Chapter Four #2
This time, the applause, whistles, and cheers were loud enough to wake the dead.
“As you can see by the matching attire, we have several groups joining us. Our biannual single and mingle sail always brings out some of our favorite guests. For our married couples and families, don’t fear . . . you’re not on the wrong ship. We have daily events set aside for you as well.”
James inched his way to the bar while Percy continued to work the crowd.
“Before we continue the music, we’re going to organize a few group photos, starting with Always a Bridesmaid.”
Percy directed the squealing girls to one side of the deck, where a photographer stood at the ready.
James edged his way up to the bar and waited until he could catch the eye of one of the three bartenders running their asses off.
Tropical and fruity seemed to be the drink of the day. According to the sign, it was the cruise ship’s rendition of a mai tai.
Two women in the obnoxious green shirts, the same one that sat in James’s room, stood to the side of the bar, their heads close together in conversation. The sound of the cruise director wasn’t as loud on this corner of the deck, allowing the conversations around him to filter in.
“Best idea ever.”
Two men, no older than thirty, sat at the bar, their backs to the booze, their eyes stuck on the women walking by.
“I couldn’t think of a better way to celebrate my divorce finalizing.”
“Wouldn’t have happened as quickly if you’d had kids,” the bulkier of the two men said.
The bartender tapped the space in front of James. “What can I get you, boss?”
He kept it simple, asked for a beer.
His beer came, and the bartender walked away with his room card.
“No, man. I’m not going there. I want my women a little bit older on this trip,” James heard the newly divorced man say to his friend.
As the words registered in James’s brain, he noticed the two guys take in the lime-green San Diego Singles duo, only a few feet away.
The side view of the ladies in green not only said older, but it also suggested a different energy. Neither was holding a drink or bopping around to the music.
Versus the guys on the hunt, who already had one empty cup in front of them and another full one in hand.
The heavy guy nudged the divorced dude. “Cougar hunting starts now.”
Divorced Guy grabbed his drink, slid off the barstool, and squared his shoulders.
The bartender took that moment to ask for James’s signature and return his room card.
By the time James turned back around, Divorced Guy stood about a foot away from the two women, who were seemingly taking in the cruise director moving groups around for pictures.
“Hello, ladies.”
Divorced Guy, charm dancing from his smile, stepped closer to the slightly shorter and thinner of the two women.
The woman said something that James didn’t hear.
Either Divorced Guy didn’t hear her either, or he wanted an excuse to move closer.
James banked on the latter of the two scenarios.
Both women nodded.
The taller of them pulled on her shirt and pointed to the graphic. “From San Diego,” James heard her say.
Fascinated by the fact that a thirty-year-old was actively trying to pick up a woman some twenty years older than him, James took a step closer, his eyes stuck to the dance floor. Though in his periphery, he focused on hearing the voices of the three of them.
“It’s our first cruise.”
“My second,” Divorced Guy said. “You’re in for a good time. Plenty of dance partners.”
The woman standing closest to Divorced Guy looked him up and down.
Her profile matched her straight shoulders and less-than-relaxed stance. Her jaw was set, a pleasant yet not-so-welcoming smile on her lips.
But her eyes . . . they spoke volumes.
Dark, piercing, brown, with knowledge beyond the depths that said this kid was barking up the wrong cougar. Yet there was something in how she held herself that suggested she didn’t realize he was trying to pick her up.
Those eyes kept pulling in, just a tad, as Divorced Guy kept talking.
“I’ve never been to San Diego.”
“We love our city,” the taller woman replied.
“Are the men there all blind?”
James wanted to laugh. He finished the pickup line in his head.
“Why would you ask?” Finally, the smaller woman spoke.
James detected an accent. Spanish, Portuguese . . . Italian? San Diego had a significant population of all three of those nationalities.
“The men would have to be blind to let two beautiful women like you resort to a singles cruise to find a dance partner.”
That was painful to hear. James actually winced.
“Can I buy you ladies a drink?”
Poor kid lost his game during his marriage. That is to say, if he ever had game to begin with.
The taller woman snickered.
The woman with soul-filled eyes turned her frame toward the kid.
She looked him dead in the eyes. “I have children older than you.”
“Are they here?” Divorced Guy asked. His eyes filled with hope.
“No,” the second woman stated.
“Then let me buy you a drink. They’ll never know.”
The shorter woman turned to her friend. Whatever she said next was completely lost on James. It was heated, loud, and not in English.
Italian.
James held in his laughter, but there was no mistaking his smile.
“Another time,” the taller woman said.
The woman Divorced Guy was hitting on rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the cruise director, completely ignoring the man-child at her side.
“Can’t blame a man for trying,” he said as he turned. “You’re a beautiful woman.”
Divorced Guy moved back to his barstool.
“Hit and miss,” his friend teased.
“I’m just warming up.”
James walked around the women now that the interplay was over.
He took a good look.
The kid had one thing right. You couldn’t blame him for trying. The hot-blooded Italian was beautiful.
If she wore makeup, there wasn’t much of it.
Olive skin, dark hair, though there were a few highlights .
. . or maybe that was age coming through.
If she had children older than the man who had just hit on her, she must have been young when she had them.
Guessing a woman’s age was never James’s strong point.
If anyone should have hit on her, it wasn’t the kid fresh out of his teenage-crush divorce.
“Okay, San Diego Singles, it’s your turn.”
With the cruise director’s encouragement, the two women left their perch and walked toward the photographer.
James held back and watched their departure.
Seemed the majority of the group from San Diego was exactly what he expected. Twenty-five- to thirty-five-year-olds that would likely need headache medication on the daily to ward off the hangovers that were absolutely coming.
He noticed Summer doing what Summer did best. Bossing people around.
James made sure he was behind enough heads that she didn’t see him and rope him into the photograph. He’d rather keep his “I’m single from San Diego” status on the down low.
At least for now.