Page 34 of The Vacation Mix-Up
I blink.What the fuck?
My dick stirs in my pants, letting me know his thoughts on the matter. And while I assume she’s referring to the alcoholic drink and not oral sex, her spidey fingers and lashes suggest otherwise.
Not wanting to let my dick down, I draw in a ragged breath, but I’m just not ready… for that… with her, so I reach down, collect her hand, place it on her thigh, and exhale. “Some other time.”
Her jaw drops, her mouth nice and wide, and for a split second, I rethink my answer.
No, Wilson. You don’t want this.
“I’m off,” I say, pushing up to stand. “Have a great night, guys.”
Ben chuckles, pleased with himself. “Pussy.”
Snaking my way through the dance floor until I’m clear of the club, I head back out on deck, finally able to breathe again.
Do I want to get naked with a woman after so long? Sure. I miss soft curves, plump lips, and tight grips. I miss the feel of fingertips skating my skin and sweet moans in my ear. I miss the intimacy and not being alone. But Brittany reminds me of what I despise about Krystal, and I’m not doing that again. Replacing toxic with toxic is lethal. It gets you nowhere other than back where you started—full of regret and hating yourself for it. Dead, inside and out.
I’m done with fatal attraction. I want to feel again. Love again. I want to find a connection that runs so deep it doesn’t end. And I can’t do that if I’m merely chasing pussy for the sake of chasing it.
If this is what sowing my wild oats is all about, I’m not doing it.
chapter seven
RILES
Heart thumping, I shoot upright in bed and wake to what sounds like a commuter train rumbling by my ear. Confused, because I went to sleep on a ship out to sea and not on the subway, I rub my eyes and fumble for my cell, blinking until I can focus on the godawful time of three thirty-seven.
Are you kidding me?
I tap on the Flashlight button and illuminate the room, aiming the ray of light toward the sound. Riley’s log of a body is fast asleep and vibrating with every breath he inhales.
“You lying asshat!” I grumble, flopping back onto the mattress. He snorts like a hog doing a line of cocaine, so I spring back up, astonished. “Jesus!”
The stench of alcohol wrinkles my nose, and I want to scream bloody murder.
Great! Just… great! I’m bunked with a single party guy who suffers from sleep apnea.
Turning onto my side, I use the corner of the pillow to cover my free ear, muffling his locomotive swine grunts.
Jerk!
Never in my life have I felt so helpless and frustrated, so lost and alone. Tears sting my eyes, threatening to erupt and stream downmy cheeks, so I puff out a long breath and count to five, forcing my despair down and tucking it away, because I don’t want to cry anymore.
After I left Riley at the theatre, I cradled Mom to my chest on the balcony and sobbed for over an hour, and then I struggled to get to sleep, my eyeballs on fire, my head swimming with nerves over my pending first night in the cabin with a stranger. I hadn’t known what to expect, which was somewhat terrifying. Actually, that’s a lie. It was so terrifying that I swiped a butter knife from the buffet restaurant on my way back to the room and placed it under my pillow… just in case.
My fingers graze the stainless steel. I’m tempted to bonk him on the head with the handle just to knock him out and shut him up, but I open my bedside drawer instead and place it inside. Clearly, I don’t appear to need it for self-defense, because he’d rather torture me with sound than physically attack me in my sleep. An encouraging thought, I guess.
Lying there, utterly depleted, exhausted, and running on fumes, I stare at the shadowed ceiling. And speaking of fumes, yuck! Did he down a full keg of beer?
Swiping the air in front of my nose, I kick my feet and fling my comforter off, and then I march to the balcony door and wrench it open for some much-needed fresh air and white noise before climbing back into bed again, the soothing sound of the ocean and gentle movements of the ship once again sending me to sleep.
Sunlight spearsthrough the open door, coaxing my heavy eyelids to open. I rub them with my knuckles and roll onto my back, Riley’s snoring now a soft rumble.
Propping myself on my elbows, I glare at him before climbing out of bed, pillow in hand. How dare he sleep peacefully when all he’s done for the past several hours is disrupt thepeace? How dare he just lie there without a care in the world? Well-rested. Blissful. Comfortable.
Inching along the side of his bed, I raise my pillow behind my head but pause as my eyes settle on his bare leg poking out from underneath his sheets. A nicely sculpted leg. Muscular. Tan. A virile sprinkling of hair.
I stare at it, captivated, as if I’ve never seen a man’s leg before.
