chapter six
OTHER RILEY
Riles stumbles off toward the elevators, and I feel the need to go with her, to find out what’s wrong and if she’s okay.
We’re not exactly friends—we’ve only just met—but my mother taught me from a young age to be kind, understanding, and to help someone in need.
And Riles sure looks like she needs some form of help, at the very least with walking.
My gut tells me to leave her be though. Not to mention if she is going to puke, I’m happy to stay well away.
I can’t stand puke, especially someone else’s.
Half-digested food and stomach acid should never see the light of day.
When Poppy was a baby and regurgitated on my shoulder for the first time, I all but regurgitated too, much to Roni’s amusement.
Thankfully, it was pretty easy to get used to baby spit-up. Puke though, another thing entirely.
Stifling a body shudder, I make my way outside for a night walk on deck, the ocean breeze fresh but pleasant.
Waves lap at the side of the ship, nothing but darkness as far as the eye can see.
I welcome the eerie peace and slide my hands into my pant pockets as I head toward the stern, weaving around lovey-dovey couples strolling in the opposite direction.
It wasn’t long ago that I made up one half of a similar pair, fingers interlaced, not a care in the world as Krystal and I laughed over mundane things.
Comfortable.
In love.
Happy.
Drawing in a deep breath, I let it out again, expelling the memories into the passing wind, when I spot Ben up ahead, cigarette in hand as he leans against the railing in one of the few designated smoking sections on the ship.
My feet fumble for a change of direction, but he raises his chin and makes eye contact, and it’s too late for me to sprint away or dive overboard.
Fuck.
“Riley!” he hollers.
I give him a curt nod. “Ben.”
“You smoke?” He offers me his packet.
“Nah, man. That shit’ll kill you.”
“Probably.” He pockets the cigarettes and waggles his eyebrows like he did at dinner.
“What?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder, expecting to see a runway model.
He chuckles, greedy-like. “You’re a lucky son of a bitch.”
“Why?”
“Being shacked up with that hottie.”
“Riley?”
“Damn straight! Have you seen her…?” He puffs out a fat cloud of smoke and fondles his chest. “What I wouldn’t give to be buried in those.”
I agree; I’m a man, after all, and her breasts are superb, especially in the tight dress she was wearing tonight. It took balls of steel not to stare at them, which I didn’t, because I do have balls of steel.
Clearly, Ben doesn’t.
“So—” He draws in a lungful of toxins, voice strained. “—you gonna do her?”
“Come again?”
“Riley… are you going to make a move?”
I laugh at his foolishness. “No. I’ve only just met her.”
“So?”
“So… that’s not me.”
“Well, it’s me. All day, every day.”
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know he’s not kidding, but for some reason I can’t explain, the thought of him making a move on Riley irks the shit out of me. So, I lie.
“On second thought, man, hands off. I’m simply biding my time.”
He grins at me as if he knew that’s what I was doing all along. “Well, don’t bide for too long, or I’m cutting in.”
I’m confident his “cutting in” skills are pathetic.
Not to mention she’d no doubt knee him in the balls or sever his head from his neck if he tried.
And even though that’s something I wouldn’t mind witnessing, if I can save her the annoyance of having to do so, then lying and telling him to back off so I can have a crack at her is the gentlemanly thing to do.
“Like I said…” He claps me on the back just like he had at dinner. “Lucky son of a bitch.”
Burying the urge to punch him in the face, because I don’t feel like being thrown in the brig on day one, I step around him. “I’ll see you around.”
“Nah, man.” He throws his arm around my shoulders and tugs me to his side. “You’re coming to the nightclub with me.”
Jesus fucking Christ!
I pry myself loose. “Some other time.”
“Don’t be a pussy. There’s plenty on offer in there while you’re… biding.”
I’m not in the mood for what’s on offer, nor am I in the mood to indulge in it with this dipshit. “Not interested.”
“Look—” He sticks his cigarette into the butt stand beside him. “I haven’t lucked out so far, and I can sure use your help. The ladies love a pretty boy like you until they realize they need a man like me.” The idiot winks at me. “Come on. Help a guy out.”
He definitely needs all the help he can get, and then some.
My bro code rears its ugly head, and I stupidly relent. “Okay. One drink.”
“Sweet!”
We enter the nightclub, strobe lights and heavy-bass dance music attacking my eyes and ears. It’s been several years since I stepped foot into a hellhole such as this—the last time with Krystal. It wasn’t my jam then, and it’s not my jam now.
“What are you drinking?” Ben shouts over the music.
“Beer.”
“Fuck that. I’m hitting the hard stuff.”
He orders me a Bud and himself a whiskey on the rocks, then rests his back against the bar, wasting no time scoping the place out, nodding his head to the music and grinning like the Joker at every woman who passes by.
They all ignore him or scowl. It’s humiliating, and before long, I feel marginally sorry for him—he doesn’t stand a chance.
“Check out the ass on that one,” he says, his elbow colliding with my ribs, my beer sloshing onto my shirt.
I no longer feel sorry for the dick.
Brushing myself off, I take note of the woman he’s leering at, recognizing her from when I rode the elevator earlier in the day, her spidey eyes locking with mine. They light up as she waves and coaxes her friend to follow her in our direction.
“I saw her first!” he shouts over the music before taking a gulp of his drink.
I want to tell him he didn’t, that I did. But I honestly couldn’t give a shit. He can try his luck; little good it’ll do him.
Trying my damn hardest to be welcoming, I manage to lift one side of my face when spidey woman sidles up to me and shouts, “Hi there!”
I shout back, “Hey!”
Ben frowns for the slightest of seconds but then turns to her friend, his face once again opportunistic. “Hey, princess.”
The friend all but goes cross-eyed. “Heyyy.”
“Can I get you a drink?” he shouts.
She holds up her cocktail. “Already got one.”
“Want another?”
“No, thanks.” She dips her head and sips from her straw, looking everywhere else but at him.
“I didn’t see you by the pool,” Spidey tells me.
“I didn’t have time for a swim,” I reply with a shrug.
She pouts.
“I’m Riley, by the way,” I say, offering her my hand, because I’m polite like that.
“Brittany.”
We shake, and she sips her drink again, her colorful cocktail disappearing as she seductively sucks it down her throat.
“Want another?” Ben asks her.
She looks at him, then at me. “Sure.”
“What are you drinking?” he shouts as the music gets loud again.
“Something fruity,” she yells back.
All the hollering is giving me a headache.
“And how ’bout you, beautiful?” he asks her friend.
“Already got one, remember?”
Brittany glares at the other woman, and the friend glares back before sighing and calling out, “Whatever she’s having.”
Ben beams. “Comin’ right up.”
I internally celebrate his small victory, when Brittany asks me something I can’t hear over the music.
I raise my hand to my ear. “What?”
She leans in, pressing her chest to my arm. “I said, where are you from?”
“Oh. Philly.”
“Cool! We’re from Florida.”
I nod.
“You been there?”
“Once.”
“Only once?”
“Yeah, I took my niece to Disney World.”
“Cute.”
Puppies and babies are cute. Grogu is cute. Chaperoning my sister and her daughter to Disney World because I’d never be able to take my own daughter is definitely not cute.
About to call it a night and finish my deck walk, I chug my beer and set down the empty plastic cup on the bar when Ben shoves another one into my hand.
“Let’s grab a booth,” he says. “I can’t hear a fucking thing here.”
Brittany point to the back of the room. “There’s an empty one over there.”
If I could hear her friend over the godawful racket, I’d bet my left nut she just groaned… like me.
Why did I agree to this?
Trudging behind them through the crowd of dance monkeys to the far end of the club, I contemplate my odds of successfully slipping away when Brittany latches onto my shirt.
“We nearly lost you,” she says.
“Yeah, nearly.” I stand back and let them slide into the crescent banquette so I can sit at the end and escape when the time is right.
“So, what’s your names?” Ben asks them.
When Brittany’s friend doesn’t respond, she answers for her. “I’m Brittany, and this is Whitney.”
“Brittany and Whitney?” He grins, all teeth. “That’s hot.” He stretches his arms out and not so subtly drapes one behind Whitney’s back. “I’m Horse.”
Laughter bubbles in my throat, but I stifle it.
“Uh…” Whitney stiffens, her eyes damn near popping out of her head. “I’m gonna dance. Britt, you comin’?”
She practically shoves Brittany onto my lap as she tries to scoot back out of the booth, and if I were an evil fucker, I’d stop stifling and laugh my head off, and then laugh some more. But I’m not evil, so I bite the inside of my cheek and stand up instead, enabling Whitney’s escape.
“Wanna dance?” Brittany asks me.
“Nah. Got two left feet.”
She pouts again, and I wonder if she’s got some involuntary issue with her lips. Krystal got some shit injected into hers once, and she looked sulky for weeks.
“Okay, Mr. Two-Left-Feet. I’ll be right back.”
I nod but plan to be gone before that happens.
“She wants me,” Ben says as I take a seat again.
“Who?”
“Whitney.”
This time, I do laugh. “What makes you say that?”
“Look at the way she’s shaking her ass for me.”
Glancing at the girls, both of them sway their bodies in unison as if they’re extras on the set of Dirty Dancing, it just enforces that I don’t want to be here. Especially when Ben sticks his chubby fingers between his chubby lips and wolf whistles.
“See?” he prompts, practically bouncing in his seat. “She wants me.”
I chuckle, then lie. “I think you’re right.”
“You know the other one?”
“Nah, not really. I met her in the elevator today.”
“Lucky. Son. Of. A. Bitch.”
Ben’s definition of luck is grossly different from mine.
Luck is winning the lotto, catching a cancer diagnosis before it becomes inoperable, or finding a four-leafed clover.
Having to share a cabin on a cruise ship for a few weeks with a stranger is not the result of luck, and neither is meeting Brittany in an elevator the size of a shoe box.
“I’ll be between her legs before daylight,” he says before chugging his whiskey and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
I can’t help myself and finally burst into uncontrollable laughter. “You’re delusional.”
His head drops, showcasing his second chin. “Am not.”
“Yeah, you are. There’s no chance in hell you’ll be fucking Whitney tonight.”
“O ye of little faith.”
“It’s got nothing to do with faith, man.”
“Fine. O ye of little Benjamins.”
Little Benjamins?
Confused, my eyes bounce from left to right. “What are you talking about?”
Ben rubs his hands together. “I’m loaded. And when Whitney finds out, she’ll be all over me. Brittany too. Like I said, the ladies love a pretty boy like you until they realize they need a man like me.”
Wait! What? The bastard outright played me.
Somewhat impressed but also dubious of his logic, I say, “You think that just because you’ve got a lot money they’ll sleep with you?”
“Damn straight.”
I glance at the girls again, and Brittany winks at me while shimmying down and then up Whitney’s body before tugging her toward the booth.
“Watch and learn,” Ben murmurs as the girls stroll back and retake their seats.
I wait for my so-called lesson in fuckery as Brittany sips her cocktail dry again.
“Did you miss us?” she asks.
“Every second of every minute.” Ben nods to her empty glass. “Want another? You can have whatever you like. Your drinks are on me all night long.”
She winks at Whitney. “We can have anything we like?”
“Sure can, princess. And after you’re done, we can go have some fun in the casino or at the shops.” He makes a show of adjusting his Rolex. “You see, I have too much money, and I need your help spending it.”
Turning her body toward Ben, Whitney grins seductively and walks her fingers up his chest. “In that case, I’ll start with a… Blow Job.”
He pats his lap, and fuck me stupid, she slides on top of him. “You can have all the Blow Jobs you want, gorgeous.”
Brittany giggles, then drops her hand to my leg and squeezes. “Would you like a Blow Job too?”
I blink. What the fuck?
My dick stirs in my pants, letting me know his thoughts on the matter. And while I assume she’s referring to the alcoholic drink and not oral sex, her spidey fingers and lashes suggest otherwise.
Not wanting to let my dick down, I draw in a ragged breath, but I’m just not ready… for that… with her, so I reach down, collect her hand, place it on her thigh, and exhale. “Some other time.”
Her jaw drops, her mouth nice and wide, and for a split second, I rethink my answer.
No, Wilson. You don’t want this.
“I’m off,” I say, pushing up to stand. “Have a great night, guys.”
Ben chuckles, pleased with himself. “Pussy.”
Snaking my way through the dance floor until I’m clear of the club, I head back out on deck, finally able to breathe again.
Do I want to get naked with a woman after so long?
Sure. I miss soft curves, plump lips, and tight grips.
I miss the feel of fingertips skating my skin and sweet moans in my ear.
I miss the intimacy and not being alone.
But Brittany reminds me of what I despise about Krystal, and I’m not doing that again.
Replacing toxic with toxic is lethal. It gets you nowhere other than back where you started—full of regret and hating yourself for it. Dead, inside and out.
I’m done with fatal attraction. I want to feel again. Love again. I want to find a connection that runs so deep it doesn’t end. And I can’t do that if I’m merely chasing pussy for the sake of chasing it.
If this is what sowing my wild oats is all about, I’m not doing it.