Chapter 32
It quickly became clear that the people who had not already put on their pajamas for Corey’s solo show had held off on doing so because their pajamas were actually lingerie.
Annie kept holding her hand up to her eyes, as if it would stop the onslaught of barely covered breasts.
There were teddies, there were silk bra-and-pantie sets, there were see-through robes with marabou feathers at the hem.
DJ Pancake was playing an R she didn’t need to add another.
Annie smiled as he slowly made his way around the bar to her.
Greg was holding a bucket of beers and offered her one.
“No, thank you,” Annie said. Her drink appeared on the bar behind her.
It looked the same as it always did, pink and orange and delicious.
She was going to miss the Sexy Sunrises.
Even if she had understood what all the ingredients were, it didn’t seem like something she could re-create on land.
That was true of everything, really. It could never happen anywhere else. “I’m all set.”
Greg was wearing a nightshirt and a long pointed cap, like the bear on the Sleepytime Tea box. He looked as wholesome as she did.
“I think you and I may have missed the memo,” Annie said. A woman squeezed in between them wearing hot pants with ruffles that covered her bottom, though covered was perhaps too strong a word. Greg laughed.
“I think so.” He took a sip of beer. The lights flashed, and DJ Pancake cut the music.
Everyone screamed, and Annie watched as the Talkers jumped up and down, their bodies bouncier than usual.
The wind made everyone look like the kind of music-video girls who would dance on the hood of someone’s Camaro.
The guys appeared underneath the screen.
They were all dressed like Tom Cruise in Risky Business—tighty-whities, button-down shirts, sunglasses, socks. Bob Seger started to play.
“Oh no,” Annie said. She covered her eyes.
“I think he wore sunglasses later in the movie,” Greg said. “This is apocryphal.”
Annie smiled into her drink and then looked over at Greg. The guys were still standing up under the screen. Maybe the band was nervous about getting too close to the Talkers when they were wearing so little clothing too.
“Want to go up there?” Greg said. He pointed to the back of the crowd, where there were only a handful of people watching from an upper deck on the far end of the ship from the VIP zone and the stage.
“Sure,” Annie said. The crowd was pushing forward toward the boys.
It was hard to make it through. Two women wearing matching full-length flannel pajamas stepped back to let them by.
Greg stuck his free hand behind him, and Annie took it.
He wasn’t sandy anymore. Greg’s skin felt cool from the beer bottle, and Annie watched the muscles in his neck flex as he turned to look at her.
The guys had made it to the stage—Annie could tell from how much people were craning their necks around her as she passed them, but she didn’t turn around.
The steps to the first balcony were full of people, but the steps to the second balcony were clear, and Annie dropped Greg’s hand.
They were farther away from the stage than she’d been the whole cruise.
There was a small pool and a blocked-off waterslide, and Greg kept walking until he was behind the pool.
He set down his bucket of beers and dusted off his hands.
Annie took a sip of her drink and then put it down next to his.
DJ Pancake was playing Jodeci, and Annie turned to look toward the stage.
Shawn and Terrence were both slow-dancing with Talkers wearing sensible short sets like Maira’s. Smart boys.
“Want to dance?” Greg asked. She turned around, and he was standing there, holding his hands out.
His hat was ridiculous and cute. She didn’t know many men who liked costumes.
It was funny, the list of things Annie found appealing at fifty that she would never have thought about at twenty-five.
Good with kids, bends down to talk to puppies on the street, a polite driver, enjoys puzzles.
A green thumb. Didn’t belittle her interests.
Maybe even shared them. She stepped into Greg’s hands, and he placed his left hand on her hip.
“Hmm,” Annie said.
“Hmm?” Greg said. He took a step closer.
They were only a few inches away from the staircase wall, and she drew them both back farther, tucking them even more out of view.
His face was so close now, and Annie could see his eyelashes, his crow’s-feet, the stubble starting to appear on his cheeks.
He was definitely younger than she was. She’d never done that before, been with someone younger.
It wasn’t on her list—Annie didn’t have a list. Lists were for people who expected to be able to cross things off.
All Annie had was the desire to be kissed in public by this stranger.
They were both already wearing their nightclothes.
It wasn’t hard to picture. She turned her face up just a tiny bit and felt her lips part.
An invitation. Greg leaned in and kissed her.