Page 62 of Pucking Billionaire

He comes to a jarring halt and frees his arm from my touch. “Did you feel that?”

I frown. “Feel what?”

“The ship stopped.”

As if to confirm his words, the intercom comes to life, and the cruise director welcomes us to go ashore.

“Where do you want to meet?” Masons asks as soon as the announcement is over.

“At the entrance to the port?” I’m still confused by his behavior.

“Right,” he says. “See you there.”

With that, he jogs away without a second glance.

Only after he is gone do I realize that the weirdness coincided with my bringing up the topic of his parents.

When I meet Mason down by the port entrance, he seems fine.

More than fine.

He’s changed his shirt for a tight muscle tee and his trousers for swim trunks, a combo that is unfairly distracting.

“Where do we board the glass-bottom boat?” he asks, looking around with curiosity.

“There.” I point at a boat that looks like a children’s toy next to the Wonder of the Oceans.

Mason cocks his head. “I’m not sure I’m going to fit inside such a small space.”

I have no idea why that statement makes my cheeks burn, but it does. “Luckily, your ego doesn’t take up any space, so we should be fine.”

“Touché.” He extends his elbow for me once more and—purely out of expediency—I put my hand on his bicep and lead him to our destination.

Hmm. As we get on board, I realize our ride-to-be isn’t just small in proportion to the cruise liner. It’s small when compared to other large things, like, say, Uber.

“Did you book up the whole boat?” Mason asks, scanning the empty seats. “I thought that was my move.”

“No, I didn’t.” I guess this excursion didn’t appeal to anyone else.

Oops. Spoke too soon.

An older couple walks on holding hands, the wife smiling like her life depends on it and the husband looking like he’s just swallowed a rotten lemon.

“Hi,” says the woman with a Southern drawl. “I’m Martha, and this here is Andrew.”

Andrew grunts something in a heavy Brooklyn accent.

“Hello,” Mason says in an unusually friendly tone. “Come sit next to us. Sophia here has been wanting to chat with perfect strangers.”

Is that a dig at my desire to eat at the shared tables on the cruise, or a genuine wish to help? It’s hard to tell with this guy.

“Hi.” I extend my hand to each of the newcomers. “As Mason said, I’m Sophia. We’re both from New York.”

“I’m also from New York,” says Andrew, and I don’t point out that I could’ve guessed based on his accent.

“But now he lives in Florida,” Martha says. “With me and our sixteen Siberian huskies.”

Sixteen?

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