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I think I dropped the “money is not an issue” line three or four times, which made me feel like a smarmy L.A. pimp, but desperate times screamed for desperate measures.
After that, I gave myself a tour around the popular decks, familiarizing myself with the area. As far as cruise ships went, the Elation was probably the best one I’d been on.
It had a dozen restaurants, beauty salons, two waterparks, two casinos, a tennis court, a mall, libraries, bars, a movie theater, an ice skating rink, a performing arts theater, a submarine, and a rollercoaster.
I was beginning to cool off and subconsciously (but evidently not that subconsciously) kept an eye out for Tennessee. I was still angry enough that texting her was out of the question—she’d screwed both of us over and I wasn’t done reminding her—but she’d also looked genuinely upset when we’d parted ways, and I wasn’t used to seeing her wearing any other expression than sheer, stubborn pride. Plus, I knew she was probably freaking out about being away from her son. They’d been attached at the hip from the moment he was born. That must’ve been hard realizing they weren’t on the same ship.
I secretly liked her fight.
The thumb-in-the-nose attitude she gave Fairhope. How she didn’t back down, didn’t leave, didn’t frantically try to convince everyone she was not who they thought she was.
She got a raw deal when it came to Fairhope, as far as I could tell, making one mistake, for which she’d been one-hundred percent accountable yet held one-hundred percent at fault.
True, she found it hard to concentrate and got some orders at the diner wrong every now and then, but I chalked it up to inattention or phoning in parts of a shitty job, not stupidity. Once you got talking to the woman, you could tell she was a lot of things, but by hell, she was not a moron.
I found Tennessee three hours after we’d parted ways, exactly where I was expecting to locate her—at the open bar, flashing her tanned legs and white teeth. Earlier, the check-in receptionist had confirmed all-you-can-drink packages on our ID cards.
And, of course, Tennessee being Tennessee, she’d already made good use of her package and was nursing a white cocktail, a Maraschino cherry dangling from her full lips, still in her work uniform, chatting up a man in his sixties.
Even from afar, I could tell she was shamelessly flirting. He wore Bermuda pants, a Hawaiian shirt, and a half-drunk smirk that told her wordlessly what he wanted to do to her.
She was probably working her way to his wallet. Rumor around town was that she’d gotten pregnant with Rob’s child purposefully to try to lock him down. The other option, that she genuinely wanted to frolic in the cornfield with Mr. Rich Tourist, shouldn’t have surprised me considering her reputation, but it did.
Either way, fresh anger roared in my blood when I saw her purring and giggling like all was well in the world.
I tromped my way over to her, plastering on my best, your-trusted-doctor smile as I ran my hand up her spine from behind, sprawling my fingers inside her sprayed blonde hair.
I’d have kissed her temple, too, if I didn’t think it’d result in my not being able to have children in this lifetime.
She whirled back almost violently, ripping her body from mine. When she looked at me, the beam dropped from her mouth, and I had to admit—it pissed me off even more that somehow, even though I was the town’s favorite, she was practically allergic to my face.
“Sweetheart.”
I pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear, marveling at how small and aesthetically pleasing everything about her was, even when she tried hard to look like the drag queen version of Christina Aguilera.
Her lips were plump and naturally pouty, her eyes somewhere between hazel and green, and her nose was so button-y, it begged to be pinched.
“Excuse me, sir, do I know you?” she asked coldly.
She looked at me like I’d had a personality transplant, not sure where my easygoing attitude was coming from. The man glimpsed between us, turning slightly in his barstool to take me in.
“Very funny, Mrs. Weiner.” I slid between the two of them, giving him my back as I propped an elbow onto the counter. I didn’t mind being rude. No one on this cruise knew me but Tennessee, and her words were worth nothing in Fairhope. “Been lookin’ for you all over.”
“Are you…Mr. Weiner?” I heard the man ask behind me.
“The one and only,” I confirmed.
“So this is your husband?” This question was directed at her.
“Also yes,” I said, at the same time she corrected, “Cousin.”
I took a step back so they could see each other’s faces. For the first time since I’d gotten on this damn ship, I was having something that resembled, at least from afar, fun.
Tennessee’s face was as red as a ripe tomato. The old man paled, but upon a second peek of her shapely calves, squared his shoulders, and decided to give it another go.
“You’re married to your cousin?” he asked her, slowly as though deciding whether or not that was a dealbreaker.
Tennessee swung her gaze my way, pinning me with a look that promised me a slow, painful death involving fructification, starvation, and asphyxiation.
