Page 13 of Love on Deck

My feet were sliding into my shoes before I had time to logically think through my decision. She was on her way somewhere—breakfast, maybe?—and I was going to put myself in her path.

“I’ll catch you later,” I said, grabbing my wallet and slipping out the door before Kevin could respond. The hallway was empty. I raced down it and saw the elevator doors slide closed. Shoot. Just missed her.

I hit the button and the second elevator opened right away. Guess I was going after her.

I stepped inside and hit the lobby button. Why was I putting myself in a position to spar with a woman who despised me? I didn’t know.

But I couldn’t get the lonely picture Kevin had painted out of my head, and I wanted to square our “relationship” away before everyone else woke up.

At least that’s what I was telling myself.

CHAPTER SIX

LAUREN

I left all three women sleeping like zombies when I went out in search of breakfast. My non-clubbing evening might have been a little less exciting than theirs, but at least I wouldn’t be fighting bags under my eyes today. Amelia needed to monitor her sleeping over the next few nights if she wanted to look fresh for her wedding pictures.

I hit the button for the lobby and glanced at my reflection in the glossy elevator doors. My linen shorts revealed far more pale skin than I was used to—my legs were practically begging for a sunburn. I debated returning to the room to slather a preparatory layer of sunscreen over my legs, but my 85+ SPF was neatly packed away in my bag that was now waiting by the door. I could wait until we reached the ship for that. I couldn’t be burned in a hotel cafe anyway. Probably.

The smell of coffee roasting and bacon sizzling reached me before I caught sight of the café. I hiked my computer bag higher on my shoulder and walked up to the counter.

“Good morning, Sunshine!” a voice called from behind me. Deep, smooth, and just like a glass of orange juice to the face.

I turned to find Jack approaching, his hands casually slung in his shorts pockets and his hair still damp from a shower. Could I have some peace before I had to perform for the rest of the bridal party later today? My shoulders bunched with tension, but my distaste seemed to go right over Jack’s head. “Did you follow me?”

He flashed me a smile. “Do you smell like bacon? Because then yes, I did.”

“Can I help you?” the barista asked. I was glad for the excuse to turn my back on Jack. I ordered a bowl of oatmeal with a glass of orange juice before snagging a booth. I pulled out my computer and powered it up.

Jack ordered his breakfast before coming to sit across from me.

I looked up from my computer when he slid onto the seat, my eyebrows rising.

“Oh, are you saving this for someone else?” He pointed down at the bench his obnoxiously perfect rear end was gracing. “I can move over there and sit by you.”

“I was thinking you could move over there.” I jerked my head toward the other side of the café.

“But what would your sister or Kevin think if they saw us eating on opposite ends of the room? That would be hard to explain. They might think it’s weird.”

“Weird is having to sit across from you while I try to choke down my oatmeal.”

“If you hate oatmeal so much, you should have ordered something else.”

I fought a laugh, keeping my face perfectly plain. “It’s not the oatmeal making me sick to my stomach.”

A waitress delivered our breakfasts. “Can I get you anything else?”

“I’m okay for now,” I said, smiling at her.

Jack nodded in agreement, and we were left alone again. He scooted his glass of juice closer to himself and ran his finger along the rim, looking down at the orange liquid. His hands were large, his knuckles sprinkled with dark hair. They were lightly tanned, just like the rest of his skin. He was probably one of those people who went outside for an hour and achieved a perfectly golden hue. I hated those people. I went outside for an hour and my skin resembled a fire hydrant.

He looked up at me. “Today is really going to be a challenge for you, isn’t it?”

“You mean making sure everything is perfect for my only sister’s wedding cruise or having to pretend I tolerate you?”

Something flashed in Jack’s eyes. “Your little spreadsheet doesn’t guarantee perfection for you?”

“It gets pretty close.” Spreadsheets have never steered me wrong. There was something comforting about the neat, orderly cells holding all the information I could possibly need in one space. “There are worse things than being ultra prepared,” I defended.

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