Page 16 of Totally Wrecked
“Hmmm. What else do you suggest?”
“With Harvey, we’ve never really seen each other during shoots, so this is new. That means I can set new ground rules, or rather you can.”
“And those will be?”
“Dammit, Daze, give me a minute, I’m thinking.”
Maybe if she thinks about it long enough I’ll actually miss the boat altogether.
“OK, OK, I’ve got it. This might be a little TMI, but old Harv and I have quite the kinky scene going on. I like to be his naughty girl, and he likes to punish me.”
I don’t cuss. I’ve totally trained myself out of it because I work with little children all the time, but I’m a hair's breadth away from an F-bomb right now.
“Do go on,” I say, in my chilliest tone.
“So, he might want to keep everything professional, and if he does, that’s great, but if he comes on to you…” I hear her swallow. My sister? Actually nervous about something?
“...then tell him that you are not going to go anywhere near him until we are stateside again, and when that happens…err…he can give me the, err… the full-throttle punishment.”
“Cheese-its, Brooke! There is no way I can say that.”
“It’s the best way, Daze—you’ve got to trust me.”
I can’t. I can’t do this. I’m done.
Reading my mind, like only my twin can do, Brooke twists the knife. “Don’t chicken out on me now, Daisy. If it wasn’t for me, where would you be? You owe me.”
“But this is too much, Brooke!” I know I’m whining, but it’s not without legit cause.
“Shit, what time is it there? Don’t you have to go?”
“I can’t do this! Brooke? Brooke?”
The biz-nitch hung up on me!
Frances is waiting for me in the lobby.
“Come along, Brooke. You've got a boat to catch!” Frances chides, “everyone else is at the pier already.” She pats me on the back and I nearly fall over—Brooke’s backpack is so massive and heavy. Not stopping for more chat, Frances leads the way, and we quickly move across the square. My shoulders are killing me, and so is my head, but Action Jackson doesn’t complain about heavy bags—or hangovers.
The plaza looks different in the daytime, full of fruit-seller stalls, bicycles and tourist groups. Just beyond the plaza is a series of long wooden jetties. Yachts and fishing boats are moored either side. Beyond that, a massive cruise ship moves slowly along the bay. That truly is more my kind of speed—lying on a sun lounger, drinking fruity cocktails, and reading a gripping book.
“Chip chop,” says Frances, increasing her pace.
How is she not sweating up a storm? The khaki shirt I put over Brooke’s tiny white tank is already soaked through. My feet, inside hiking boots, feel like they are sliding around in a stew of sweat. Adjusting the heavy backpack again, I hurry to keep up with Frances, my footsteps clump noisily on the wooden boards as we start walking down the pier. Frances is now talking to someone on her cell phone.
Towards the end of the jetty, Killian and Harvey watch us approach. Killian is wearing virtually the same clothes as last night. Harvey has changed his powder blue polo to a mint-green colored one. Besides them, several figures move around a medium-sized ship, loading boxes and coiling ropes.
Harvey gives me and Frances a white-toothed smile. “Good morning, lovely ladies. Even if you are twenty minutes late.”
Killian gives me a wink, “Good morning, Frances, Ms. Jackson.” I make sure no one is looking, then roll my eyes at Killian. Last night we had agreed to make it seem like we were virtual strangers. If we got too chatty between ourselves, it might be easy to let something slip that I was Daisy and not Brooke.
“I’ll keep an eye on you from a distance,” Killian had told me, “but anytime you need me, just say so.”
Frances makes appeasing motions to Harvey with her hands. “Oh yes, thanks for being on time, you guys. I'll go find the captain—oh look! This must be him now.”
Our group all turn to watch a shirtless man jump from the side of the ship onto the pier. Frances is mumbling under her breath, but I ignore her and just watch this perfect display of rippling muscles move towards me. The captain’s sky-blue eyes are startling against both his mid-brown skin and the hard set of his face. I wonder when the last time he unclenched his jaw was. It must play havoc with his TMJ.
“Good morning,” he says, not cracking a smile. “I’m Rex, Captain of the Mary-Mo.”
