’ll have to spank you, Anthony.”
His eyes widened, confirming my suspicion. The guys in the back row burst into laughter, as did several other people on the bus.
Of the twenty-four buses operated by Vacation Dreamz, the tours I led were consistently ranked the highest-scoring tours of Europe. It was a statistic I was determined to keep, right up to my very last tour.
Acid churned in my stomach. My last tour was going to come around way too soon.
Roman parked the bus in our allotted space, and after everyone had poured off, he turned to me. “We going up for some of that nail-polish caffè you described so well?”
“See? I can be descriptive when I want.” Roman would most likely stay with me whether I chose to stay on the bus or not. With his endless curiosity, it was safer to be in a crowd. “If you’re drinking the coffee, I’m keen to watch your torture.”
“Mean. But okay.” Grinning, Roman rubbed his hands together. “I’m excited.”
“You shouldn’t be. I wasn’t exaggerating about the coffee.”
“Oh, come on. How bad can it be?” He locked the bus and fell in at my side.
Considering Roman was Italian, and Italians were known for their exceptional coffee, I was surprised he was willing to even try it. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I glanced up into his eyes, and at that very moment, a ray of sunlight caught in his irises. My breath froze at their unusual color. Like liquid honey when it was poured, raw and pure, from a beehive.
Roman frowned. “What?”
I snapped my gaze away. “Nothing.”
“You’ve got a lot of nothing going on. ”
I huffed. “You don’t know the half of it.”
As we made our way upstairs, I debated over whether or not to send Zali my description of Roman’s eyes.
Zali had made the mistake of falling pregnant in a boozy one-night stand with a passenger during one of our cruises. She’d been living with that mistake ever since. When she’d left her hometown of Yates City, Illinois, she was a fun-loving twenty-two-year-old, ready to take on the world. She returned home a year later, five months pregnant, to discover her mother’s dementia had deteriorated so much that she needed full-time care.
Whenever I thought I was having a bad day, I pictured Zali and what she went through day in, day out.
Zali hadn’t lost her spunk though, and she was always saying that she was living vicariously through me. By the time I’d reached the top of the stairs, I’d decided that I would tell her all about Roman. It was the least I could do to cheer her up.
The American boys were at the front of the coffee line when we arrived upstairs, and the only redhead amongst the hundred or so passengers milling around waved us over. “Can we buy you a coffee?”
I blinked at him. Most of the time, guests wanted me or my driver to shout them drinks. “Thanks, Warren, that’d be lovely.”
“Wow, how’d you remember my name?” Warren’s gaze bounced from my eyes to my cleavage and back up again.
Roman nudged his shoulder to mine. “Daisy has a photographic memory.”
I spun to him, my jaw ajar. “How the . . .?”
He shrugged. “Bruce told me.”
“Really?” Warren actually met my gaze. “That’s cool.”
I faked a smile. My photographic memory came in handy with remembering my passenger names and unique details about all the places we visited around Europe. It was my superpower and a major weapon in my tour-guide arsenal. But it also meant I could recall exact details about things I’d rather forget. Like how stunning William’s eyes had looked when he’d fallen at my feet crying his eyes out on the 13 th of February 2016. Some things I’d like to unremember if that was such a thing.
What my father told me on my fourteenth birthday would be at the very top of that list.
As I eyeballed the dried-out carrot cake in the display case, I willed my brain to swat away that memory.
Our coffee order arrived, and while two of the guys went to the front viewing platform, Roman and I followed the remaining three to a table by the window. Roman indicated for me to sit first and I wriggled into the booth with the delicacy of a herd of stampeding rhinos.
“Where’re you guys from?” Roman asked when we were all seated. He was obviously comfortable striking up a conversation with strangers. Not me. I’d rather cartwheel up a sandy beach. And with my mammoth mountains, cartwheeling was not without pain.
Besides, I’ve learned more than a few secrets by keeping quiet. Maybe that was another one of my superpowers. Secret-diviner extraordinaire.
Who was I kidding? If I was that good at unearthing secrets, I wouldn’t have wasted seven years of my life with William.
“We’re all from San Francisco,” Mike spoke on behalf of the threesome.
After a sip of his coffee, which didn’t produce the scowl I was expecting, Roman put his cup down. “What brings you to Europe?”
“Brett’s getting married later this year.” Mike pulled a face that implied Brett’s impending nuptials was akin to plucking one’s eyes out with a fork. “So, we thought we’d give him a chance to escape before he’s shackled for life.”
Brett punched Mike’s arm. “You’re just jealous. You can’t even hang onto a woman for more than a month.”
“Maybe I don’t want to.” Mike, positioned across the table, looked right at me. No, it was more than just a look. His eyes were slowly removing my clothing, piece by piece. My insides curled, and I couldn’t decide if my vagina was shriveling up or limbering up.
Mike was at the top of the sex-on-a-stick totem pole. Strong chiseled jaw. Sexy dimples nestled amongst his styled three-day growth. Sun-kissed, shaggy blond hair that curled in reckless waves, like he’d just ridden in on a surfboard. Throw in his stunning sapphire eyes and easy charm, and he’d have a horny woman’s wet panties sliding off their legs in no time.
Not me.
I’d rather pull my pubes out one by one than slip into bed with a player like him. That look, however, showed me exactly what his plans are for the next twenty days. Sex. And plenty of it.
Not with this ugly duckling though. No way. Nope. Nada.
“So, how do you know each other?” Roman shared his gaze between the three of them.
“We went to San Francisco State together and kept in touch.”
While they detailed what each of them did for a living, my mind churned. I hadn’t kept in touch with any girlfriends from my school years. Not a single one. Thanks to my nomadic upbringing, I went to too many schools to make friends. The constant upheaval meant making bonds with anyone was a challenge, let alone long-lasting friendships that resulted in trust and loyalty.
It was one of the reasons William had been so special .
He’d been the first person I’d ever trusted.
Until he fucked it all up.
Roman continued drinking his coffee with seemingly zero reaction to its taste, and I decided that he was either pretending to like it, or his mother’s fancy cooking had messed up his taste buds. I took a sip, trying not to screw up my face at its bitterness, and trying even harder to focus on the conversation. When Mike wasn’t sneaking glances at my cleavage, he was finishing his friends’ sentences and laughing at their comments.
They enjoyed each other’s company.
I loved being alone, preferred it even. But for some reason, their friendship had a streak of jealousy coiling through me.
It was an emotion I rarely felt, at least not when it came to friends. My jealousy was usually over perky boobs, or straight hair, or someone sitting in a quiet corner with a glass of wine in one hand and a romance novel in the other.
Maybe that stupid visa letter was fucking up my thoughts. Since I’d received it, my usual cruisy life had slipped sideways. I had to get out of there before any more outrageous emotions trampled my sanity. “Excuse me, I need to go to the?—”
“Oh, certo .” Roman stepped out of the booth with manly agility.
Different story for me though. Squeezing out of the booth made my knockers wobble all over the place.
By the time I was free, embarrassment blazed heat up my neck to my fiery red hair. Aware that I’d look like a giant pimple about to pop, I said goodbye and scurried away.
I shot into a restroom cubicle and grabbed my phone to text Azalia.
Sorry babe, crazy day. Are you still there ?
Zali’s reply was instant.
I’m always here, you know that.
Kane still awake?
Yep. Little bugger has the same stamina his father had. LOL
It amazed me that she could joke about a man she barely knew who’d irreversibly changed the course of her life.
And with a mother like you, Kane has some good genes
You haven’t seen me in a while. You probs wouldn’t recognize me. Hell, I don’t even recognize me. My stomach is covered in stretch marks, my hair is a mess, and my tits are so engorged they look like pregnant monsters
I was contemplating a response when my phone buzzed.
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that about my big tits
It’s okay
No, it was insensitive of me. I’m sorry
Zali had heard me bitch about my boobs often enough to know how much I loathed them.
It’s okay
Alright, enough about me. Tell me about your sexy driver
Ok picture raw, pure honey oozing from a beehive
Hmmm, nope, got nothing
I was nine years old when an old farmer, whose property had backed onto the trailer park we were staying at, had shown me where honey came from. I’d never forget the color, like liquid gold.
Right, well anyway, that’s what his eyes are like. They’re really interesting
Oooh, sounds sexy. What else?
I described Roman in detail. His stunning, panty-dropping looks, his toned body, his charisma. Even what I knew about his family.
Holy shit, babe. Roman sounds totally fuckable
Not going to happen
Why not? I’d fuck him
I burst out laughing. Zali was never shy with her sexual exploits. We were opposites like that. She’d had loads of guys during our three months together on the cruise ship. And, during that time, Zali had made it her mission to try and hook me up. It never happened. I’d rather eat a bad prawn than let a random guy see me naked.
Have you had any lately?
I hoped my question would switch her focus off me.
Are you kidding? I’m a fucking cow right now. I feel so damn ugly. I haven’t used Clitosaurus in months
I chuckled again. Zali’s name for her vibrator cracked me up. She’d tried to convince me to get one. But I just didn’t understand her need for sex. It wouldn’t bother me if I never did it again in my life.
The engine vibrations shifted beneath my feet; we were coming into port. Sighing, I tapped out another text.
Shit, babe. Sorry, I’ve gotta go
But we were only just getting into it
I know. Miss you
Miss you too. Now go shag Roman. Do it for me
LOL. Not going to happen. Chat soon
I exited the cubicle and scowled at my reflection in the vanity mirror. With wet hands, I attempted the impossible . . . taming my frizzy hair.
While loading our luggage, Roman had swept his hands through his thick hair, and it curled back into place in some kind of slow-motion fashion-model trick.
How can one man be so frustratingly beautiful?
Maybe he has a small dick?
Yes! That must be it.
Giggling, I left the restroom, trying to force my brain away from Roman’s cock.