Page 11 of Knocked Up By the Grump

The familiar voice brings me back to reality. I look across the way to see Ben calling out from the neighboring yacht. He’s wearing a thick white robe, and his dark, curly hair whips around his face with the sea breeze. Even from here, I can seethat his deck is still covered with confetti and empty bottles from the night before.

“Hey, man,” I nod gruffly in his direction.

I expect him to ask what I thought of his party. It’s a routine we have. He will pretend to act offended when I say it wasn’t my scene, and then I will go around and tease him about how he needs to “grow up” despite his success and age.

But, today, he does not seem to be in a joking mood.

“Have you seen these?” He waves a piece of paper at me. The small paper is shaped like some kind of an animal. It looks like it may be a turtle.

“What the hell is that?” I ask.

“It's a fucking paper turtle. My entire yacht is covered in them,” Ben fumes. “They’ve all got some depressing environmental facts on them. A total buzzkill.”

“That’s… pretty unsightly, too,” I add, squinting at the paper that he’s holding up.

“Any idea where they might have come from? For the life of me, I don't understand what kind of shitty prank this is,” Ben says.

I remember Chris’s conversation with his sister the night before. He said Emily was trying to pull some type of environmental stunt. It’s clear that now, Emily's actions have put her in a tricky spot. It's her own doing, but I can't help but feel protective.

As I discover the extent of her actions, I start leaning towards a decision, covering for her, shielding her from potential trouble. Maybe it's my grumpy side taking charge, a desire to protect her, especially because she's Chris's sister.

“I have no idea,” I lie. “I've never seen that before.”

Suddenly, Chris emerges onto his own yacht wearing a similar white robe. He seems to have heard the commotion, his brow furrowing as he takes in the situation.

“What's going on here?” Chris asks, adjusting his glasses, “Everything okay?”

“No! I'm swimming in turtles over here.” Ben shouts. “I just woke up to this!” He frantically waves some of the paper turtles around.

I try not to laugh while seeing him like this.

“Some nitwit scattered these turtle-shaped pamphlets all over my yacht during last night’s party,” Ben continues, catching him up.

That's when I meet Chris’s gaze. Of course, he has no idea that I know it was his sister who was at the bottom of all this. I raise an eyebrow, curious about what he'll say.

“That sounds really inconvenient,” Chris responds. “Any idea who could've done it?”

“No!” Ben calls, exasperated.

Chris shrugs. “It’s a mystery then, I guess.”

I don't consider Chris to be someone who lies readily, but I suppose, given the circumstances involving his sister, it's understandable. He did confront her about the paper turtles last night, but he's still shielding her from external scrutiny. For me, on the other hand, there's no incentive to pursue the matter further. If anything, my involvement would only reveal my identity as the person she was with last night, and the mere existence of that situation would be an inconvenient revelation to Chris. Besides, I have no grounds to speak up in any case.

“Well, they'reeverywhere. When I find out who did this, they're going to pay. Big time,” Ben announces.

For Emily’s sake, I hope she didn't leave any evidence and doesn't make any attempt to do this again.

Despite this, I feel she'll somehow make another appearance, and I inadvertently hope to see her again.

Chapter seven

Emily

Standing in my cozy little kitchen, I feel the soft morning sunlight filtering through the curtains. I catch myself replaying last night's events in my head. The memory of that mysterious man from the masquerade party lingers, his intensity etched in my thoughts.

I'm lost in my own world as I go about making breakfast, the familiar routine offering a sense of comfort. The sizzle of eggs in the pan and the aroma of fresh coffee fill the air, grounding me in the present moment.

But I can't seem to shake the thoughts about him. In fact, the more I try to stop thinking about him, the more he occupies my mind. Behind that mask, there was a connection—a spark that felt real. The way he was pounding hard in me…how amazing that orgasm felt…the sensation still feels incredible. I can’t believe I actually want to feel him again…feel him explode in me over and over again…wait, what?

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