Page 5 of Helsing: Demon Slayer
Germaine smiled. “You just need to expand the dating pool. Your sample size is too small. You’ve missed a lot of opportunities. Take that guy over there, for instance.” She nodded to a nearby table where a single man sat. A napkin lay crumpled on the used plate in front of him.
He caught Dianne’s gaze and smiled. He had dirty-blond hair that was a little shaggy and unkempt in a deliberate manner. Likely he used any number of products for that look.
An image of The Beast assaulted her. His neat brown hair and beard didnotlook like he used products beyond all-in-one shampoo-and-body cleanser. Or, more likely, a bar of something basic like Dial or Irish Spring.
Mmm. She could imagine dipping her nose to the back of his neck and inhaling the fresh, green scent as her fingers raked his scalp.
Dianne shoved the image into the back of her mind. She picked up her adult slushie and drank half of it. “Maybe you’re right,” she said to Germaine, forcing a smile. “But I don’t need a wing woman on this mission.”
Germaine shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’ve got my own prospect waiting by the pool. He hasn’t caught a glimpse of me in this new swimsuit yet.” She stood. “But don’t take too long, Di. There’s only two more days on this cruise. You’ll be back in the burbs soon enough where the prospects are a lot less appetizing. As your resident research scientist, I can tell you an orgasm or three does wonders for your motivation.”
Dianne nodded. Germaine shot a grin over her shoulder as she passed by Dianne’s ‘prospect.’
Dianne sighed as she watched her friend walk away. It didn’t escape her attention that the guy with the surfer locks watched Germaine as well, his gaze glued to her friend’s shapely backside visible through the clinging coverup she wore. Then he turned in his seat. Seeing Dianne looking at him, he pushed from the table and stood before coming over to her. His Hawaiian-style shirt slipped open as he strolled to reveal his chest. At least he was fit.
“Want some company?” he asked. “I’m about to go to the bar. I can get you another of whatever it is that you’re drinking or something else. The sky’s the limit. It’s on me.” He lifted his guest card and grinned, aware that they both had unlimited bar packages.
“I’m sure you draw the line at top-shelf liquor,” she said, feigning friendliness. She lifted her half-melted strawberry-infused wine and jiggled the cup. “I don’t think the bar here has this one. You choose. Just make it fruity and cold.”
“I’ve got just the thing for you,” he said and headed to the bar at end of the deck.
While she waited for her new friend to return with their drinks, Dianne’s thoughts drifted again to the mysterious Beast. Did he have his own Beauty? Or was he like her, traveling as a single on a Mediterranean cruise? She hadn’t seen him with anyone, male, female or group of any size. He appeared to be alone. Every time she’d glimpsed him in the crowded public spaces of the ship, he’d either been on his phone or watching others from the closest bar as they participated in various activities, a ubiquitous—and untouched—drink at hand.
The Beast hadn’t looked relaxed and happy. No, not at all. If anything, he’d given off the vibes of someone who didn’t want anyone to approach him. She recognized the tactics because she’d been using them herself.
What was he doing right now? Maybe she could draw him out … the idea gripped her with a force that caught her off guard.
Stop it, Dianne, she lectured herself.You’re just being willful. You want to pick your own prospects, not have your friends do it for you. A challenge is just a bonus. You’re not really interested in him.
The faux-surfer dude appeared carrying two plastic cups with a drink layered in red, white, and blue like a bomb pop, the frozen confection she’d enjoyed from the ice-cream truck during her childhood.
“What’s that?” she asked, interested despite herself.
He grinned as he handed it to her. “A Miami Vice. Well, the cruise version. It’s strawberry daiquiri on the bottom, piña colada in the middle, and blue curaçao on top.”
“Sounds yummy.” Dianne sipped the grownup popsicle, getting a mouthful of sugary strawberry and rum.
“Swirl your straw to mix the flavors,” the stranger advised, “like this.” He demonstrated, muddling the colors.
Dianne bristled inside. She preferred having the flavors mix and meld as she drank rather than forcefully compelling them together. And like that, she realized that she really couldn’t do this, couldn’t continue down the path towards a meaningless sexual encounter with someone she likely had nothing in common with and wouldn’t see after the cruise.
She held the drink in front of her like a shield, one hand on the cup and one hand on the straw, and studied the man across from her. The more she saw of him, the less attractive he seemed. It appeared she no longer needed even two dates before identifying a nonstarter.
“What’s your name?” she asked, certain that she’d get only his first name. Or a fake name.
“Taylor. Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand.
Dianne ignored the proffered hand. Instead, she set the nearly untouched cocktail on the table, pushed her chair back, and stood. “Thanks for the drink, Taylor, but I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want company right now.”
He dropped his hand, his face darkening. “Suit yourself.” He pulled her drink towards him, lowering his gaze in dismissal.
That was fine by Dianne. She pivoted and headed toward the elevators, feeling ‘Taylor’s’ hostile gaze on her back the entire distance.
Instead of returning to her cabin, Dianne spent the next two hours fruitlessly combing the ship for the intriguing stranger she’d come to refer to as The Beast. For someone who’d seemed to always be in the periphery of her vision for the past eight days, the inability to find him now that she wanted to unnerved—and annoyed—her.
“Someone’s out of sorts,” said Germaine in the cabin later as they got ready for dinner. “Taylor a clumsy lover?”
Dianne whirled and looked at her friend, who stood in her bra and panties while searching through their overflowing closet. She was speechless for a moment. Germaine had planted the ‘prospect.’
