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)
My palms go up in mock surrender. “I only did that one time—you’ve got to stop bringing it up.”
She shoots Scarlett a look. “There is a menu hanging on the back of your door. You fill it out and hang it outside your stateroom. Someone comes along and picks it up, and the next morning, they deliver whatever it was you circled.” Her lips purse. “Once, Sterling ordered us one of everything and had it delivered at seven AM.”
Damn that was funny—man were they pissed off.
“Hey, I came and ate it all.”
“But if you hadn’t, it would have gone to waste.”
I scoot to my mom’s side, planting a kiss on her upturned cheek. “Come on, you thought it was funny.”
“It wasn’t funny—not when you’re on vacation and your two-hundred-pound man child climbs onto the bed with trays of food, and especially not when you’re trying to be romantic with your husband whilst on vacation.”
“Jeez Mom!” Is nothing sacred?
She shrugs. “I’m just pointing out the obvious. Your timing always did suck.”
“Anddd that’s our cue to leave.”
Scarlett and I make haste, fingers laced together, hustling to find the ship’s amphitheater.
We’ve been here ten minutes when I first start to doze. On stage, costumed crew members dance across the stage, a large forest scene hanging in the backdrop. The shadow of trees loom, backlit by blue lights, and honestly, I don’t have a clue what the fuck is supposed to be going on.
My parents live for this shit.
I, however, am bored as fuck, and I lean back in my seat, legs spread, head hitting the wall so I can close my eyes.
I yawn.
Tune out, mind wandering.
Wonder what’s going to happen when we get back from this vacation, back to school. I’ve never done anything in half measures, and I’m not starting with her.
When we get back, I’m going to tell her I love her and hope we can make this relationship work.
Scarlett catches me stifling a yawn with the back of my hand, giving me a little poke in the ribs. Leans over to stage whisper, “Should we go? You look tired.”
I am beat—but so is she.
Still, I shrug, not willing to end her fun. “Only if you don’t want to stay.”
Her eyes study me in the dark. “We can go. I’m okay heading up to the room.”
Thank God. “You sure?”
“Definitely.” A nod. “Yes.”
“All right.” I stand, grabbing her hand, leading her down the theater aisle in the dark. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
We sneak out, dashing to the elevators, pressed to the mirrored wall of one when ten people cram in with us. I catch her eye above half a dozen heads, wiggling my eyebrows. Feel for her hand behind an old balding dude, tickling her palm with my forefinger.
Together, we exit on the eighth floor, strolling down the narrow hallway, bumping into each other every few steps, laughing. Flirting.
When we reach the door, I pretend to have forgotten the key inside the room, and Scarlett smacks my arm when I finally fish it out of my back pocket.
Anticipation thrums through my body as I swipe the keycard in front of its censor on the door, the little green light granting us entry with a blink, blink, blink.
“You going to take a shower?”
“I have to—I feel so gross.”
“Ladies first.”
“Thanks.” She skirts around me, gathering up her stuff. Removing her necklace and other jewelry, setting it all on the desk. “It won’t take me long.”
“No rush.” I flop down on the bed, arms resting behind my head, watching her fuss, crossing my legs at the ankle. Casually learning her tells. The little things about her that will have me lying in bed at night fantasizing: her slender wrists and the way she rubs them after removing her bracelet. The way she purses her lips when she looks in the mirror at herself. How short she is compared to me when she unbuckles her wedge heels, but not when we’re lying horizontally on the bed.
Scarlett begins pulling little black bobby pins from her hair, setting them one by one on the table, loosening the braid. Uncoiling it from the crown of her head.
It falls down her back, wavy and full. Wild.
“Is there any way you can leave it like that?”
“My hair?” She turns, touching the strands with the tips of her fingers. “Do you like it like this?”
“Yeah. It’s pretty.”
Pleased, she continues padding barefoot around the room. Asks me to unzip her dress. Grabs fresh underwear and pajamas from the tiny cabin closet, disappearing into the bathroom, running the shower and using the toilet.
For ten minutes she’s in the bathroom, taking off her makeup and doing whatever the hell it is girls do in the bathroom, door clicking open at the eleven-minute mark.
My girl is prompt.
White towel wrapped around her head as a turban, she’s got on that pitiful excuse for pajamas: sheer, white tank top—the one I can see her nipples through—the pink bottoms with sheep, and not much else.