Chapter 23
The ship had anchored off the coast of American Cay in the night.
Only the cruise line called it that—on the maps, it was still called Horsefly Cay, which didn’t have the same kind of ring to it.
American Cruise Lines had purchased it some years ago, and now the short cruises always stopped for a day, pumping tens of thousands of dollars in alcohol and floaties and beachside jerk chicken lunches back into the cruise ship’s pockets.
It was a real island, but the cruise line had done as much work as possible to make it feel like one gigantic resort—safe, with chicken fingers.
There were a few Bahamians who worked at the souvenir stands next to the bathrooms, but otherwise it was all the same people, just in their bathing suits.
Everyone at JackRabbit hated it because they couldn’t comfortably wear their Carhartt and boots without sweating to death.
Every year, Sarah told everyone to pack a pair of shorts, but some people just did not want to listen.
Tyler had rolled his eyes so hard when Sarah mentioned sunscreen and a hat that she thought he might actually be having a stroke.
She and Bobby were standing at the elevator doors, waiting.
They’d tried it a few ways—holding one of the tenders for the guys and walking them down the sandy path to the beach venue—but it took a long time, and the guys had complained that too many people talked to them while they were en route, adding an easy forty-five minutes to the otherwise ten-minute journey.
This year, the plan was to get on the tender and then from the tender onto a small speedboat that would bring them straight to the stage via the water.
“A water landing,” Corey had said. “Like Normandy.”
They would wait until most of the women were already on the island, mostly so the guys would have to be in the sun for the shortest period of time possible.
It was hard to say which day the guys enjoyed less, Beach Day or Photo Day.
They were both bad, Sarah conceded. “They’re all bad,” Keith had said to her once, his voice low, and Sarah had watched as he realized he’d said something that might offend her, his face falling.
The elevator door opened. Scotty was wearing all white—a tank top, a Panama hat, and shorts that showed off all his impressive thigh muscles.
“Aloha!” he said. Terrence and Kelsey were kissing in the back corner.
They unhooked themselves from each other’s mouths and sauntered out.
“I love the beach,” Kelsey said. Her sunglasses took up the top half of her face.
“Me too,” said Terrence, and he casually readjusted his half boner.
Terrence did not love the beach. Before meeting Kelsey, Terrence had tried to swap Beach Day for literally anything else every single year.
Sarah had explained that the Talkers did not want to go on ghost tours of Old San Juan or learn about the Haitian Revolution.
Keith’s seasickness never seemed to be reason enough to ditch it, either.
The Talkers wanted what they wanted, which was to drink on the beach and watch the guys get a little bit wet.
“Okay, that’s almost half,” Sarah said. Bobby chuckled.
The next elevator opened, and it was Keith, Shawn, and Jonathan.
Shawn was staring at his phone, texting, and Keith had on his darker sunglasses and a baseball hat.
Jonathan was wearing board shorts, flip-flops, and a bright white strip of zinc oxide on his nose like a lifeguard in Malibu. “Morning,” Keith said.
“The party last night was lit,” Shawn said. “But someone needs to talk to Pancake about how he keeps missing my cues, and I’m about to leave him on this beach if he keeps doing it.”
“Heard,” Sarah said. “Bobby, why don’t I get these guys on the boat, and you wait for Corey and then come meet us. Sound good?”
Bobby nodded, and the guys and Kelsey all followed Sarah out the small metal doorway and down the gangway. Jonathan was last and paused after everyone else had climbed aboard.
“I like how you work,” he said, tapping the tan skin under his right eye. “I’ve got my third eye on you.”
“Thanks, I think,” Sarah said.