Page 2 of Faking It at Sea

She came back around the bed and wrapped me in a hug. “Ride or die, right?”

“Damn straight.”

That evening, after spending an hour trying not to roll my eyes as Missy fussed over me, I sat alone at the bar during the singles mixer feeling an awful lot like an overdressed doll. The peach dress and heels were, admittedly, gorgeous. The woman had an eye for flattering a figure, but between the clothes, the way she curled my hair, and the fake eyelashes, I looked like some fictional version of myself.

Juniper Basilissa, cruise ship phony.

Missy, on the other hand, was in her element. At five foot six, a solid two inches taller than me, she was blessed with a slimmer frame, a perky chest, hazel eyes that were to die for, and a level of self-confidence I’d never quite managed to master. She chatted and flirted, looking totally at ease in the soft light of the martini bar.

I swallowed down the twinge of envy that tried to rear its ugly head and motioned to the bartender to bring me another drink. There was nothing like liquid courage to kick start the night, and the first gin and tonic he’d made me certainly had the needed bite.

He set a fresh glass on the black marble bar, and damn, even he was next level handsome.

I sipped the crisp drink as I read the name embroidered on his pristine black dress shirt. “Thank you, Reggie.”

He dipped his head. “Are you going to get out there and mingle?”

“As soon as the gin kicks in.”

He laughed. “Well, a stunning woman like yourself shouldn’t have any trouble striking up a conversation out there, but if you do, feel free to park it right there. I wouldn’t mind the company.”

“Thanks, but I think you’ve got your hands full tonight,” I said, tossing a pointed glance toward Missy and the trio of guys who followed her up to the bar, surrounded by an invisible cloud of artificial fragrance.

Were the guys trying to overpower the scents of saltwater and seaweed coming in through the open windows?

Missy bumped her hip against my leg. “What are you doing all the way over here?”

Hiding.

“Just taking a break.”

“Liar.” She leaned her elbows on the bar, plumping up her already gravity defying cleavage, and ordered a round of drinks.

Reggie cast me a knowing look as I was taking another sip. I almost snorted the citrusy concoction out through my nose and ended up slapping a hand over my mouth to stifle my choking. When I threw him a glare, he just laughed.

Missy’s hand landed on my bare knee. “Hey, you okay?”

I nodded, still trying not to giggle. Apparently, the gin was doing its job, because I had a nice warm glow spreading through me. “Never better.”

She introduced me to her three escorts as she handed off shots of tequila to each of us.

Don’t get me wrong, the guys were attractive, but they were all a little too pretty for my taste. Which was probably why I managed to forget their names two seconds after we clinked glasses and threw back our shots.

It worked out well, though, because they all promptly forgot about me too.

That was how it went when I was with Missy.

She was the flame all the cologne-laden suitors flocked to.

With a silent sigh, I turned my attention toward the crowd. The energy of the room was shifting. What had started out as a subdued mixer was becoming something more akin to a party, complete with the tell-tale raised voices of people ramping up to have a real good time.

I was tempted to take Reggie up on his offer to keep myself anchored to that bar stool, half-hidden in the safety of the corner, but if I didn’t at least attempt to socialize, Missy would make it her personal mission to introduce me to every eligible bachelor on the ship before the trip was over.

No and thank you.I didn’t need a matchmaker.

What I needed was an easy out, someone who looked as out of his element as I felt. Someone who might be willing to put on just enough of a show over the next few days to keep Missy from turning her matchmaking sights on me.

A few minutes later, as I scanned the swelling crowd for the umpteenth time, I found my target. I’d been volunteering at my local wildlife rescue since I was a teenager, and I’d seen my fair share of animals caught in a trap. They always look the same: hackles up, rigid posture, and eyes that were constantly searching for an escape.

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