Page 24 of The Vacation Mix-Up
Pointing to it, I ask, “Is this mine?”
Riley slides it closer to me. “It’s what you were drinking on deck, right?”
“Drinking?” I laugh. “More like spilling.” I take a sip. “Thank you.”
“Tell us the not-so-funny story already,” Hugo urges. “I’m dying here.”
Giggling at his eagerness for gossip, I take another quick sip and fill him in. “We were booked into the same cabin by mistake.”
Ben bellows. “Thatisfunny!”
“Not really,” I add. “Because we have to share.”
Kathy stops fussing over Avery and frowns. “Are you joking? That’s outrageous! Surely they have other cabins.”
“One of us would have to accept a severe downgrade, and neither of us wanted to,” Riley explains.
She wrinkles her nose. “That’s unacceptable.”
Oscar shakes his head. “We spend good coin on these cruises, and this is what we get… double-booked cabins and tardy table service.”
I understand their vexation; I was mad too. But I wouldn’texactly say the table service is tardy, because it’s not. There are at least two hundred people on this level of the dining room alone, most of them pleasantly eating already. Not to mention Guest Services was extremely apologetic about the double booking. If they said, “Bad luck,” and offered no remedy nor form of compensation, then yeah, it would be outrageous and unacceptable.
Kathy tuts again. “I hope you got a refund.”
“We were looked after,” Riley offers before I can answer.
“So, you’re sharing, eh?” Ben claps Riley on the back, his eyebrows dancing, his grin sexually insinuative.
I all but snarl, as does Manny.
“We’re sharing the cabin, yes.” Riley leans back in his chair and squashes Ben’s dangling hand, the obnoxious man promptly removing it and subtly stretching his fingers.
I hide my satisfied smirk behind the rim of my Cosmo, Manny and Hugo doing the same behind their glasses of red.
“So,” Manny prompts after taking a sip, “all’s well that ends well then?”
Riley and I lock eyes, and I shrug. “So far, I guess.”
He clinks my glass with his, just as our appetizers are promptly served together with the kids’ meals, everyone happily eating while entertainment staff visit tables, performing magic card tricks.
“Where are you from?” I ask Kathy and Oscar as I dip my spoon into my soup.
“The Buckeye state,” Oscar says with pride.
Ben points his fork at him. “Home to the country’s best-ever athlete.”
I know who Ben’s referring to, because my mother was married to an NBA assistant coach when I was fifteen. And although I’m a huge fan of LeBron, I disagree with Ben that he’s the best-ever athlete to be produced by the State of Ohio. I also don’t like Ben. He’s arrogant, creepy, rude, and crude.
Knowing I probably shouldn’t bait the guy, I can’t help myself, and say, “You must be referring to Annie Oakley.”
He scoffs. “Annie Oakley? She wasn’t an athlete.”
“Of course she was.”
“She was a performer, love.”
“Athletes are performers.”
