Page 9 of Love Overboard
The young man stuck his bottom lip out, and his friends jeered as they dragged him to his seat.
Jon maneuvered to stand between the frat boys and her. “Trust me, you’ll have to take a number and get in line for a date with Lacey.”
“What number do you have?” Another voice from the audience called out.
Jon flinched. “Not high enough.”
The listeners moaned.
He shrugged and looked at her. Their eyes connected.
Suddenly, Lacey’s feet didn’t feel so steady. Had the ship hit a rough patch? It must be motion sickness.Breathe, girl.
In and out.
In and out.
She was going to need a Lamaze coach before this cruise finished. For breathing. Not for anything—Whatever.
Lacey tore her gaze away and found the Shippers. They sat in a row like four satisfied cats eyeing a bowl of cream. Gerry scribbled in the binder. Althea fanned herself with splayed fingers. Daisy hid her mouth behind a handkerchief. And Emily popped a piece of butterscotch candy past a pair of smiling lips.
Lacey’s neck tingled like Marie Antoinette’s as she was led to the guillotine. Was it too late to swim back to shore?
CHAPTER 4
JON WOVE THROUGH THE GAUNTLETof sunbathers as he made his rounds on the upper deck. He passed a young man stretched out on a lounge chair. His pasty complexion and bushy beard would put any caveman to shame. Beside him slept a teenage girl with a smiley face drawn on her stomach in sunscreen.
She’ll regret that in the morning.
But he didn’t have time to offer unsolicited advice. How was he supposed to catch a band of smugglers when people kept asking so many questions? Passengers stopped him every few feet, and he gave the same responses over and over.
“The earlier dinner time has seats available.”
“There’s a shop on the promenade deck that sells Dramamine.”
“No, I can’t set you up with a cruise hostess, but I highly recommend the Single Mingle at midnight.”
At least three men asked the hostess question. Did they all mean Lacey? Not that he blamed them. He scanned the deck for the lady in question and noticed four aged heads bent together around a table. Collins’s suspicions replayed in his memory. A grandma drug syndicate? Sounded ridiculous even in his brain. But he had to check every angle.
Jon skirted the pool and found the Shippers sitting with a large purple-and-gold umbrella shielding them from the sun. A thick novel with a racy cover hid the thin one’s face, while Emily wrote in a binder, and the other two watched him approach, whispering behind raised hands.
“Good afternoon, ladies. How would you rate my opening speech yesterday?” Jon noted a spreadsheet Emily was working on and craned his neck for a closer look. “Did I pass muster?”
Emily shut the binder and nodded her head. “I think you’ll do, Jon.”
“That’s a relief. I really didn’t want to go back to washing dishes.”
“Did you work in the kitchen?”
“There’s hardly a place on board I haven’t worked. Busboy, steward, art auctioneer, photographer, waiter, disc jockey—”
“Your résumé must be an inch thick.” The large woman with the rhinestone-studded baseball cap and matching fanny pack who was sitting beside Emily interrupted him. “Couldn’t find a position you favored?”
“I don’t believe we’ve met, at least officially.” Jon held out a hand. “Allow me to introduce myself. Jonathan King, cruise director extraordinaire, at your service.”
“Mrs. Althea Jones.” She gave his hand a hearty shake. “Bingo player extraordinaire.”
“That’s a lovely name, Mrs. Althea Jones.”
