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I run my tongue over my teeth, amused. “Just dump them in the sink.”
A stampede of suits and steroids stomps through the door to drop mounds of dirty dishes into the sink. Penelope stares in disbelief as each plate breaks the surface of the water with a loud plop. Rivers of suds run down the cabinet and pool on the floor. Her eyes trail it, before darting to the row of shiny shoes stomping back out into the crew mess.
“Hey! Where are you going?” Her bark receives little more than a few smirks and sniggers. “I’m not washing your shit up! Come back and do it yourself!”
As the crew mess clears, there’s only one of my men left. Blake. He pushes off the doorframe and saunters into the kitchen, holding his plate high above the water.
Penelope takes a step forward. “Don’t be a dick.” Another step. “Seriously.”
The plate falls, landing in the water with such force that it sloshes all down her dress.
The walls of my stomach tense, but I don’t move from my corner. Penelope’s and my eyes run down the front of her dress and tights. Both are soaked. She sucks in a shaky breath, curls her fists, and turns back to my lackey.
“Were you born a cunt, or were you turned into one by school bullies and a father that didn’t love you?”
My lips tilt, a dark chuckle filling my chest. Where does this girl get her smart mouth from?
Blake takes a step forward. “You could always take it off, sweetheart.”
My vision darkens around the edges, but I will every muscle in my body to stay in this fucking booth. I run two fingers over my mouth and watch how Penelope handles it.
She blinks. “What?”
“Your dress, sweetheart. Take it off if it’s wet. I won’t mind.”
My ears ring with all the blood rushing to my head. And why the fuckis my hand brushing against the grip of the gun tucked into my waistband? Ridiculous. That’s not me.
Clamping my jaw shut, I ball my hands into fists and lay them on the table. My glare is so hot on the side of Penelope’s face, I’m surprised she hasn’t caught fire, let alone felt its heat. She licks her lips, like she’s considering something.
Eventually, she swallows, and looks up at him through half-mast lashes. “What’d you say your name is again?”
“Blake. I’d ask you the same, but every man on this boat knows who you are.”
Penelope laughs. Laughs. It bounces out of the kitchen, across the crew mess, and zaps me in the dark corner like a fucking cattle prod. I clench my fists tighter, the weight of my gun growing heavier, like it’s reminding me it’s there.
“Shut up, no they don’t.”
A grunt leaves my lips as she playfully swipes at his chest.
“No seriously,” he drawls, slipping his hand under her chin and tilting it toward him. “You’re gorgeous. Anyone ever tell you that?”
Red mist rolls through the crew mess like a sand storm in a desert. Fuck this. It’d be all too easy to pop a bullet in his head and toss him overboard with a couple of bricks tied to his ankles. But as I’m half-way to my feet, Penelope’s hand sliding into the pocket of his pants stops me in my tracks.
“Gorgeous? I’ve heard it a few times,” she says sweetly, never taking her eyes off his. As he laughs and says something about loving a chick with confidence, she slides out his wallet between her thumb and forefinger.
She presses it against the small of her back and side steps him. “Welp, I better go clean up!” She turns and slinks through the door on the other side of the kitchen, ignoring Blake’s pathetic will-I-see-you-later? trailing after her.
Rubbing a hand over his buzz-cut, Blake lets out a sleazy laugh and strolls out of the crew mess and up the stairs.
Alone with my heart slamming against my chest, I can’t decide who I’m going after first.
