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“I’m sorry about her,” I say. “She never got to have her own singing career, and she gets a little over excited about mine. I apologize if she’s bothering you.”
“Well, I still have that spot reserved for you in the talent show,” he says, giving me a bright-white grin, which I’m certain is fake, in more ways than one. “I would love to tell your mother I’ve got you all signed up!” And there it is. He wants to appease her, so she’ll leave him alone. I know the feeling. “She recommended I ask you to sing ‘Conga.’ Can I put you down for that?”
“She wants you to sing Gloria Estefan?” Oscar asks. I wince, nodding. “Conga” was my parents’ favorite karaoke song when I was a kid. Mom would sing, swiveling her hips as good as Gloria herself. Dad would stand behind her, shimmying his chest side to side and kicking his legs up like he was in a conga line, while adding a little harmonization every once in a while.
“That’s my grandmother’s favorite song of all time,” Sebastian says, grinning.
“Makes sense. It’s quite the throwback,” Eduardo says. His tone is condescending in a way I don’t love. Now I’m certain he’s irritated at my mother.
“Fine,” I say, wanting this over. “‘Conga’ will work.” As Jamie said, there’s no reason I can’t claim a sore throat the night of and bow out of the whole thing.
“Great,” Eduardo says, letting us go. He turns back to the other passengers. As soon as I return to my room, I’m sending Mom a message to butt out of Anna’s life. I know she means well, and I feel a tiny bit guilty that Anna and I have been trying so hard to keep her at arm’s length ever since she got together with Jeremy, but there are healthier ways of dealing with our boundaries than trying to control us from afar.
“You have so many talents,” Sebastian says, giving me the sort of look that would normally send thrills shooting through me. Instead, a hard knot forms in my belly. Cheaters and liars disgust him. And I’m a big liar right now.
CHAPTERTWELVE
SEBASTIAN
Daysix of the cruise and we’ve reached Cozumel, an island off the coast of Mexico. I sip at my coffee and stare out at the low island stretching away. From my perch in the galley on deck fifteen, the land looks flat, flat, flat as far as the eye can see. Just how I feel at the moment.
I haven’t seen Anna since we disembarked from the catamaran yesterday. She shrank away from me as we boarded the cruise ship. Almost like seeing that fight had shaken her. And I suspect I know why. She’s a married woman, and if I’m honest with myself, I’d been flirting all day. Those cheating couples were a wake-up call for her. And me.
I have to leave her alone. It’s not like she’s climbing any more waterfalls this week, nor will she need me to rescue her. She’s fine. And me? I need to train my brain that she’s another man’s wife. That’s all there is to it. I’ll clear my head of her, and when I get back to LA, I’ll see Mike and Anna together and the rest will sort itself out. It might not be an enjoyable process, but it will work. It has to.
My phone buzzes. Speak of the devil. Mike’s texting me. I swipe the screen open.
Mike:Who is this asshat called Grant the Big Stud, or whatever, who keeps commenting on Anna’s Instagram? Is he on the ship with you?
Sebastian: Don’t know him. Let me check him out.
I pull up Anna’s Instagram and see that @GrantKevlarTheStuntStud posted on yesterday’s ultra-sexy bikini shot of Anna on the catamaran. Shit. Who is this guy?
@GrantKevlarThe StuntStud- Imma start calling this Ass-tagram. Look at that bikini. Should have taken u out on a catamaran myself. Riding the twin bananas agrees with u.
I scroll further down. The day before, he commented on the photo of Anna in her black bikini, looking out at the waterfall.
@GrantKevlarTheStuntStud- That’s the full body shot I’ve been looking for. Couldn’t have sent me something like this the other night, huh neighbor?
I don’t want to see more. I click over to Grant Kevlar’s own Instagram page, and at first see shot after shot of the chiseled dude with an older woman in various levels of formal dress. His hashtags this week are #GrantKevlar #TheStuntStud #HollywoodWedding #RitzCarletonNOLA and #VirginiaCovneyDirects.
Scrolling a little further back, I see that last week, his photos were all of himself on a film set, climbing in and out of muscle cars and jumping off old brick buildings: #GrantKevlar #TheStuntStud #MeghanMarconiTrilogy #Stunts4ZanderZane #TheBayou #MovieBiz.
Anna can’t be getting with this assmuffin. She can’t. I can’t even picture them together. She made so much sense once I was certain she wasn’t a cheater. But if she had a fling on the side with this awful dude, it would confuse everything.
I text the group thread with Anna and all the guys, my chest tight. Where are they today? I have to find her and pull for information. Jamie writes back to say he’s already on shore with Oscar, and they left Anna behind on her own. My head goes fuzzy. I sprint to the elevator bank hoping she might still be in her room.
* * *
ZOEY
Grant: Do you have more photos from that boat trip? I never expected you’d go for a Brazilian cut, but damn, you wear that bikini well.
Zoey: It’s my sister’s suit. Also, try not to write me on her Instagram. Her husband can see that.
Grant: Right, right. Well, thank Anna about that swimsuit for me, next time you see her. You coming to the Ritz NOLA when you get back or what?
Zoey: Who’s the director who’s interested in meeting me?
