Best Friends & Other Liars Page 15

  “Don’t jump!” a voice suddenly calls out, interrupting my thoughts of peace and tranquility. With my heart hammering from the sudden interruption, I whirl around to face a grinning older man with light blue eyes and white hair.

  “Sorry,” he stammers when he sees I am not grinning in response. “I thought I was making a joke, but I can see you were really deep in thought. My apologies. I’ll leave you be.” He holds his hands up and backs away slowly, sheepish look on his face.

  “It’s okay,” I reply. “I was just leaving.”

  “Not planning on leaving via the back of the boat were you?” He grins again and I shoot him a reproachful look. “Um, never mind.”

  “No. I’m not suicidal if that’s what you mean,” I scoff. Although, I had been lulled by the ocean just moments before, almost hypnotized. I don’t think I would have jumped over the side...would I?

  “That’s good,” he says, “although I did want to cross off Save damsel in distress from my bucket list before I die. And as you can see, I may not have too long before that happens.” He waves his hands over his sides like he’s a magician and wiggles his slightly fuzzy eyebrows at me.

  I can’t help but laugh. “You can’t be that old. I would say you’ve got a least another ten or fifteen good years in you.”

  He stares at his fingers and pretends to count. He looks up at me with a mock expression of horror. “I was hoping to make it to sixty, but—”

  I do the math myself. That would only make this guy forty-five. Oh crap. I have completely insulted him and called him an old man. Yikes, that’s bad. Well, I’m going to turn the tables on him and pretend I was joking as well.

  “I thought you were at least sixty already,” I say with a laugh and a wink. No need to mention that I really did think that.

  “Premature,” he says.

  “I’m sorry?” Is he calling me immature?

  “I’m prematurely gray. Or in my case, prematurely white,” he explains.

  “Oh. I’m sorry,” I stutter, not really knowing what I’m apologizing for.

  “Oh, don’t be,” he says. “It’s really not that bad. Both my brothers are bald. I’d much rather have hair. At least I could dye my hair if I want to. They can only shine the tops of their bald domes.”

  “I heard ladies dig bald guys though,” I reply with a sly grin.

  “Well, hopefully you’re not one of them,” he says, and I find myself blushing.

  We stare at each other for a second or two before he hastily sticks out his hand. “George. George Washington.” My jaw drops open. “Yup...as if the white hair wasn’t bad enough. I’m named after a guy who actually wore powdered wigs.”

  I cringe. “Yikes. That’s got to be rough.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m used to the weird stares I get from telling people my name. And by now, I’m used to the stares from my hair. I’ve been like this since high school.”

  “Wow. That really...stinks.”

  “Eh. I’ve adapted. I did try to dye it one time right after college.”

  “That didn’t work out too well?”

  “Oh, it did. I dyed it black. I looked ridiculous. Like Elvis.”

  I laugh as I picture him with jet black hair. He kind of would look like Elvis. “That doesn’t sound too bad. The ladies love Elvis. Why didn’t you leave it like that?”

  “My wife hated the black hair, so I went back to white. It’s been like that for the past twenty years.”

  Ah, yes...the wife. Or rather, the ex-wife. Of course it was going to eventually get around to her. Because he is on a divorce cruise. Everyone on this cruise is divorced. Except me and Vi, of course.

  I suddenly realize that this guy might ask about my ex and I, like a dummy, have not come up with a backstory yet.

  Okay, I’ve got this. I’m great at lying. Well, according to Vi I am. I’ll pretend I was married to Christian, my most recent ex-boyfriend.

  I begin to put together the story of my life with Christian. And then I change my mind.

  What difference does it make? You don’t need to make up a story at all. You’re not interested in this guy! You’ve got a date with Nick, hot doctor.

  My brain practically turns to mush as I recall Nick at the gym earlier, his biceps nearly busting out of his shirt. Nick, the guy who is totally my type—the kind of guy who can reduce me to a puddle with just a smile.

  This guy in front of me barely looks like he can lift the organic apples he buys at Whole Foods. He’s definitely not my type at all. He probably fertilizes the lawn on weekends and goes on camping trips with his kids. He could have kids! I don’t want to date anyone with kids! What would I do with kids?

  Wait a minute. I’m not dating anyone. No one is asking me to date them. The guy is just talking to me. Probably still thinks I’m suicidal and he’s making sure I don’t jump over the side of the ship the moment he turns his back. He’s just a concerned citizen. He’s not interested in me like that. Yes, that’s it—look, we’re even creeping toward the doors to go inside. Any moment now he’s going to propose we go inside because it’s so cold out here.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes!” I say, a little harsher than necessary. “I’m fine.”

  “Oh, okay. Sorry. You look a little shaken up. Maybe you’re just cold. Do you want to go inside?”

  He steps over to the door, which automatically opens. I stare at him and wrap my arms around my body, feeling violated, like he’s stolen my innermost thoughts and feeling...as if he’s reading my mind.

  “No!” I yelp, even more sharply than I intended.

  “Ooookay,” he stammers, taken aback by my defensive attitude. “We can stay out here. Do you want to sit? It looks sunnier over there.” He waves toward deck chairs off toward the side of the boat.

  I shake my head. “No. I mean, I do have to go inside now. I have to get ready for my date. I have a date.”

  Of course I don’t need to get ready for another seven hours, but putting emphasis on the word date will let this guy know I’m not available, or interested in him. Even though he is really nice and was looking to save me from sacrificing myself to the sea.

  “That’s great,” he says, running his fingers through his hair. “I had a date once. I ended up marrying the girl. She was the only date I’ve ever had.” He grins at me.

  I’m not sure if he’s joking or not. He couldn’t possibly be serious.

  A forty-something year old guy that’s only been out with one woman? Didn’t they make a movie about that? But that guy was a forty-year-old virgin. This guy can’t be a virgin. He was married, for God’s sake. But maybe he needs help getting a date. I could introduce him to Kendall. Or Francine! He really seems like Francine’s type. Actually, he’d be perfect for Vi, but she would kill me if I tried to set her up—you know, with that whole being married nonsense.

  “Well, it was nice meeting you,” I say to him. “I hope to run into you again.”

  The words come out before I can think about them and their impact. He grins. Oh great. Now he’s going to think I’m interested. “Um, I have friends I’d like you to meet,” I stammer.

  His face falls slightly, but he recovers quickly. “Sounds great. I can always use more friends! Bye!” He says it with a chipper attitude, as he waves to me as I walk through the doorway, but I hope I haven’t hurt his feelings. He really seems like a very nice guy. I have radar for these things. I can tell the good guys from the bad. I just usually don’t want to have anything to do with the good guys. They’re not nearly as fun as the bad guys.

  That’s your problem, Leah. You never give the good guys a chance. You’re always looking for your next bad boy. The one that’s never going to marry you. Because isn’t that what you want? Isn’t that what’s safe? Finding a guy you don’t really love because you’re afraid of what will happen if you actually find one you love?

  “Argh!” I groan out loud as I enter the main staircase vestibule. It’s like Vi has taken ove
r my brain. That kind of crap is the psychobabble she would come up with. She loves to dissect my psyche and try to poke holes into my dating strategies.

  “Hey!” a voice calls out from above me.

  I swivel my head upward and see Kendall leaning over the railing, waving at me from one of the higher floors. “Hey!” I call back, waving as well.

  “Stay right there!” she tells me. “I’m coming down!” Her head disappears before I can say another word.

  I’m not sure I actually want company right now. I was considering just finding a quiet place to wallow, which is so unlike me. Wallowing is Vi’s thing. I usually seek out human interaction when I am bummed out. This is a really strange feeling for me. For a second, I wonder if this is what depression feels like.

  Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not depressed. Just because Vi basically called you a slut, does not mean you’re going to sink into the depths of despair.

  I shake off the idea and force myself to smile as I see Kendall approaching.

  “How are you?” she asks, while enveloping me in a hug.

  “I’m great,” I lie, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. Kendall gives me a funny look.

  “Are you sure? Your eyes are kind of...puffy,” she says as she backs up and examines me. “Like you’ve been crying,” she quickly adds.

  “I was just outside,” I explain. Not that that makes any sense. “The, uh, wind and salt water irritates my eyes.”

  Kendall nods as I continue, “And I am definitely fine because I’ve got a date tonight. And not with a geriatric old geezer, either.”

  Shock explodes on Kendall’s face. “You’ve already found the one decent guy on this ship? Girl, you are amazing!”

  I obviously don’t know Kendall very well, but I detect a hint of jealousy in her voice. I cringe. With Vi pissed at me, I don’t want to alienate the only other friend I have on this ship...other than Nick, of course. I have to stop myself from giggling out loud. Just the mere thought of him makes me feel giddy. And then, I remember George.

  “Wait, he’s not the only great guy on this ship. I meet another great guy just now—”

  “Taking them all?” Kendall asks, arch in her eyebrows. Now I can definitely hear the animosity in her voice, loud and clear.

  “No, silly,” I reply with a laugh. “I think you two would hit it off great!”

  Kendall’s face relaxes. “Really? You think so?”

  I honestly have no idea, but George seemed lonely, and I don’t want Kendall to think I’m taking the only decent guy on the ship. “Absolutely!” I lie. “Come on, let me introduce you to him.”

  I practically drag her back through the lobby and out the doors to the deck where I ran into George.

  “It’s so cold out here,” Kendall announces, teeth chattering. “Where’s this guy?”

  We turn the corner and I see that George is no longer where I met him.

  “Damn,” I mutter. “I’m sorry. He’s gone.”

  Kendall hides her annoyance well. “That’s okay. Let’s get back inside and get lunch or a drink or something. I can’t wait to hear about this date of yours! And you have to tell me all about it tomorrow!”

  “Of course,” I say as we head inside through the closest door. I wish Vi had been as enthused as Kendall is acting. Which reminds me, I still need to figure out how to patch things up with Vi.

  VIOLET

  I open my eyes to the beat of drumming in the background. My vision is blurry and my eyelids seem sticky—that’s when I realize that I fell asleep with my contacts in.

  Damn it! I must have been really drunk to fall asleep with my contacts in.

  I pat the nightstand next to the bed and pray I left my drops there, otherwise, I won’t be able to see at all.

  Nope. No drops.

  I blink feverishly, attempting to wet the little plastic lens—they slide around in my eyes, blurring everything even more. The drops are in the bathroom.

  I can’t see much, but I can tell the bathroom door is closed. Leah must be in the shower. She’ll probably be in there for a while, prepping for her day. When she comes out, I can ask her to get the drops out of my travel case.

  I lay my head back on the pillow and close my eyes. That’ll solve my first problem of blurry vision.

  Now what to do about the bagpipes playing in my head? It’s not so bad when my eyes are closed—maybe I can leave my eyes closed for a while. Leah will be in the bathroom for ages anyway.

  Leah! Oh no! My third problem. I recall with dread that Leah and I had a fight yesterday. I called her some not very nice things...like slut. I’m sure she’s still mad at me.

  The bathroom door flies open and so do my eyes. That was quick. I have to apologize immediately.

  I squint to see Leah. She looks...bulky. And hairy. And manly.

  I sit up quickly—so quickly that the room begins to spin. I think I must imagining things. There is a man emerging from the bathroom. In a robe. My robe.

  “Hey!” he says brightly, waving his hand at me. “You’re awake.” He takes a step forward and I grab the sheets and gather them around my body.

  “Stay back!” I warn. I blink feverishly so I can see him better.

  Oh my God! It’s the bartender! Oh my God! What is he doing here? In my room? In my robe?

  Peeking under the sheets, I see that I am not naked, but I’m in my underwear and a T-shirt. My face flames. I never sleep in my underwear and a T-shirt! Not even at home! I gawk at the half-naked bartender in front of me and my heart begins to flip flop in my chest.

  Oh my God! I had sex with the bartender? How did this happen?

  I search the room with panic, waiting for Leah to appear. How could she let this happen? I know she thought it was a joke, me on this cruise, but holy cow, she realized I wasn’t looking to hook up with anyone, right? She knows I’m a married woman, despite what’s going on with me and Richard...right? She would never encourage me to have sex with a guy I barely know, on a boat...right???

  “Um, I’m just gonna grab my stuff, okay?” he says, timidly taking a step forward and reaching for a pair of shorts folded on the dresser. Underneath the shorts is an equally neatly folded shirt.

  This guy folded his clothes after he had sex with me? Or before? Oh my God I cannot even believe I’m thinking these thoughts!!! Where is Leah?

  “Where is Leah?” I ask him, voice scratchy and garbled.

  “She went to the cafeteria to grab some breakfast,” he says, still standing in front of me with his clothes clutched to his chest.

  “So she was here all night?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  So if she was in the room when I came back with this guy, why the hell didn’t she stop me from doing something stupid?

  “And she was here when...um…” My face gets even hotter and I stare down at the sheets. I can’t finish this sentence. I’m more mortified than I would be if lost my virginity in the back of a limo that I found out my parents were driving.

  “Oh, yeah. Of course. I couldn’t have handled you all by myself.”

  My head jerks up. He’s giving me an uncomfortable grin.

  Oh dear God! Is he implying what I think he’s implying?

  “I’m going to just go back into the bathroom to change. Um, I’ll knock before I come out...if you want to change your clothes.” He blushes and slips back into the bathroom. This horrifies me for some reason.

  Imagine that...he has sex with me but he still doesn’t want to see me naked. Fabulous.

  Groaning, I haul myself off the bed as quickly as I can manage. My limbs are trembling as I reach for my clothes. They are flung on the floor. I guess Mr. Romantic only cared to fold his clothes...not mine. What a winner.

  I stare at the dress in my hand, not comprehending why I was in a dress. I blink a few times, my vision becoming clearer.

  I went down to the bar in the morning, right? And I had on a sweatshirt and sweatpants, right?

  I spot the sweatshirt on the dress
er and grab for it. I pull it over my head, hands shaking uncontrollably. I don’t know if it’s from my nerves being shot or it’s because I’m dehydrated or something. As I’m stepping into my sweatpants, I spot a half empty bottle of water sitting on the floor and reach for it. I briefly wonder if it’s even mine as I twist the cap off. Then I scoff at that thought.

  Who cares whose water it is, Vi? You just had some strange man’s dingle-ling inside you before.

  That thought makes my already queasy stomach lurch and I fall forward, vomiting into the trashcan next to the dresser. The splattering sound of my stomach emptying into the garbage apparently alarms my guest. He comes dashing out of the bathroom—I look up briefly to see he’s in just his boxers. And oh my gosh is he hot. And he’s watching me puke into a teeny tiny garbage can.

  “Are you okay?”

  I wave him away without a word, keeping my head as close to the pail as possible.

  “Do you need—”

  “Go away!” I snap, still not lifting my head.

  Doesn’t this guy take a hint?

  “Okay, okay...I’m going.”

  As I hear the bathroom door click shut again, the tears begin to trickle down my face. I can’t believe I’ve screwed up so badly. Shakily, I lumber to my feet, using the dresser for support. I glance around the tiny room, my gaze landing on the bathroom door. I swallow hard, thinking about the man I don’t really know beyond the door. I don’t even know his first name! It’s D for heaven’s sake!

  Suddenly I’m feeling incredibly claustrophobic. I inhale sharply and grab my phone and my room key from the nightstand. I need to get out of here...I need to get away from this guy that I had such incredibly stupid sex with—and away from Leah, who obviously allowed it to happen. There’s no way I can face her now.