“I didn’t know that, because it’s not true. Cite your source.”
“Southern Belle magazine.”
“Allow me to be skeptical. Is this your version of an apology?” His words rippled through me.
Dang, he had a good, low voice.
“If I’m going to apologize, so should you.”
He looked up, lounging back on the plush, brown recliner he was occupying, a puff of his undiluted woody scent invading my nostrils, making everything under my naval tingle.
“What for?”
“Telling Brendan we were cousins, and married, and carrying STDs. In that exact order.”
“Fair enough,” he surprised me by saying. “You go first.”
I closed my eyes.
I wasn’t four anymore.
Then why was it so hard to apologize?
Your sister’s happiness is on the line. Now’s not the time to have pride.
“Sorry I booked us the wrong tickets. I truly, truly didn’t mean to.”
“In that case, I apologize for embarrassing you in front of your little friend, but reserve the right to do it again when provoked, on the grounds it was more fun than I’ve had in years.” He motioned toward the chair next to him. “Coffee?”
“Please.” I sat down, feeling a little awkward.
The truth was, I wasn’t used to being served. I’d always been the one doing the serving. Nonetheless, a waitress from the attached coffee shop came to take my order—a flat white and a French-sounding pastry I couldn’t pronounce, but could point out on the menu.
It occurred to me that I had to pay for my food, and I hated myself for not sticking with free breakfast, served earlier, or the free twenty-four-hour buffet on the lido deck I had too much pride to bail to.
But I had the tip money from yesterday in my purse, so I wouldn’t have to tally it up on my monthly Excel sheet. I could still get Bear his video game at the end of the month. Maybe.
“So. Did you get lucky yesterday?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking.
“If by lucky you mean I didn’t have to spend the night with you, then yes.”
“Did you spend it with someone else?” I asked casually.
“Yes.”
Okay, that was not supposed to hurt. Certainly not the way it did. I was tangled in tight vines of jealousy that suffocated me.
“Nice. Is she from our neck of the woods?”
“Unsure.” Cruz flipped another page on the iPad. “She was a fifty-year-old Prada saleswoman who secretly rented me her top bunk on the staff deck and opted to sleep with your Brendan, making a hundred-percent profit margin.”
Holy clap.
Dr. Costello was resourceful.
He must’ve mistaken my surprised face for another emotion, because he said slowly and thickly, “Sorry it didn’t work between you and lover boy. Unless, of course, you don’t mind being Bonnie and Brendan’s fifth wheel.”
“He can have Bonnie.”
“From what she told me, when she came to get her electronic card back this morning, you also told him I have two penises.”
I could feel myself getting redder and redder, but I didn’t reply to this.
Cruz threw me a little patronizing smirk. “Actually, I have just the one, but I can see why you’d make that mistake, considering its length and width. I’m flattered you paid such close attention.”
“Why’d you say you weren’t alone, then? She wasn’t with you.”
“Just to see your face. You hate seeing me win.”
“True.” I sighed. “Which sucks, because you’re Dr. Cruz Costello, so you always win.”
“Not always.”
There was a lull in the conversation, and I felt the urge to fill it, somehow.
“I have to say, it’s pretty creative of you to find a way to take my potential sugar daddy away from me before I even made a move.”
The waitress served me my flat white and pastry and hurried to the next table, where people weren’t discussing penises and sugar daddies. Or were they? I took a bite of the buttery dough, washing it down with the hot liquid.
This was definitely better than an orgasm. Or so I told myself, since an orgasm wasn’t in the cards for me. I was bad at giving one to myself and always forgot to plug my vibrator into its charger, since I could only do it when Bear wasn’t home.
Anyone who had a teenage son knew better than to leave things in plain sight. Bear always looked for something in my room, be it a charger, a battery, an elastic band, or some change.
“You don’t need a sugar daddy.”