Page 8 of Snatching Jackie
“Fine then,” I concede. “And make sure you taste some of my meals. I’m sure you’ll love them.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” she says with narrowed eyes.
I board the ship without looking back, though I hear Kade yell from the distance, “Don’t sink my fucking ship!”
I chuckle but keep walking. I’ll try not to sink it, but I’m not making any promises.
4
JACKIE
Wintermoon Cruise
Ipull my four luggage bags down to the boarding area at the Detroit Riverfront, wondering if I’ve overpacked. No, that’s impossible—there’s a bag for everything. One for my underwear, one for my shoes, one for my clothing, and one for my toiletries and makeup. There’s no such thing as overpacking when you’re going to be on a cruise for five days. A girl needs options.
Sweat beads along my hairline as I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand. This Michigan summer heat is no joke—I’m practically melting. One thing about Michigan: sure, it gets all four seasons, but when summer hits, it hits hard, even if it’s just for a short time.
The breeze off the Detroit River offers a momentary reprieve. Through it drifts the distant moan of boat horns.
I finally join the line with the rest of the passengers, making sure my luggage is standing upright on its rolling wheels before smoothing down my cute summer dress. I’ve paired it with comfortable flip flops, and my hair is pulled up into a highponytail because in this summer heat, I’d be sweating buckets with it down.
The line stretches what seems like a half mile long, but thankfully, it’s moving quickly. I’m not surprised the ship is fully booked—these Wintermoon Cruises have become the hottest vacation trend for those who can’t afford the Tourist Island.
The annoyance of the radicals protesting several yards from us is something I’m trying hard to ignore. They’re holding up signs with supernatural slurs—“FANGS GO HOME,” “SHIFTERS = ANIMALS NOT HUMANS,” “PROTECT HUMAN RIGHTS FROM MONSTER MENACE”—and chanting through megaphones for us not to board the ship. One particularly vocal woman is screaming about how we’re “traitors to our own kind” for giving money to “those creatures.” The police are keeping them at a distance, but their hate-filled voices carry easily across the boarding line.
Directly in front of me stands a couple engaged in full PDA—kissing, laughing, hands roaming freely. The man keeps grabbing the woman’s ass, and she giggles each time, playfully swatting at his chest. I frown in annoyance, not because they’re being inappropriate, but because I’m envious. They look happy.
And that’s when it hits me: when was the last time I knew love? Love? Never. I’ve been in two relationships in my lifetime, and both were absolute failures. Neither man truly appreciated me or understood my worth.
The couple looks like they stepped straight out of an Instagram ad for a cruise sponsorship. She’s stunning, with flawless cocoa skin and box braids adorned with gold cuffs that fall neatly down her back. Her matching two-piece set highlights her slim figure, and her makeup and manicure are both impeccable. He’s tall and athletic, sporting a fresh fade, designer sunglasses, and an outfit that coordinates perfectly with hers.
I stare as the line inches forward, the couple moving in sync without ever breaking eye contact. Damn. I haven’t even thought about love in the past two years, so why now? Is it this couple? Or the fact that I’m in my mid-thirties without the so-called American dream—the husband, the home, and now my business might be failing if I can’t find another location. The thought of reprinting business cards, updating my address everywhere... the whole thing grates on me.
I groan, and it’s that sound that catches the lovely couple’s attention. The woman turns, eyeing me up and down with narrowed eyes.
“Is there a problem?” she asks, her tone slightly defensive.
I give her my brightest smile. “Oh no, just thinking about my life is all.”
I can tell immediately that she’s a bit insecure, the way her eyes narrow signaling she’s ready to attack and probably make a mockery of me in this line. The last thing I want is beef with some influencers on a cruise ship. These days, people do the wildest shit for content and engagement.
Instead of escalating, I assess her outfit admiringly. “Those Louboutin sandals are everything. And is that a Cartier watch? Girl, your French square nails are giving me life—the whole look is so put together.”
Her frown suddenly transforms into a blush. “Thank you,” she says, her defensive posture softening. She slaps her man playfully on the chest. “I couldn’t even get him to notice or appreciate the work I put in.”
“Men don’t see things the way we do,” I reply with understanding. “But they show it in their actions. He may not have verbally showed his appreciation, but he’s definitely showing it.” I give a knowing smirk. “He can’t keep his hands off you.”
She blushes again as her man pulls her back into his arms, grabbing her ass unabashedly. She giggles, then looks back at me as the line moves forward.
“I like you,” she says, pulling away from him. “You’ve got a way with words.”
“I’m just a girl trying to enjoy my vacation after the week I’ve had,” I admit. “But sometimes the thoughts keep creeping in.”
“I know the feeling,” she says sympathetically, extending her hand. “I’m India.”
I let go of my luggage handle to greet her. “Jackie.”
“This is my boyfriend Kendrick,” she adds, smiling at the handsome man beside her.
