Bossy(97)
I giggle. “Herbert? You?” Sometimes you learn something new about someone that totally alters your idea of who they are. I have no idea why his middle name should be something like that, but for some reason Herbert doesn’t match at all in my head with who Gavin is. My giggles turn to laughter. World view: rocked.
“Yeah, yeah, very funny. Give me my license back.” There’s a tone of childish annoyance in his voice that only gets me laughing harder. I bet he was one of those kids who never admitted his middle name in school. I’ve suddenly found a vulnerable spot, a chink in his armor, and that’s really satisfying. He reaches out and pulls the piece of plastic from between my fingers. “It’s a fucking middle name. Get over it.”
“Yeah, sure... Herbert.” I break down again, my gut hurting. I don’t even get why it’s so funny anymore, but now I’ve got a serious case of the giggles.
“You know what? Maybe I’ll just go alone.” With another quick grab, he nabs the tickets right out of my hand and picks up his suitcase. “More room for me in the bed anyway.”
I look up quickly. “Hey, wait. You’re not leaving me here now.” I’ve barely left town before, much less gone on a luxury cruise. There’s no way I’m letting this opportunity pass me by, even if I have to do it with my asshole stepbrother instead of my boyfriend. I’ll totally make it up to Paul when I get back, I swear. Grabbing my suitcase, I rush up the ramp to the ship. “Wait for me!” Gavin doesn’t even turn, but he’s not walking particularly quickly either. I catch up easily.
“Oh, you decided to come. Going to behave?” He talks over his shoulder, not even turning to look at me.
“I won’t make fun of your name anymore.” That’s about as much as I can promise. I’m not letting him walk all over me.
“Not what I asked, but whatever. I’ll take it.” A few words and a flash of his license later, and we’re onboard. The hum of the engines warming up dominates everything, making the deck vibrate beneath my feet.
I gawk. This is my first time on something bigger than a small sailboat. I can hardly tell I’m on a ship at all, and not just in a particularly rumbly hotel. A fancy rumbly hotel. Everything’s a mixture of polished wood, white and gold, sleek trim and minimal lines. A dash of deep red here and there.
We’re standing in a reception area where stewards in fancy white uniforms wait for something to do, their eyes scanning the passengers like a little flock of hyenas. Probably deciding who’s likely to give the biggest tips. A line of guests in much fancier dress than me stand ahead of us, getting checked in as quickly as the frazzled desk clerk can process them.
I glance at Gavin, who’s looking everywhere but me. Dressed casually too, he makes me feel less like the odd girl out. Worn jeans, though I’m sure they’re designer something or other. A plain black t-shirt, his biker jacket thrown over his shoulder and leather motorcycle boots on his feet. We get a few looks, but whatever. What are they going to do? Throw us off the ship?
He turns to me and catches me watching him. With a grin, he puts his arm around my waist and pulls me close, making me squeak. “Oh Marie,” he says, using Mom’s name. “I can’t wait until we get hitched.” He leans in to give me a kiss, but I dodge it. “Oh, come on, babe.”
I sigh dramatically. “Not until we’re married, Herbie.” At first he frowns at the nickname, but it quickly turns to a laugh. He’s enjoying this game way too much. And so am I. For now, we’re in on this together, and it's kind of fun.
He whispers to me loudly, but I don’t think anyone else can hear, “I’ll have to settle for dreaming of you on our wedding night. On all fours, with your gown up around your waist.” He leans closer. “Just waiting for me.”
“Well, keep dreaming, since that’s as close as you’ll ever get.”
He laughs again. “We’ll see about that.”
I’m about to throw another retort his way when a voice speaks up. “I tell you Mabel, liners these days wouldn’t know luxury if it bit them in the ass. Making us stand in line, of all things. Remember back when we were young? When the only pause before a steward showed us to our suite was to pick up a cocktail?” The voice is worn with age, but clear and loud. Also it’s right behind us. I peek over my shoulder.
The woman who spoke looks old enough to be my great-grandmother, but she stands tall and her eyes are sharp, scanning the reception critically. Stylish and slim, she carries herself like she’s half her age, though that’s still old enough to be my mom. Her mouth is a slim straight line as she examines the line in frustration.