chapter eight
RILEY
For fuck’s sake, Ben.
He’s like a bad smell that won’t go away. And sure, Riles gets riled up at me easily, but I’d much rather sightsee with her than spend the day with him.
“What did I say?” the irritating jackass asks as he pulls out a cigarette and lights it while Riles scurries off like a frightened mouse.
“What didn’t you say?”
“Too much?”
I scoff. “Yeah, maybe a little.”
He brushes it off and draws in a lungful of smoke. “I think my dick is about to fall off.”
I scoff again. “Bullshit!”
“Not bullshit, dude. I dropped a few grand in the jewelry store last night, and Whitney and Brittany were very appreciative. Best few grand I’ve spent.”
My jaw plummets.
“Yeah.” He grins and cups his junk. “You missed out. Big time.”
I didn’t. I don’t pay for sex, ever, not with cold hard cash nor extravagant gifts. But to each their own.
“So where we going next?” he asks as if we’re the best of friends.
I hadn’t planned on going anywhere with him, but now that Riles has abandoned me and I’ve seen all I wanted to see in Halifax, I shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Let’s go to the pub. There’s one down the road.”
My liver cringes, but I’ve got nothing better to do. “Lead the way.”
He claps me on the back.
“Do that again, and I’ll break your arm.”
Ben chuckles as if I’m kidding.
I’m not.
“I like you,” he says. “You’re funny.”
We walk a couple of blocks to an Irish-themed pub, dark oak hardwood lining the floors and walls. A man plays a fiddle in the corner by the fireplace, flames smoldering, people laughing as they chatter among themselves.
I beeline for the bar, admiring the beveled edges and intricate carvings.
“Mornin’.” The jolly bartender slides two coasters across the bar. “What can I get you?”
“Two pints of Guinness,” Ben says as he takes a seat on a stool, the maple creaking under his weight.
My insides cry—the poor girl needs a restoration.
Unable to help myself, I squat down and take a closer look.
“What are you doing?” Ben asks, peering down, brows pinched. “Looking for gum?”
Bane of my fucking existence. The number of times I’ve come across gum underneath chairs and tables… it should be considered a criminal offense.
I look up, a shit-eating grin on my face. “Why? Do you want some?”
He grimaces. “Do you?”
“Nah.” I chuckle and take a seat beside him. “I was just checking the joins.”
“Why? You think it’s gonna break?”
Quite possibly.
I shake my head. “No. It’ll hold.”
“How do you know?” He sets one foot back onto the ground, and by the worry etching his face, I get the sneaking suspicion it’s happened to him before.
“I’m a carpenter,” I explain.
“Dude! I own Mason’s.”
I nearly fall off my stool. “Mason’s? As in the hardware store?”
“Yep.”
“All of them?”
“Yep.”
No wonder he’s throwing money around.
Not knowing what else to say, I simply congratulate him. “Well done.”
“Not really. Family-owned business for decades. The old man did the hard work. I just inherited it.”
“Still. You’re running it now though, right?”
“Me?” He laughs. “Pay white collars to do that shit.”
To be honest, I’m not surprised. Ben gives the impression he couldn’t run a bath, let alone a chain of hardware stores.
The bartender places two glasses of Guinness on our coasters, and Ben picks one up, clinks the other, and says, “Cheers,” before chugging nearly half of it.
“Thanks.” I pick mine up too. “Cheers.”
“So what do ya build?” he asks before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Anything made of wood.”
“Houses?”
“No. I specialize in building and restoring furniture, but I did build my own home.”
“Not much money in housing anymore anyway.”
“I didn’t build mine for the money.”
He scoffs. “Everything these days is done for the money.”
“And that’s the problem,” I mutter.
“Why’s it a problem?”
“Because no one appreciates the simpler things in life anymore. It’s all about the finer things.”
“Damn straight it is. I appreciate fine things, especially fine ass.” He chugs the rest of his beer. “And you, my friend, missed out on some exceptionally fine ass last night. But I’m not complaining. More for me.”
I rest my arms on the counter. “They’re all yours, Ben, if that’s what they want. I’m not interested.”
He laughs, but it’s less boisterous than usual. “Look at me. I don’t think I’m what they want. Girls like them want you, not me.”
“So why waste your money on them?”
“It’s not a waste. I got my dick wet, didn’t I?”
I eye him suspiciously over the rim of my glass. “Did you?”
“You don’t believe me?”
At first, I didn’t, but I do now, given he’s Mr. Mason’s.
“I believe you,” I say.
He sets his glass down and turns to face me. “Why didn’t you hang around last night?”
Staring at the O’Brien crest hanging above the bar, I confess, “I’m getting a divorce.”
“More reason to have stayed.”
“Nah.”
“Are you crazy? What better excuse to fuck ’em, then chuck ’em?”
“Jesus, Ben.” I close my eyes momentarily, shake my head, then turn to him too, unblinking.
“What? It’s the truth. You’re free now. Fucking enjoy yourself.”
“You can’t just say shit like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not right.”
“Women have never treated me right, so I give what I get.”
Again, I mildly feel sorry for the guy. Mildly. “Well, what you get is always what you’re gonna get if you feel that way.”
“That’s rich, comin’ from you. I bet all you have to do is flash those pearly whites and washboard abs, and you could have any woman you want.”
“Not true.”
“Bullshit.” He faces forward again and waves down the bartender.
“It’s not. Trust me.” While I’ve never had a problem getting a woman’s attention if I wanted it, which I haven’t, forming a connection isn’t about a perfect smile or whether you lift weights. “Not all women care about looks, Ben. At least, not the ones who are in it for real.”
“Your ex not in it for real?”
I don’t want to talk about Krystal, but I’ve stupidly opened that can of worms. “She was, but not anymore.”
“Fuck her.”
I give him a look, one that says, “Be careful.”
“What she do? Fuck your best friend?”
“Ben,” I warn.
“My cousin’s wife did that.”
“No. She didn’t fuck my best friend.”
Close enough though.
“Nice women don’t exist,” he says, tilting his empty glass. “They’re all ‘get away from me’ until I tell ’em I’m loaded. Then they’re all ‘yes, Horse, yes.’”
I massage my forehead, an idiot-induced headache forming.
“So I take what I want,” he continues, “and they get what they want. Win-win.”
“Doesn’t sound like a win-win to me.”
“Don’t really have a choice, do I? I’ve never met a real nice woman who digs me for me. They only ever dig for my gold.”
“That’s because you’re offering your gold to be dug, and because you’re scaring the real nice ones off with your inappropriate mouth.”
“My mouth isn’t inappropriate.”
I raise a brow at him.
“You’re right. It is.” He smirks, then orders another two pints.
“Nah.” I hold up my hand in protest. “Not for me. Got shit to do.”
Other than buy Poppy a stuffed moose toy and get Riles some earplugs, I plan to go for a walk along the waterfront and then head back to the ship. It’s only day two of the cruise, and I don’t intend to spend it with a hangover.
“Come on, just one more. Don’t be a pussy.”
Rubbing my beard, I give in to the poor fucker. “One.”
He grins. “So, why’d hot stuff run away at the church?”
“Riley?”
“Yeah.”
“Probably because you mentioned blowjobs.”
He dismisses my valid point. “I doubt it. She’s an adult. Plus, I was talking about Blow Jobs, as in the shots. You know that.”
“But she didn’t. Either way, it was inappropriate, Ben.”
“She a prude?”
“No. I don’t think so. But that’s not the point. There’s a time and a place to talk about blowjobs. And with someone you don’t know, especially in public in front of a place of worship, is neither that time nor place.”
We’re served our next round of beer, and both of us drink as a patron gets rowdy over a game of baseball on the TV.
“She’s gotta be a prude,” Ben says, deflecting the blame. “Such a fucking shame that is.” He sets his glass back on the coaster. “Great legs!”
I agree but keep it to myself.
Ben grows silent for a moment, then says, “You think if I don’t mention blowjobs again, I’ll have a chance with her?”
I almost spit-take my beer, hysterics itching to burst out of me. “No, I think that ship has sailed.”
“Ha! I see what you did there.” He goes to slap me on the back but thinks better of it, pointing at me instead.
I point back, acknowledging his restraint.
“But what if I—”
“No. Riles is off limits.”
He frowns but then grins. “Ahh, that’s right. You want a piece of her.”
I hang my head. “And that, right there, is my point.”
Staring at me dumbfounded, like a puppy who thinks you’ve stolen its ball, I offer him advice he desperately needs, advice I feel will fall on deaf ears.
“You don’t just ‘want a piece’ if you want something real with a woman. You’ve got to get to know her first and let her get to know you.”
“But you said I say the wrong shit.”
“So don’t say the wrong shit.”
“But that’s me. That’s who I am. I say what I say. Why should I change?”
The dickhead makes a dickhead point; I can’t deny him that.
“I guess you need to find a woman who says the wrong shit too. Otherwise, you’re gonna end up with a lot less money in your pocket.”
“Money talks.”
I give up!
Downing the rest of my beer, I set the glass down when it’s completely drained. “I’ll see you around, Ben. Thanks for the drinks. Next time, they’re on me.”
“Yeah. Cool! Next time.” He salutes me, and I leave while I can.
When I get back to the ship a couple of hours later, I go to the shore excursions desk and book the Stonehenge tour.
I also ask about the behind-the-scenes ship tour, but the assistant tells me its fully booked without even having to look at the screen.
Apparently, those spots were all taken yesterday.
Pissed I didn’t do it earlier, I sign up for a few other things, not wanting to make the same mistake and miss out. I even register for Irish dancing lessons. Why? Because my sis wants me to step out of my comfort zone. Not to mention the tour desk clerk magically convinced me to give it a try.
Feeling like I’ve somehow been swindled, I head back to the room and have a shower. Riles isn’t back yet, so I can take my sweet time and regrow my balls before she returns.
As I pop the lid of her shampoo, I recall hearing her hum the Titanic theme song while she showered before we disembarked.
It was kinda adorable. Stupid, but adorable.
She seemed really excited when talking about going to the museum, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping to see her there when I quickly walked through the place before heading back to the ship.
But I wasn’t going to wait there like a stalker.
No doubt she’d peg me for one anyway—she seems the conclusion-jumping type.
Washing the suds from my hair and face, the alarm on my watch chimes, so I turn the faucet off and get out, wondering if I should head back into the city to try and find her. She looked terrified at the prospect of being left behind, and I promised she wouldn’t be.
A man of my word, I dry myself off with the intent to track her down before we set sail when the cabin door opens then slams shut. Relief swims through me, so I tie the stupid little towel around my waist and exit the bathroom, casually strolling out.
“You made it back in time,” I say with a smile.
“I—” She shoots up from lying on her bed, eyes wide as they scan my body. “Shit! Sorry, I-I forgot to knock.”
Pleased she fucked up before I did—because I’m bound to—I smile proudly. “Yeah, you did.”
Riles doesn’t move, her mouth open, her face beautifully flushed.
Amused, I ask, “Are you going to watch me get dressed?”
“No! Of course not. Sorry, I-I’m…. I’ll leave and give you privacy.”
Not wanting her to leave, because I like the effect I’m having on her, I toss her the earplugs I bought at the drugstore. “I got you these.”
She tries to catch them but fumbles, her arms flailing like a first-time juggler.
“They’re to help you sleep.”
“Th-Thanks.” She picks them up from the floor, wrinkles her nose, then places them on the bed beside her.
“So, did you go to the Titanic exhibit?”
“I did. It was great. Lots of flotsam recovered from the ocean. Very interest—”
“Flotsam?” I scratch the back of my head. “What’s that?”
She stares at my arm, then blinks. “Uh… what?”
“Flotsam,” I repeat, “I don’t know what it is.”
“Oh, it’s wreckage and items from the ship.”
“Cool!”
“Yeah.” She blinks again. “Did you know three hundred and twenty-eight bodies were recovered in the waters near Halifax, and of those three hundred and twenty-eight, two hundred and nine were buried in Fairview Lawn Cemetery, including J. Dawson?”
I go to say no, but she keeps rambling.
“I thought it was the Jack Dawson from the movie, but according to the exhibit, and much to my disappointment, Jack is indeed fictional, because the headstone belonged to a coal shoveler named Joseph. I mean, what are the odds, right?”
I nod. “Right.”
She nods too. “Right.”
Smirking, because I’m enjoying flustered Riles, I stay where I am, waiting for her to make the next move.
“Right.” She springs up from the bed like a grasshopper and goes to step around me, one way and then the other, before bumping into the wall.
I chuckle. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
I stand my ground.
Her nostrils flare. “Are you going to move out of my way?”
Eyes locked on hers, a droplet of water leaves my hair and lands on my chest. She watches it fall down my stomach, her throat bobbing as she swallows, her breasts rising and falling.
Heat flushes through me, and I have the sudden urge to kiss her, my dick stirring beneath the towel.
“Move!” she growls.
I laugh. “Okay, okay. Ease up, Riles.”
“You ease up!” She stabs her finger at me, her apple cheeks ripening. “And… and… put some damn clothes on!”
Moving aside, I let her storm past me and out of the room, my eyes glued to the closed door as I slump onto the edge of my bed, the towel splitting apart.
“What the hell am I doing?” I ask no one, chuckling as I flop back onto the mattress and cover my face with my hands.
Ever since finding Riles in my cabin, I haven’t had the faintest idea what I’m doing. I’ve just gone with the flow, completely out of my comfort zone, yet somehow still comfortable.
None of it makes sense.
I’ve only ever been with Krystal. Shared with Krystal. Cohabitated with Krystal. Other than my ex-wife, I’ve never spent time with another woman like this. Never stood before one, half-naked, desperate to kiss her.
“Jesus!” I sit up again, scrub my face with my palms, and then stare out the window.
I wasn’t ready to “move on” with someone like Brittany.
But perhaps I could try with Riles.
Perhaps she’s what I need.