chapter nine #2
“Okay, question number six,” Carlos says, and I panic and jot down Red, even though I think it’s brown. “Name the song and artist who sang this.”
The drumbeat of “Invisible Touch” blasts through the speaker, so I quickly scribble the title followed by Phil Collins.
Riley leans forward and shakes his head. “You’re wrong.”
“I am not. I know this song.”
“The song is correct, but the artist isn’t.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it’s not.” He goes to take the pencil, but I snatch it back. “Riles, trust me, you’re wrong.”
“I am not. Listen. That’s Phil Collins singing.”
He holds out his hand. “Are you going to give me the pencil?”
I stubbornly press it to my chest. “No.”
“Suit yourself.”
We answer more questions, Riley taking the lead on the sports-themed ones, while I handle anything to do with literature and chick flicks. We complement each other well, except when we disagree on stupid questions like “How many hearts does an octopus have?”
He said eight, and I said one.
We went with four.
“Okay, trivia buffs, last question, and then you’ll need to swap your sheets with the team next to you.”
Smiling at the elderly lady beside me, so she knows I’m going to swap with her, she smiles back in acknowledgement, her lips pressed together with anticipation.
“What is the capital of Norway?”
Laughter bursts out of my mouth, and I roll backward into my seat, nearly kicking my empty juice glass off the table.
“You want me to answer that one?” Riley asks, a cocky—albeit sexy—grin on his face.
I bite my lip and sit upright again. “No. I’ve got it.”
Scribbling down Oslo, I double-check we haven’t missed any answers before passing our sheet to the lady and taking hers.
“What did they write down for question number six?” Riley asks.
I scroll down the list. “They left it blank. Why? Which question was that again?”
He smirks. “You’ll see.”
Shooting him a puzzled look, I dismiss him and check what they wrote for the M&M question. “They chose blue M&Ms. Crap! Do you think it’s blue?”
“Nah.”
“It could be.” I keep scrolling, confident we’ve at least beat them. A lot of their answers are blank, a couple definitely wrong. “They said Madonna for question number one.” I pout, feeling sorry for them.
Riley darts forward, snatches up the cocktail menu, covers his face with it, and slides down his seat.
I glance from side to side, because he looks like a fool. “What are you doing?”
“Hiding.”
“Why?”
“Horse.”
“Huh?”
“Ben,” he murmurs. “Six o’clock.”
Snapping my head back, my insides squirm as Ben approaches the lounge, his arms draped over two women’s shoulders, the women giggling and happily swinging Tiffany & Co. bags from their fingers.
I follow Riley’s lead and slip down in my seat, almost sliding onto the floor as they pass.
“Have they seen me?” Riley asks.
“Not yet.”
I sneak a second look, wondering if the women are the same two Riley got drunk with the night before.
They look young, given how gravity is still their “breast” friend.
But then, what would two youthful, beautiful women see in Ben?
His mouth is filthier than a pig troth. And not the good, smutty romance book filthy.
No. His filth is outright insulting. He could also learn to button up his shirt properly. And brush his hair.
Riley peeks over the menu. “Are they gone?”
“Not yet.”
“Shit!” he whispers.
The trio keep walking, and when they disappear behind a pillar, I sit up and relieve Riley of his surprisingly successful camouflage tactic. “You’re good to come out now.”
He lowers the menu, repositions himself, and runs his hands through his hair.
I smirk. “Tittney and Spitney, I take it?”
“Whitney and Brittany, yes.”
“They seem… perky.”
“I wouldn’t know. I didn’t hang around long enough to find out.”
“Wait… what?”
“Not my crowd.”
Surprised, I ask, “Then who’d you get drunk with last night?”
“I didn’t get drunk.”
“But you came back to the cabin in the early hours of the morning reeking of alcohol.”
“That’s because Ben spilled my drink all over me, and because I went for a long walk around the ship and chatted with some crewmembers before coming to bed.”
I blink all the blinks.
He snickers. “You seem shocked, Riles.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
“You just strike me as a single, party guy.”
“Who said I’m single?” he asks, lifting a brow.
For some reason, my stomach twists. “You’re not single? I… I just assumed. I’m sorry.” I shake my head. “Wait! What does your partner think of us sharing a cabin? You’ve told her, right?”
“No.”
“Riley! You have to!” I chew my thumbnail. “Not that anything is going to happen. I’m not like that.”
“I’m not like that either,” he says, smirking.
“Good. She has nothing to worry about then.” I point the pencil at him. “You should still tell her. It’s the right thing to do.”
“I agree. It is the right thing to do.”
Still smirking at me as if he’s Veronica’s cat, Marigold, who got the cream, I frown. “Wait! When I set the rule that you couldn’t bring back a random woman to the cabin, you said you’re a grown-ass man who can hook up if he wants to.”
He nods. “I did.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m confused.”
“Clearly.”
“Okay, trivia buffs,” Carlos calls out, interrupting a conversation we need to revisit. “The time has come. Let’s go through the answers. Question one: Show of hands, who wrote Lady Gaga?”
I spear my hand into the air, but so do many others.
“Excellent!” Carlos performs Gaga’s iconic monster dance, and I giggle. He seems fun. Carefree and spontaneous. Someone who loves his job. I envy him. Not that I don’t love my job, because I do. I just never have fun while I’m doing it. Never laugh.
Never dance.
“Question two: According to Greek Mythology, who was the first woman on earth?”
“Pandora!” I call out.
He points at me. “Very good!”
Riley slow-claps.
“I told you I was one-hundred percent sure,” I say, smiling sweetly at him.
“Question three: The chemical symbol for iron is…?”
Someone shouts, “R-N!” and Carlos shakes his head.
“No. Sorry. Incorrect. The answer is F-E.”
I pull a “not bad” face, and Riley simply shrugs.
“Question four: The bones babies are born without are—” Carlos points to his legs. “—kneecaps. Apparently, they start off as cartilage and ossify to bone when they’re toddlers.”
This time, I slow-cap Riley.
“I told you I was one-hundred percent sure,” he mimics my response.
Playfully narrowing my eyes at him, I divert my attention back to Carlos when he asks, “What M&M color is the rarest? Why, it is brown, of course.”
I groan. “Told you.”
Riley raises his hands, palms facing me. “Easy mistake.”
“No, it wasn’t. Red was a stupid answer. The obvious answer. The wrong answer.”
The speakers crackle, and “Invisible Touch” once again blasts through them, Carlos murdering the lyrics. “What is the name of this song?”
A few of us shout, “‘Invisible Touch’!”
“And who sang it?” he asks, eagerly.
I jump in first. “Phil Collins!”
“Wrong!” He points the microphone at me, and it may as well be a “loser” spotlight.
What?
My stomach plummets, heat crashing into me like a tidal wave. “But that is Phil.”
Riley slowly shakes his head. “Genesis.”
Peanut butter! Of course.
My eyelids fall until they’re pressed shut, my face scrunching with humiliation.
“You were saying?” he prompts, his voice infuriatingly arrogant.
Snapping them open again, I divert my gaze from him and cross my arms over my chest. “That was a trick question. Phil Collins is the lead singer.”
He chuckles, and it annoys me even more. We should’ve gotten that question correct, and it’s mostly my fault we didn’t.
Choosing not to apologize, even though I know I should, I shrug it off as Carlos runs through the rest of the answers. And by the time he’s finished, we only got three wrong.
“We did better than I thought,” I say, scanning the room to see if anyone else is boasting. “Stupid octopuses. Why do they need three hearts? One is sufficient.”
“Is it?” Riley murmurs, his knuckles white as he clenches his fist before relaxing.
Curious, I go to ask him what he means by that, when Carlos says, “We have come to the moment of truth. Hands up if you got fifteen correct or more.”
I spear my hand into the air, as do members of four other teams.
“Now keep them up if you got sixteen or more.”
Three hands drop, and I inch closer to the edge of my seat.
“Seventeen or more.”
Mine and one other team’s stay up.
“Eighteen?”
I reluctantly let my hand fall, but the other team member keeps hers victoriously raised. “Damn it!”
“We have our winner!” Carlos points his microphone at the other team. “Come on up and collect your one-of-a-kind trophy. Everybody else, please give them a round of applause.”
Sullenly clapping—because I’m not a bad sport—I slump in my seat.
“We’ll get ’em next time, Riles,” Riley says, his voice mildly patronizing.
“We better,” I mutter. “Because I’m not leaving this ship without a gold trophy.”
He stands and stretches, the hem of his T-shirt lifting just enough to remind me of his sexy happy trail. “What are your plans for dinner?”
“I’m not sure.” I look away and stand too. “I don’t particularly want to eat with Ben again though.”
“Why not?” he prompts, mockingly. “He’s charming once you get to know him.”
“Says you, who practically had a coronary when he walked past before.”
“I did not.”
I laugh. “Yeah, you did.”
“In all honesty, he’s not that bad. Just says stupid shit because he’s insecure.”
“Insecure?” I scoff. “Did you see him with Tittney and Spitney? There was nothing insecure about him.”
“Smoke and mirrors, Riles.”
“More like smoke and liquor.”
Chuckling, Riley drops his arms and slides his hands into his pockets. “I’m probably just going to grab a burger at The Grill and eat out on the top deck to watch the sunset. Want to join me?”
Visualizing the sun melting into the horizon, something I don’t often get to see, my body fizzles with excitement. “That actually sounds really nice.”