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“Yeah, well, maybe it’ll find your kissing technique there, since it seems to be in the same destination. What the hell was that about yesterday?”
Classic aversion.
I was a master of misdirection.
“You enjoyed it,” he said calmly.
“Did not.”
“Did, too.”
Lord, I had.
And not only had I enjoyed it, but the fact that it had been sweet and intimate and not filthy and carnal had completely disarmed me. I still felt my pulse against my lips. Both pairs.
Mental note number one hundred and sixty: Charge. That. Vibrator.
Also, why was Cruz flipping everywhere? I had no privacy whatsoever in this place. In case I needed to, oh, I don’t know, get reacquainted with my dormant libido and touch myself (the “Drunk in Love” by Beyonce way).
“Feed me, Dr. Costello.” I tossed my hair dramatically, adopting an English accent I stole from the Bridgertons. “For I am famished and no longer want to debate that imprudent, fortuitous kiss.”
“Why do you sound like you swallowed an Oxford dictionary?”
We both laughed, then shook our heads, forcing ourselves to look away.
We stopped at a hot dog stand and sampled a few of their sausages. Not one innuendo flew in the air throughout the quick meal. A pleasant surprise, seeing as Weiner jokes were obviously not beneath us.
We did a bit more shopping afterwards, then retired to the room, planning to grab a shower, get dressed to grab an early dinner, and then go to the casino. I’d never been to a casino before, which Cruz said was criminal.
When we got to our room, Mrs. Warren was waiting for us, sans Fred, looking mighty smug as she sipped a colorful cocktail with extra umbrellas.
“Been waitin’ for you.” She grinned around her straw. She held an uncanny resemblance to Ursula the Disney sea witch.
“Let me guess. Lost your butt plugs and immediately thought to check in to see if we stole them,” I muttered, clutching my purse closer to my body instinctively.
Cruz’s head twisted as he flashed me a look full of amusement and murder.
Clap.
I’d forgotten I had company and wasn’t supposed to be my usual rude self.
“Butt what now?” She put her hand to her ear.
I shook my head. “Never mind. Why’re you here, Mrs. Warren, other than the obvious—to bless my life with more happy moments and fond memories?”
We stopped by our door, which she was blocking. She crossed her arms over her ample chest. The other day, when she demanded to get into our room, I’d lost it.
I lost it, because I knew it was exactly the kind of mistake I could make, then remembered that the suitcases were, in fact, placed quite far away from one another.
But I also knew (sensibly) that no one would believe it was unintentional if I’d gotten it wrong. When teenage boys can take pictures of your ass…while pinching it, you know the world isn’t fair or on your side.
“Just thought you should know everybody on the ship knows that you tried to steal my jewelry. I thought it would be a general service to warn people.”
“Okay. Let’s pretend like I care. Now move away.”
“But you should care.”
Her eyes swung from me to Cruz, her smile widening.
