Chapter 4
Cienna
One delicious nap and a caffeine-packed latte later, I begrudgingly agreed to let Kennedy doll me up for our next bachelorette adventure.
My earlier encounter with the guy at the bar made me aware of a few things.
One, I needed to trust Kennedy’s advice on how to style my hair for each occasion.
Two, chipped toenail polish didn’t complement any look.
Three, feeling a little sexy wouldn’t hurt the confidence in case I had any other run-ins with intimidatingly hot guys.
Well, not that particular sexy guy. On a ship this large, with so many people coming and going, the odds of that were slim, no matter how much I had his searing eyes in the back of my mind.
Kennedy wore the same size as me, so she had the advantage of picking from her own wardrobe, which vastly differed from the casual khaki and sundress look I had packed.
She chose a sexy black dress that clung to my every curve.
The neckline was high, but the air tickled my skin from the exposed opening in the back.
As advised, I wore my hair down, setting soft beach waves that framed my face.
Then I braved a makeover from Kennedy. She went easy on me, a hint of blue on my eyelids that she swore would bring out their dark coffee-bean color, and a faint cat eye she claimed would make them pop.
My cheeks shimmered with highlighter, and my lips were glossed.
Once she finished, she made me spin in the T-strap heels she picked out for me, making sure I could balance. While I barely passed the test, she approved my look for our girl-gang rendezvous.
Tonight’s plan: take over the Solarium Lounge located on the top deck.
The nightlife was robust and rowdy, the energy high for the first evening on the cruise ship, and the Solarium provided a chill place to drink and enjoy live music.
The room was surrounded by windows overlooking the ship’s perimeter.
And a deck led directly outside, with comfortable seats for people watching and reading—two things I wish I were doing instead.
I patted the book in my crossbody purse longingly.
Thirty minutes in, I lost the Ro-Sham-Bo for our second round of drinks. Like an impatient child, I swiveled on the bar chair, waiting to order a round, when a sexy voice tickled my ear. “Hey again.”
Oh shit, good morning, vagina.
I took a deep breath before turning my head, nearly grazing his chin. He pulled away as he sat on the stool next to mine, and I instantly missed his masculine scent—a mixture of cedar and fabric softener and something else. Coffee, maybe?
“Hey again,” I answered shyly as I tucked my head down a little, trying to avoid eye contact and engagement in general. Our previous encounter had tortured me enough already.
But man, does he smell good.
He ducked his head down to match my eye level and, with a devious smile, whispered, “Pretend I’m saying hi.”
He was teasing me. I scrunched up my nose and gave him a playful glare. “Cute.”
“No, really, touch my arm and laugh. There is a cougar chasing me, and she’s a snarly one.” He leaned in, granting me another waft of his alluring scent.
Bottle that, please.
Daring a glance over my shoulder, I scanned the people around me, including the woman who ticked every box of the “Cougar on a Hunt” checklist. She was wearing a form-fitting, cleavage-plunging animal-print dress and the kind of heels Kennedy referred to as “fuck me footwear.” I knew this because she almost forced a similar pair on me when we were getting ready to go out tonight.
Cougar Lady’s makeup was caked on, with the longest falsies I’d ever seen.
More power to any woman who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go get it.
Part of me wanted to walk up to her and give her a pawing and growl of solidarity.
However, the much more real part of me decided to play into this man’s crisis.
I touched his chest, an instant zap shooting straight to my lady parts, and laughed out loud, sounding oddly like Janice from Friends.
His eyes twinkled. “Nice job.”
The bartender appeared, setting down two shot glasses with clear liquid.
Ugh, vodka.
I could already smell it, and my gag reflex tickled in my throat.
My mind flashed back to my college years and the fond but cringey memories of Kennedy and me taking frat parties by storm with cheap vodka in tow, sacrifices to toilet gods, and inevitable walks of shame.
This quick blip was a reminder that I definitely wasn’t that girl anymore.
I could barely look at the shot on the bar, and the only walks of shame I did now were when I took two donuts from the break room instead of one and had to hide them in a napkin.
“Oh, lookee there—shots.” Mr. I’d Walk Shamefully For winked at me. I grimaced, swallowing hard and pinching my lips shut. He stood still for a moment, giving me a sidelong glance. After obvious contemplation, he finally shook his head.
He gestured to the bartender, who slid over to us and rested his elbows on the bar, rubbing his hands together, ready for action. “What can I do for you, friends?”
Mr. McDroolworthy—my official name for him now because my mouth had been watering since hearing his voice—scratched the back of his neck and gave the bartender a sly grin. “Is there any way you can make this one pink and fruity?” He pointed to one of the shot glasses and added, “With an umbrella.”
My brain couldn’t comprehend whether it was a suave move or an adorable gesture. Regardless, I giggled. He pointed at the other shot on the counter and tossed his hands up goofily. “What the hell, make them both pink.”
The bartender gave him a thumbs-up and turned to make the drinks before Mr. McDroolworthy called out, “I’d like an umbrella too.”
I bit my lower lip, trying to hold in a laugh I was certain would come out as more of a guffaw.
Cienna, no. No donkey sounds tonight.
Another wink was aimed my way as Mr. McDroolworthy nudged his shoulder toward me, bringing his body closer. “I’ll give you my umbrella.”
When the new drinks arrived, Mr. McDroolworthy narrowed his stare and forcefully exhaled before picking them both up. “It looks like a tropical Robitussin,” he said as he handed one to me. I crinkled my nose at the memory of choking down the gross, pink medicine as a child.
He plucked the umbrellas from both drinks and tucked them in his shirt pocket before clinking his glass with mine. “Here’s to sharing cough syrup with new friends.”
His stare held mine while he lifted his chin, brought the drink to his lips, and tossed it back.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as the drink slid down.
Mesmerizing. I couldn’t stop staring as he cleared his throat, releasing a raspy grunt that sounded more sexual than anything imaginable.
Heat flooded my cheeks the longer his stare held me captive.
So green, so bright. If it were any other situation, I may have noticed a flash of desire streaking through those orbs, but this was me, and I was awkward—and still staring.
No, actually, you’re gaping, weirdo. There is no way this beautiful man could be attracted to you. Stop gawking.
With a sheepish grin, I finally blinked myself back to earth as he subtly flicked his tongue out to lick his bottom lip. Now his mouth was vying for every bit of my attention.
“Um…” I awkwardly clinked the air and said, “Cheers!” I threw my head back to gulp down the pink liquid and immediately coughed and sputtered, then puckered my lips and tried to regain my composure.
The shot glass clattered against the bar when I clumsily set it down and shook out my hands, vibrating my lips with a “Brrr,” as if I were in the arctic tundra, even though I just swallowed fruity pink fire.
My eyes wouldn’t stop watering. I gnawed my lower lip, trying to avoid eye contact, positive my mascara was doing the drippy raccoon thing. He chuckled, holding out both umbrellas from his pocket, one in each hand, twirling them around.
Suddenly, I was imagining what those fingers might feel like pinching and twirling other things, so I grabbed them from him before I let my imagination run any further with those thoughts.
Mr. McDroolworthy flinched and leaned into me. “Uh-oh.”
Nudged in closer to him, I gave a little gasp, our cheeks almost touching. “What?”
“The cougar, she’s coming closer…”
Oh. Hell.
Something close to possession, stoked by pink vodka, commanded me, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, catching him off guard. He stiffened, then quickly softened his shoulders and braced me with a gentle hold on my waist.
“Pretend I just said something provocative,” I whispered. The scruff on his cheek grazed along my jaw, sending tingles down my spine.
“Well, what would you say if you weren’t pretending?” His voice tickled my ear, a sensation I was starting to long for. The grip he had on me tightened slightly.
Pressing my lips together, I paused, wanting to say something sultry—wanting to make him melt. But more than that, I wanted to be rewarded with another delicious smirk. Smiling into my words, I whispered, “Pineapple goes on pizza.”
Yes. Pizza as sweet nothings. Completely normal.
Shivers swarmed by body as he dropped his head with a laugh, his breath puffing against my neck. My arms were still wrapped around him when he stood and used his hold on my waist to move me away from the bar. Then he released me and held out his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
Let’s get out of here? Whoa, that escalated quickly. Were pizza toppings a secret code in dating? Panic mode: initiated.
Anxiety rang through me like a gong of warning. Ready to spring any second, I took in a sharp breath. “I… I don’t…”
He grabbed my hand, alarm and understanding in his features as pink spread across his cheeks, briefly distracting me from my growing unease.
Well, that’s adorable.