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“A guest? Is this going to be a female companion?” He pushes a bunch of buttons and the horn sounds and the ship lurches forward. We are on our way.
“Yes, as a matter of fact. I met her on the ship today.” It is odd that I’ll have a companion because I never mix business with pleasure. The people who dine at the captain’s table are special guests. They are people who reserve the suites and pay for the most expensive accommodations. These evenings are boring affairs where the guests blather on about their accomplishments while dining on the finest offerings Cross Cruises can provide. We serve the best caviar. The finest wines. The most decadent desserts. It is our way of thanking our valued patrons for investing in us. Boring—yes. Necessary—absolutely. We didn’t get to be the top-rated luxury cruise line by being one of the herd. We lead the herd.
There’s nothing like being at the helm of a ship where only miles of ocean are before you. The only thing that beats it is standing on deck with the wind in my hair. After saying goodbye to the captain, I head to the pool where the band plays and the guests imbibe too much.
It’s a good place to watch the crew in action, and if I’m being honest with myself, I hope I’ll find Libby.
Once on deck, the cruise takes on a different feel. There is the behind-the-scenes regimented schedule that every ship needs to make it run like clockwork. The passenger areas are carefree and loose.
This is a singles cruise, which is the wildest party the cruise line hosts. It only takes a few drinks before keys are exchanged and the trouble begins. We bring extra security on these cruises because testosterone is a dangerous thing. Men turn to Neanderthals where women are concerned.
Up ahead a group of women dance on the edge of the pool. Their bikinis are nothing more than dental floss and a Band-Aid. The men flex their muscles. Some flex their beer bellies. There’s always someone for everyone. It’s the three-drink rule. What is deemed a five when sober soars to an eight or better when drunk.
I was young once. But at thirty-eight, I’m looking for something different. I scan the crowd around me in search of her. In a day where most women go for blonde, Libby’s dark hair should be easy to find, but for some reason, it isn’t.
Step by step, I walk through throngs of people only to find dark hair connected to the wrong body. They are pretty enough but they have the wrong eyes. The wrong curves. The wrong everything.
As I wander my way around the ship, I keep a keen eye out for her. When I get to the desk, I ask the attendant to look up Libby Ferall.
“I don’t have a Libby Ferall, but I have two sisters named Justice and Liberty Ferall in room 8096. Justice Ferall is the travel blogger covering the cruise. Would you like me to ring the room for you, Mr. Cross?” The girl looks up at me and flutters her lashes.
“No thanks,” I look at her name tag. “Candace, I appreciate the information.”
I’m having a hard time not laughing my ass off. Who in the hell names their kids Liberty and Justice Ferall? If I wasn’t intrigued before, now I’m hell bent on getting to know her, if only to find out how fucked up her parents are.
The elevator dings and I climb in and press floor eight. I know she is staying close to me because we share the same muster station, but with her in room 8096 and me in 8150 we are practically neighbors. There are only a few dozen rooms that separate us. A few dozen too many.
Five minutes later, I stand in front of her door. The valet scurries over to see if I need help, but I’m pretty sure I can knock on a door by myself so I send him away. I take in a deep breath and raise my hand.
Tap
Tap
Tap
My knock is forceful enough to hear over the drone and hum of the engines, but not loud enough to cause alarm. I wait several seconds and knock again.
When it comes to Libby Ferall, I am batting zero. I shove my hands in my pockets and start toward my room.
Out of all the floors on a ship, I love the concierge floor the best. It has nice amenities and a few extra perks like a concierge to schedule excursions and reservations at our specialty restaurants. It also has a library. As I pass the room that’s stocked floor to ceiling with books, I find exactly who I’m looking for. Libby sits on the overstuffed chair with her computer in her lap and a pair of glasses perched on the end of her nose. Her long hair is pulled up in a clip and hangs haphazard in every direction. She’s a fucking goddess.
To watch her in her element is a beautiful sight. She isn’t interested in selling her wares to the masses. She’s tucked up in the library and something has her full attention. I walk in unnoticed and pull a book from the shelf. In the corner is a chair turned to face her directly. I slide into it without notice and watch her from a distance. Her head moves back and forth with every line she reads. Occasionally her eyes get big and every few minutes a little giggle will burst from her lips.
Her fingers tap at the keyboard, making whatever she’s doing sound like a symphony. I open the book in front of me not wanting to appear to be the stalker I am. Over the binding, I watch because she mesmerizes me.
Out on the deck, there’s a live band, and the alcohol is flowing. Men are coming out of the woodwork to meet girls like her, and yet, she’s alone, working. And I have never been so happy.
“There you are.” A woman’s voice calls from the door. The thin blonde walks inside and stands in front of Libby, blocking my view. “You should be upstairs dancing that ass of yours off.” She says it like there was something wrong with Libby’s perfect ass.
“I’m working. I have a deadline.”
The blonde lets out a growl. “I brought you so you could let loose and have a good time. You’re always so serious and buttoned up.” The woman plants her hands on her hips and cocks them to the right opening up my view to Libby. It also opens her view to me. She tilts her head to the right so she can get a better look at me. A laugh slips from her lips until she turns back to the blonde. Then they spread into a thin unhappy line. I lift the book in front of my face but keep my ears tuned into their conversation.
Libby leans forward and whispers, but it’s a library so every sound carries. “I’m not serious and buttoned up, Justice. I know how to have a good time, it’s just not how you have a good time.”
Justice looks toward me then lowers herself to Libby’s sitting height. “You should try it my way. It’s great exercise. Super for stress reduction.”
“What do they have that I can’t get on my own?”
