Page 12 of Adrift

“No, I’ve got this. The sticky notes are a great idea. What’s another good idea is getting Zane up here to help me move some things around.” I flash a quick smile at Haley when I push the mic on my radio. “Zane.”

“Go for Zane.”

“I need your help for a few minutes in the galley.”

“Copy,” he sings. Damn, I haven’t decided if he’s chronically happy or lacking a little between the ears.

“Captain, I can move the boxes.” Haley has pulled her head out of the cabinet.

“Oh, I know you're strong enough. But you’ve got a lot on your plate. Stop by in a little while. I’m sure I’ll have questions for you.” I wiggle my eyebrows at her. Overhearing her and Shayla last night is having a lasting effect on how she’s reacting to me. Or she’s overtired. Which we all are.

“I am. I’m super strong.” She shows me her tiny biceps, and we both laugh.

“Thanks.”

“Any time, Captain.” She sashays out of the galley. And damn, I have to rip my eyes off of her.

Box cutter in hand, I open a dozen boxes. I know what most of the things are. The new chef ordered the majority of supplies. A double-long box marked “stress reduction” is baffling, though. I slice down the tape and stare at the contents, then push the button on my radio mic. “Zane. Where the hell are you?”

Chapter 6

Heave To

Zane

“Coming, Captain.” Running up the stairs, I don’t know what he wants me for, but it has to be better than what I was already doing. We were testing all the sea toys: the wave runners and outboards. Which sounds like a lot more fun than it is. It just means getting wet, drying off, and getting wet again. Fun with the right girl, not so fun with saltwater, Asian humidity, and a to-do list as long as the boats. Not that I normally make lists, but watching Haley at supper last night, I got some inspiration and started off writing down a few things.

The galley is on the top interior deck. I climb up from sea level, hustling just shy of running. You don’t run on a boat unless it’s an emergency. I have no idea why the captain is in the galley. I did a season with him in the Med a few years back, and I never saw him do anything in the galley. Actually, I don’t know if he can even make a cup of coffee.

“Cap?” I call. All the cabinets are open, boxes scattered about.

He stands from behind a pile of boxes. “Look at that box over there and tell me what the hell it is.”

My brow furrows as I pull back the lip of the box. And laugh. “Fuck, I was wondering where that had got to.” It’s bright yellow, not exactly what I thought it would be.

“What in the hell is it?”

I smile at him. “You gave me the spec sheets for the season. One of them was a raunchy birthday party for the owner’s daughter. I figured what’s raunchier than a ride on an inflatable floating penis toy?”

Captain Sam has his hands on his hips. He purses his lips and glares. “They’ll love it. But get it out of the galley before the chef turns up and stabs it.”

I pick up the phallic plastic floater in its oversize box. Damn, it’s heavy.

“Wait. Last I saw, the swim platform is looking halfway decent. Can you spare an hour to help me get the galley in order?”

“Sure. What do you want me to do?” Normally I hate when a captain asks a question when they mean to give an order, but Sam really is asking. That’s one of the reasons I said yes to a season in Asia. I usually like sticking in the Med—it makes the trip home to the Midlands a hell of a lot easier.

An hour and a half later, I’m finishing up emptying what feels like the hundredth box of plates. They’re stacked in the cabinets and we’ll have to wash them later, but at least it’s a few more pounds of cardboard gone. Haley and Shayla are working in the main salon, and I can see flashes of Shayla’s red bandana and Haley’s blonde hair when I’m not on my knees putting plates in the cupboard.

“Zane?” It’s Waldo on the radio.

“Go for Zane.”

“What do you want me to do next?”

“I’ll be right down.” I’ve made a good dent in the boxes, and I can do more tonight. But getting the swim deck done now with the remaining daylight is a priority.

I duck my head into the galley, but the captain is gone, and damn, he’s gotten more than half of the boxes put away, and the rest sit stacked along the long wall, where on most boats extra provisions would go. I thunder down the stairs to talk to Waldo. A short blonde with waist-length hair and claw-like nails is standing on the deck next to the gangplank. She has two suitcases, almost as tall as her, a backpack, and an oversized tote. Or the normal amount of luggage a guest brings for one week.

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