Page 4 of Dreamboat

I’m thirty-six and a successful professional. I’m not a jealous fifteen-year-old kid.

I can’t even recall if jealousy was a part of my psyche as a teenager. I’ve never wanted for the attention of a woman, or back then, a girl. I’ve always sported a look that’s considered attractive.

Wavy brown hair, blue-green eyes, and a frame that’s tall and fit are the exterior package.

The added appeal, or so I’ve been told, is that I run a veterinary practice that consistently tops the list of best in the city. I consider my staff my friends, and I have a home that’s bought and paid for in a trendy neighborhood in what I think is the greatest city in the world.

“Can you put a bandage on my toe so I can go?” Delia asks. “I’d like to get back to my cabin, Dr. Feil.”

I’d like to follow her there because although our joint presence on this cruise ship could be considered random, I now have an idea of why the brochure boasting its many virtues was on a table in the break room of my clinic.

I was having a shitty day when I scooped the brochure up and glanced at the glossy images of the ship. I read a few bullet points about the size of the onboard pools, the casino, and the promise that it would be “the trip of a lifetime.”

At the time, I wasn’t necessarily looking for that, but I did need an escape since I had just lost two patients in the span of three hours, so I took the brochure to my office in the clinic. I went online and booked a five-day journey on the ocean. I upgraded from a standard cabin to a luxury stateroom because why the hell not?

I almost canceled twice, including last night before I boarded a direct flight from JFK airport to Miami.

Knowing Delia Hawthorne is on this cruise makes the time away from work worth my while since I’ve been admiring her from afar for months. Afar being from behind the screen of my phone as I scroll through her social media feeds daily.

Dr. Feil finally pushes back the rolling stool he’s been sitting on. He stands, adjusting the front of his white trousers in an attempt to conceal an obvious erection. He fails miserably because the fabric of his pants is paper-thin.

“Thank you,” she whispers in anticipation of him finally doing the job the cruise line hired him to do. “Can I still go in the pool?”

He nods. “In whatever color bikini you brought with you.”

There’s no smile on her face in response, just a slight shake of her head.

I shove both hands into the front pockets of my pants. I’ve already seen her in both a white and red bikini. That was in image form since she posted pictures on her socials of a trip to The Hamptons last summer.

My inquiring mind did indeed force my hand to scroll as far back as I could to look at all of the pictures Delia ever posted. It took hours and two bottles of beer, but it was a night I’ll never forget.

“I’ll walk you back to your cabin,” Clever offers from where he’s still standing.

“Aren’t you needed somewhere other than here?” I ask before Delia can respond.

“I don’t want you to get fired,” she adds. “You should go, Clever. Thanks for your help.”

Those words are enough to buoy the kid’s mood because he flashes her a smile that I suspect gets him a hell of a lot of attention.

A simple blown kiss sent in her direction from him brings a grin to her lips and keeps her gaze pinned on him until he’s out of the room.

I can’t deny it this time when a sharp bite of jealousy nips at me, but Delia immediately chases it away when she glances in my direction and offers me a radiant smile along with a slight lift of her left eyebrow.

“Will you walk me back to my cabin, Donovan?” she asks, keeping her eyes locked on mine.

“I’d love to.”

CHAPTER THREE

Delia

Donovan slows his pace to match mine as we stroll through an air-conditioned corridor on our way to my cabin.

Asking him to walk me there was a split second decision. Ever since I saw him in the piano bar, there have been a million questions bouncing around in my head including how he ended up on this ship headed toward the Caribbean.

Donovan and I are both thousands of miles from home. I suppose in a small world kind of way it’s not that uncommon to cross paths with someone on a cruise ship that lives in the same city as you.

The odds of crossing that same path with the man who signs your older brother’s paycheck must be astronomical.

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