chapter twenty-two
RILEY
Jesus Christ, my balls are gonna burst.
I want her beneath me so badly, writhing and screaming my name. Our name.
Damn, that’ll be weird.
It’s going to happen at some point though; there’s not a doubt in my mind. The way she reacts to my touch… the chemistry between us. Even Roni would be scientifically impressed.
But Riles is too fragile right now for me to do all the things I want to do to her, and I can’t rush what could possibly be the best thing to happen to me for as long as I can remember. I also need to sign my divorce papers. Until that chapter is closed, I can’t in good faith start another.
Smiling to myself, I know Riles would like my literary metaphor.
“Why are you so happy?” she asks as we exit the elevator.
“Can’t a man be relieved he didn’t just die in a death box?”
She laughs. “I guess he can. Although you’ve been nailing your fear while on the ship. You should be proud.”
I drape my arm around her shoulders, loving her praise and how she feels tucked beneath my arm. “It’s so nice to hear you genuinely laugh again.”
“Mom wouldn’t want it any other way. She loved laughter. Hated sadness.”
“I don’t think anyone likes sadness, Riles.”
“I know, but Mom despised it. She insisted we have the power to destroy it because, with everything in life, there is balance.” She playfully rolls her eyes.
“She was a true Libra. Always just. Always harmonious. If we’re sad, we can be happy.
If we’re angry, we can find peace. If it rains, there’ll be sunshine.
That was how she lived, day in and day out.
I, on the other hand, am an Aries. So Mom was my stabilizer. ”
“Aries, huh?”
She grins up at me, her steel-gray eyes presumptuous. “You seem shocked, Riley.”
Chuckling, because she’s getting good at tossing my words back at me, I say, “Not one bit.”
“What’s your sign?”
“You tell me.”
“What sign is the most annoying?”
We stop in the atrium, and I rest against a pillar before reaching out and drawing her to my chest. “The goat one.”
“Capricorn?” She giggles, her delicate fingers finding the hair at my nape. “Why are they annoying?”
I shrug; I don’t really care for the zodiac. “Because goats are pests.”
“So, you’re a Capricorn?”
“No. I’m not a pest.”
Her chin wrinkles, her eyes mischievously disagreeing with me.
I pinch her hip. “Are you calling me a pest?”
“If the sign fits….”
“If you must know, I’m a Cancer.”
Riles stiffens in my arms. “A crab?”
“Yes.”
“I once loved a crab.” Her cheeks flush with color, before she quickly blurts, “A hermit crab… when I was nine.”
Grinning, I’m about to probe for more information about her love of crabs, when she leans back and takes in our surroundings. “Anyway, enough about star signs. Why are we here?”
My insides squirm. “Irish dance lessons.”
“What?” She bursts into laughter and pushes out of my embrace. “Are you serious?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Do you know how to Irish dance?”
I shake my head. “God, no.”
“Oh.” The sparkle in her eyes dims a little. “So you want to learn?”
“God, no.”
She narrows her gaze. “Then why are you here?”
I roll my neck and mumble, “Because I was coaxed into it. And I can’t dance for shit. And after seeing your efforts while you sang karaoke, I figured you can’t dance either, so it will make me feel better about doing this if you’re with me.”
Riles’s mouth forms an O, as if she’s offended, and she probably should be. I did just call her out on her lack of rhythm and then admit I lured her here so that I don’t look as bad.
Waiting for her to punch me or storm off, she instead palms her face and peeks through her spread fingers. “Did I really dance that night?”
“You did.”
“To what?”
I smirk. “Beyoncé. Then again, I’m not sure what you did could be classed as dancing.”
“Oh God!” she groans. “Was it ‘Single Ladies’?”
“It was.”
“Pleeease don’t let me drink that much again.”
I pull her back into my arms. “You’re allowed to let go every once in a while and dance like a freak.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Holding up my hand, I twist it from side to side, impersonating Beyoncé’s dance move.
She slaps my shoulder.
“Ease up, Riles. You were… adorable. And you enjoyed yourself. That’s all that matters.”
“Sounds like I did more than enjoy myself.”
I nod. “You could say that.”
She scrunches her face and fiddles with the button of my shirt, avoiding eye contact. “I’m so sorry about the puke.”
“Don’t be. Most of it landed in the toilet bowl.”
“Most of it?”
I wince.
“Oh, my God!”
Chuckling, I tip her chin up and press my lips to hers, the earth once again tilting.
“Top of the morning to you, cruiselings!” Paul announces, his overenthusiastic squawk breaking us apart.
Skipping and hopping into the atrium, his suit greener than freshly mowed grass, a four-leaf clover pinned to his chest, he stops and throws his arms into the air. “Who’s ready to get their Michael Flatley on?”
I snicker at the hippity-hoppity frog man. “Who’s Michael Flatley?”
“You’ve never heard of him?” she gasps.
“No. Should I?”
Riles snaps her head to me. “Lord of the Dance?”
“I know Lord of the Rings.” I shrug.
She crosses her arms over her chest and pinches her chin. “You really have no idea what you signed up for, do you?”
“I told you—I was coerced. And Mom insisted I do at least one dance lesson while onboard. It was her only request, and trust me,” I say, a subtle growl exiting my throat, “she’ll ask me to demonstrate when I get home.”
Giggling, Riles bites her fingernail. “I like your mom already.”
A warm sense of relief washes over me, because I know Mom will like Riles as well. In fact, she’ll more than likely love her. Roni and Poppy too.
“Okay, Riverdancers.” Paul skips up a few steps onto a circular landing at the base of the grand staircase, upbeat Irish-style music playing through the speakers. “Gather around and form multiple lines on the dancefloor.”
“Let’s go!” Riles snags my hand and drags me to the front, her back straight, her game face firmly set.
I swallow. Shit! Not that look again.
“Just friends!” Paul calls out.
My blood runs cold, regret locking my two left feet into place as I raise my eyes to his. If he thinks I’m going up there, he can fuck right off to Leprechaun land.
Not. A. Chance. In. Hell.
He points his microphone at us and winks. “Good to see you again.”
Riles waves, and I secure her animated fingers to prevent her from drawing extra attention to us. “I think we should stand at the back.”
“Nonsense. You’ll see better from here.”
“No, really. The back is perfect. I’m tall. I’ll see just fine.”
“Riley Wilson,” she drawls, turning to face me. “Was it not you who just said to me moments ago that it’s okay to let go every once in a while and dance like a freak?”
Annoyed with myself for saying stupid shit, I scratch my beard and grumble, “I meant you, not me.”
She raises one solitary eyebrow. “Perhaps you should take your own advice.”
Knowing I’ve dug my own grave, I twist around and look at the flock of passengers lined up behind me. “This isn’t my idea of fun, Riles. I’m only doing it because I have to.”
“Ease up.”
Damn it!
“Relax. It’s not a competition.” She clasps my hand and tugs me to face forward again, which is when a glimmer of gold catches my eye as Paul produces a ship trophy and waves it about.
“Who likes prizes?” he singsongs.
My stomach plummets.
I side-eye Riles.
“Relax,” she repeats. “I already have one.”
Exhaling, because hopefully she won’t turn into Muhammad Riley again, I loosen my shoulders and crack my neck as Paul welcomes a woman to stand beside him.
“Have you all met Michelle?” he asks, holding out his arms as if presenting her on a game show.
“She’s one of our fabulous entertainment crewmembers and our resident Irish Dancing Queen.
She’ll be teaching you all a basic jig.” Michelle crisscrosses her legs, jumps, and then curtseys.
“At the end of your lesson, we’ll choose our best participant. ”
The crowd gives Michelle a round of applause, and she reciprocates. “Hello, everyone. Thank you for joining me today. Are you ready to have some fun?”
The atrium roars with cheers; I groan.
“Now, before we get into the steps, I want you all to familiarize yourself with the beat of the music by bouncing on the spot, like this.” She proceeds to jump like a pogo stick, encouraging us all to copy.
What the fuck?
I have half a mind to bounce the hell out of here. I’ll tell Mom the dancing classes were fully booked, or that I had temporary paralysis or some shit. She won’t believe me, of course, but I’ll come up with something and then ply her with duty-free gifts, which may work. At least, at first.
As I try to slip past Riles, she snags my hands as if we’re kids at a playground and coaxes me to join in, her chest springing about in her top. “Jump!”
I stare at her breasts.
“Come on.” She tugs my arms up and down. “It’s easy.”
Happy to stay where I am, because jiggling boobs, I begrudgingly give in and bounce with her until Michelle stops and stands like a demented penguin.
“Now, place your feet like mine,” she instructs. “One in front of the other, pointing in opposite directions. Right foot forward.”
I try to angle my feet like hers and nearly fall on my ass.
“Oh, this is going to be so much fun,” Riles says, steadying me by grabbing hold of my shirt, laughter bubbling out of her.
“For you or for me?” I grouch.
“Probably me.”
Wobbling, I try once more to stand heel-to-toe, one foot pointing left, the other right. “Is Irish dancing some form of ballet? Because this feels like ballerina shit to me.”
Riles giggles. “Not really.” She pauses and taps her lip. “Well, maybe a little. It’s less graceful, of course, and it involves light tapping, like tap dancing.”
“Tap dancing? Are you shitting me?”
“No.”
“So I’ve signed up for ballerina, tap dancing crap?”
She shrugs and lets out a “meh” sound.