Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 94579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
“All right. If we don’t bump into you, we’ll see you for dinner at six.”
I bend to kiss my mother on the cheek. “Love you guys. Catch you later.”
She wraps her arms around Scarlett, embracing her in a hug. “Have fun.”
As they go one way, I pull Scarlett another, toward the elevator banks. A door slides open and I gesture for her to enter first.
“All aboard the hot mess express.”
I catch her smile, biting down on her lower lip, hair braided in a crown at the top of her head. She looks…
Fucking adorable.
She steps into the elevator. “Thank you.”
The doors close, trapping us in, alone. “I hope it doesn’t take them forever to get our bags in the room.”
“Does it normally?”
“It can.”
But it doesn’t. As luck would have it, both our suitcases are at the door to our stateroom when we arrive, and I scan the keycard, hauling them aside so Scarlett can enter first. Lug them into the room, the door slamming shut behind me.
“Wow. Sterling, this room is…” She turns to face me, speechless, beaming up at me. “I’m so excited.”
I’m filled with pride having made her smile like that.
Without waiting, she takes the short journey to the balcony doors, sliding them open and stepping into the warm Florida air, arms spread wide on the rails.
It’s early yet—four more hours until the ship leaves—with plenty of time to explore, both the ship and each other.
I join her on the balcony, approaching from behind, my hands circling her middle, chin resting on her shoulder. Breathing in her hair, kissing the back of her neck.
“This is gorgeous and we haven’t even left yet.”
My fingers brush back the stray hairs that have escaped from her braid. “It is.” She is.
Resting my lips on her shoulder, the sound of the waves lapping against the side of the ship, and hundreds of seagulls are on the playlist as we stand there, studying the horizon.
It’s warm—already seventy degrees—so tank tops and shorts are the order of the day.
And when Scarlett reaches behind her to run her fingers through my hair, I take advantage, sliding my hands under the hem of her prissy blue top. Sweep them up, cupping her breasts over her bra.
Kiss her neck again, this time sucking, too.
I haven’t had sex in months, and with all these emotions suddenly raging inside me along with my hormones, all I can think about is s-e-x; every attempt to dial down my sexual appetite has failed. Everything Scarlett does turns me on, from the quick way she blushes to the conservative braids in her hair and her quirky little laugh.
She’s not even doing it on purpose—that’s how affected we are by the sight of each other.
She made it easy to fall in love with her, she just…doesn’t know it yet.
Growling into the curve of her neck, I pull back and step away before I doing something stupid, like unclasp her bra and strip off all my clothes.
She would be so pissed.
“Should we explore the ship?” Her bright, toothy grin and dimple punch me right in the gut, spreading to my stomach.
“Whatever you want—this is your weekend.”
Her heads gives a bashful shake. “Stop it, Rowdy.”
“Stop what?”
“You did not do this all for me.”
The hell I didn’t.
The ocean, the beaches—it’s my gift to her.
I don’t know what my fucking problem is lately; I might be a ballplayer, but what do I bring to the table other than my body and a skill that’s practically useless unless I’m in the infield of a baseball diamond?
“Let me slip my sandals on and we can go.”
***
We spent the afternoon idle. Relaxed, lying about in deck chairs next to the pool and watching the ship leave port, the houses on land getting smaller and smaller.
Dots on the horizon disappearing from sight after a few miles.
Ordering fruity drinks, we talked and laughed the afternoon away like we’ve been a couple for years. Napped. Dinner with my parents, which ended up being painless because they showed up twenty minutes before it was over.
“Should we go see what the opening production is?” Scarlett glances up from the ships entertainment itinerary, reading out loud and chewing on a chocolate-covered strawberry. “The welcome aboard opening production is a thrilling prelude to a weekend’s worth of fun, including musical numbers, dancing, and a message from the entertainment director.” She turns to me. “Can we do that?”
“Sure.” Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’d rather poke my eye out with a dull pencil than sit through one of those onboard productions.
We set our napkins on the table, push our chairs out from the dining room table, and say good night to my parents.
“Breakfast in the morning before we get off at the island?” Dad asks.
I scratch my head. “Um, I’m thinking room service.”
Mom narrows her eyes at me. “If you order us anything, I will kill you.”