Page 37 of The Idiot

“They don’t want to play chess with you, you knucklehead. They want to make a sandwich!”

That gets his jaw to stop moving. Cheeks stuffed full, he turns and looks at me, brows furrowed. “Sandwich? No. Darnell had salami, and we put it on crackers,” he garbles around his mouthful.

“It’s a singles cruise. You said they’re married. Why would a married couple come on a singles cruise? Think about it.”

“They said they take cruises to spice things up. I think it’s sweet that they go on adventures at their age. Just because people get old doesn’t mean they should stay home and knit. Man, Murph. You’re really in the dark. You should take your mom somewhere this winter. I bet she’d love to get out of Wenatchee for a while.”

Growling in frustration, I stab at my food, the overwhelming scent of seafood suddenly starting to make me sick. It has to be the seafood because if I conjure any more mental images of those two ‘grandpas’ luring Jesse into their throuple suite with snacks, I might lose my damn mind.

“Whatever. I warned you,” I grumble, refusing to look at him.

Silence grows between us. I don’t even hear shells cracking anymore. Good. Maybe it’s sinking in.

“Sandwich?” he mutters under his breath, sounding mystified. “What kind of sandwich?”

Ugh. I can’t.

“A fucking Jesse sandwich!” I explode, letting my fork clatter to my plate. “You’re the fresh young meat between the bread.”

“AJessesandwich?” He gapes at me, but then gasps, “Nooo!”

And there it is. Houston, we’re a go for launch. About freaking time.

I give him a deadpan stare and utter one word, “Back rubs.”

“Nah, no way. They can’t be… They wouldn’t. They’re so…”

The light over the hostess station reflects off of something, the glare snagging my attention. Oh, sweet sparkling baby Jesus. He found me.

“Shit,” I hiss, ducking my head and shielding my brow with my hand. Then I remember I have a giant beard, so hiding my face will do fuck all to conceal my presence from Philip.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“Murph? What’s wrong? Is this about the sandwich thing? Because I seriously don’t think—”

“No!” I whisper. “It’s not about your damn sandwich! Stage five clinger. Twelve o’clock. At the hostess station.”

“Who?” he asks, oblivious. “Oh, it’s that little guy you were hanging with. The one with all the buttons.”

“Is he looking over here? Did he see me?”

“He… Uh, yeah. Looks like you were just spotted. What’s up? Did it not go well with him?”

“Shit. I need to leave.” Panicking, I get up and turn my back on the entrance, even though I swear I just heard a ‘There you are!’

Hooking my hand under Jesse’s armpit, I tug him up. “Quick, get up. Walk me out.”

“But I’m still eating.”

He’s going to argue with me right now? It’s like I have a husband, but without the sex… or the back rubs.

“Jesse, I’m begging you. If you’re my friend, get your ass out of that seat and save me from this guy. He’s already picking out wedding decorations and probably has a shrine of me in his cabin. I swear.”

“Whoa. You move fast,” he mutters, but I let it slide because he stands.

“Murphy! I’ve been looking all over for you!” Philip sulks, making my skin prickle.

Fuck. He’s close. Like, five feet away close.

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