Page 24 of Georgia Guy
Splaying his hands, Joe says, “The shop was barely making it financially. I love working on bikes, and it’s something I’ll always do, but it will be more of a hobby than a job going forward.”
With that settled, we tuck into our gooey chocolate desserts before going our separate ways for the night.
Joe and I are alone in the massive hot tub when Tori checks in to see if we need anything. As she delivers our drinks, I can’t resist asking her, “Are there any shipboard romances between the crew members that we should know about?”
“Nope,” she answers, but her shy, happy smile says otherwise.
“Come on… Give us the inside scoop. We won’t tell anyone,” I promise, holding my right palm up out of the bubbling water.
“There’s nothing to tell,” she tries again. At my crestfallen expression, she leans in to add, “But rumor has it that an upcoming primary charter guest is one of the most famous rock stars on the planet. Of course, relationships between crew members and guests are strictly forbidden, but Demi has always had a huge crush on this particular musician.”
“Ohh… That could be interesting,” I weigh in, hoping for more juicy details.
“Perhaps,” she shrugs before hurrying away.
“Hmph, she’s not giving up anything scandalous about her relationship with the captain,” I grouch as Joe sets our drinks on the spa’s ledge.
“She can’t risk getting into any trouble. She’s the third stew, which is probably one of the lowest-ranking positions on the ship. A romance between her and the highest-ranking officer on board could probably get them both fired,” Joe says rationally.
“I guess,” I answer, wishing I knew more about their personal stories.
“There is one romantic love story unfolding on board this yacht that is even more scorching and scintillating than anyone ever imagined, though,” Joe hints.
Wrapping my arm around his neck, I grin and ask the question, even though I already know the answer. “Oh, yeah? Whose romance would that be?”
“Ours. I love you, Al,” he answers in a husky tone.
My eyes widen at his use of the masculine-sounding nickname. Deciding I don’t hate it when it’s falling from Joe’s lips, I say, “I must really love you, too, to let you get away with calling me that. You’re now part of a tiny, elite group of people with permission to use that pet name for me.”
“Mm, I feel special,” he murmurs near my ear, making the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand tall.
“You are special,” I remind him as I move to straddle his lap in the churning water. “You’re my completely un-average Joe.”
* * *
