The floor beneath my feet rocks, sways, and threatens to knock me on my ass. It’s not the waves from the ocean or seasickness either. More like mothertrucking Memphis Love sickness.

His raised voice along with Iris drifts into my room. I collapse on the bed, covering my face. If I can hear their muffled yet heated conversation, I can’t imagine what I sounded like with the door open while Memphis devoured me.

My breathing hitches while panic threatens to take over. I grab a pen and a notepad from the side table. Putting pen to paper is what I do best. Analyze, compare, and pull apart information, it’s my job. I do it daily back home, so why not here if only to quell the anxiety attack gearing up to ignite inside of me.

The ink flies over the paper with Memphis Love at the top of the graphic. The list of negatives is coming out easiest and to my surprise, the positives aren’t too shabby. My vision keeps going back to the bold, block letters that spell out THE BEST ORGASM OF MY LIFE.

I focus in on that bulleted item, reliving the way my body came to life under Memphis. It was different than it would be with anyone else. I’m not sure how I know this fact, but I do. The memory is permanently etched in my thought process.

The harsh reality of the situation sits like a boulder in my gut. Memphis is a gigolo. It’s one thing to be a card carrying member of the National Cougar Society screwing one Golden Girl after the other, but to be paid is a mother of a plot twist.

“Shit, shit, shit.” I toss the pen across the room. Data analysis my ass. It's not working in this situation. It doesn’t take in the heart, soul, and vagina. The fact is there’s no right or wrong answer. And that freaks me out.

My thoughts are divided into two with an angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other. Both with valid points and screaming at the top of their lungs. The one fact hitting me hard as I’m still hot and pulsing from Memphis knowing now he’s a paid whore. The way he pleaded with me to hear him out will haunt me forever.

If life has taught me one thing, it’s not to judge a book by its cover. Life has a funny way of forcing us into costumes and elaborate masks to hide who we are.

The alarm on my phone blasts in the cabin, causing me to leap up from the bed. My palms slam over my chest. It takes me a bit to calm my racing heart. Forty-five minutes until dinner. I’m shocked the twats aren’t here pounding on the door since I’m missing drinks with them. They either came by and had the show of a lifetime or got sidetracked by the promise of dick.

I debate on a shower before tossing on a simple dress. The fact I’m contemplating not washing off is a blaring answer in itself. I don’t want to erase the memory away. His woodsy scent lingering on my skin is making me want more of him.

My fist tightens, and I snap my eyeliner pencil in half with the startling realization I’m still thinking about Memphis and... Then it’s crickets. Memphis and what? If this is what living and exploring the possibility of love is like, then I’ll stick to my fictional characters I pound out on my keyboard.

Ava. What would she do? She’s the brave heroine I’ve created. The one I live through vicariously, wishing like hell I had an ounce of her courage. It doesn’t take me long to figure it out. Ava would grab Memphis by the dick and make damn certain Iris knew who was riding it. If only everything was as easy as fiction.

I grab my clutch, checking it twice for my room key then head to the dining hall. I’m relieved and disappointed at the same time when I find the hallway empty. I’m a fool. A damn fool that’s going to have to invest some serious cash into counseling sessions after this cruise.

The big O and tongue ring has shaken my tidy, perfect box I’ve blocked myself into to the damn core. I’m hooked and want more. A cruise fling is what the doctor ordered. No strings, no attachments, no feelings, and I won’t get hurt. Once the ship docks, I will walk away no harm no foul. That’s what I’m telling myself anyway even though I know it’s the biggest lie I’ve ever told myself.

Does it matter that he is fucking the Golden Girls? The man has made me greedy enough to answer hell no, adding to the long list of lies I’m convincing myself of.

Downward spiraling thoughts are making my brain foggy and I spot Josi and Brenna right away. The two are settled in a corner booth flanked with Roberto and two of his friends. I freeze, looking down at my plain flip-flops and boring sundress. Shit! I’m used to being underdressed, and any other day it wouldn’t bother me. But not today, assholes. Just not today.

It’s too late. They spot me and holler out my name, causing all heads to turn. Well, isn’t this fun, boys and girls.

“Ray-Ray, we were about to come find you,” Brenna hollers.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Sure she was about to find me while nestled on the lap of a gorgeous Latino man. Josi is in a similar position. If I were drunk, I’d guess my eyes were playing tricks on me because the two men are identical. But I’m sober as a piece of wood. They’ll be preoccupied tonight knowing that this has been on their bucket list. Twins.

My shoulders relax. I’ll be able to escape early tonight. I need my room and some silence. Roberto is up and on his feet closing in on me. It’s clear he has other plans. I’m shocked the man has any interest in me after taking in everyone else’s attire. His momma taught him how to treat a lady.

“Hola, amiga hermosa.” The raw sex oozes from this man. It’s enough to knock a woman on her ass. I appreciate it, but there’s not a tingle for miles.

“Hey,” I squeak out and cringe, still hearing the internal battle in my voice.

“Our friends met.” He shoots me a sly grin.

“I see that.” I peer around his shoulder. “I should apologize now.”

His deep chuckle makes me smile. It’s a genuine one and shocks me.

“No, no, no.” He runs his palm down the length of my arm. “They all seem to be on the same page.”

“That’s scary.”

Roberto continues making small talk easy and not awkward at all. I find myself relaxing and enjoying myself. He hands me a drink that I make quick work of. And he keeps them coming. His hand is on the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd. We take advantage of a couple of stools at the bar. It makes it easier to talk, and I’m fairly sure Roberto needs some time away from the frolicking foursome.

Memphis didn’t cross my mind once the entire time at the bar. It’s different with Roberto. None of the intense feelings and attraction are muddying shit up. It is more of a friendly co-worker banter. Easy, carefree, and not gut twisting at all. If I’m honest, it is refreshing and relaxing with no thoughts of Memphis or my meddling, horny friends.

I stop talking. Roberto follows suit, peering down at me. Concern is covering his face with his welcoming smile. God, he’s gorgeous. I have picked apart his looks the last hour but have come up empty. Why can’t my vagina be on overdrive for this man?

“Are you okay, amiga hermosa?”

I nod. His thick Spanish accent is driving me insane. I know he’s calling me beautiful from the little bit of Spanish I do remember from high school.

“I just wanted to…” I stop mid-sentence.

My jaw goes slack with my heart hammering. It hurts. No matter how many times I blink, the same scene lies before me. It’s a guaranteed train wreck for the history books.

Memphis Love. Even in a room full of enticing, captivating men he sticks out. Shines. His looks and the way he moves are levels above the rest. All of it rushes right back in without warning. He doesn’t require a fancy dress suit like the others. He rocks a white button down, sleeves rolled up, black dress pants hugging his ass to perfection, and his hair a styled-mess. His shirt untucked is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. The memory of his scent is threatening to knock me on my ass.

“Raylan, are you okay?” Roberto’s voice cuts into the self-induced Memphis coma. The interruption is a small miracle in itself because the sight of Iris and the rest of her tuna gang flank him on both sides. The view makes me nauseous knowing Margaret doesn’t dine on sausages.

“Sorry.” I shake my head then peer up to him. I decide to add a little white lie to my original planned statement. “Sorry, the booze must be getting to me on an empty stomach. I was going to say thank you for the drinks and conversation. It was nice.”

He winces. It doesn’t take Dr. Phil to tell me why. Nice. The word nice is equivalent to cutting a man’s nuts off and hanging them on his rearview mirror. He recovers like a champ and pulls me closer to his side.

It's not in a romantic or sleaze ball gesture, but a noble one since a rambunctious group of partygoers busts past us. They’re not shy at all. The volumes of their voices are louder than I’ve ever heard my girls. Memphis’s head darts up, and he catches me staring at him. I flinch and tuck my chin to my chest. The heat from Memphis’s stare ignites me from head to toe.

I don’t have to raise my head to know he’s boring holes through me with his rich whiskey colored eyes. Nope, it’s been like that since we first made eye contact back in San Juan.

“Raylan.”

I peer up to Roberto. His gaze is serious. His free hand is fidgeting. It’s obvious he wants to touch me, but he’s nothing but a gentleman.

“Yes.” I plant my palm on his chest, regretting the action right away. He’s an innocent victim in all of this and has been nothing but respectful. It’s too late to pull back. I’d wind up being a bigger ass than I am right now.

“If I’m honest, I was hoping for this. I want to dance more and laugh with you, Raylan. You’ve been on my mind since last night.” I swear Roberto’s face nears mine or it could’ve been the way he rolls those R’s in his tantalizing-ass accent making me super aware of him.

I bite my tongue, holding back the urge to call him out on the last part being bullshit. If it’s true that I was on his mind all night last night why didn’t he come back and find me? I could blame the whole Memphis drama on him after all. If Roberto would’ve entertained me last night and well into the morning hours, he would’ve wiped the memory of Memphis away. Lie. And eww, just eew he’s getting all sappy ass on me. No. No. No.

Dear God of Vaginas Who Want The Wrong Man, please, please, please don’t let Roberto be a douchexcuse.

Amen.

“Okay. But how about not ditching me tonight?” I manage a nod and force a weak ass smile in his direction.

He goes to reply with sincerity in his eyes. It’s going to be a real good one I can tell. But it never comes out. A ruckus ensues right in front of us. A person is down on the floor, gasping, and worries are filling the room. All I see is him.

There are no two ways about it. I’m wrapped up in Memphis. Neither my brain, tits, heart, or vagina give two shits about the cluster fuck his penis is in with Iris. Nope, those greedy bitches want one man and one man only even though he’s currently down on a knee leaning over Iris.

Her tits are on point and not one shred of evidence that leads to sag. Mine don’t behave like that when I’m on my back. Jesus, now I’m experiencing symptoms of tit envy. It would be one thing if it were Dolly Parton on the floor in front of me, but it’s the Cougar Cunt herself.

I cringe, but only for a tick. I despise the See You Next Tuesday word. Josi and Brenna know better than to use it in front of me. It doesn’t stem from childhood trauma or women’s rights, it’s a nasty, nasty word. Until now. It’s like your elementary teachers told you in school when you had a hard time learning a new vocabulary word. “You’ll understand it after you’ve experienced it.” Well, hello, and welcome to the carnival of cunts. I get it.

“Somebody call for a doctor!” a worried woman hollers.

On cue, the old Cougar Cunt herself sits up, her boobs gracefully following suit. Bitch. She leans into Memphis. Her side boob is dry humping his thigh.

“I’m...I’m okay.” She acknowledges the concerned woman for the briefest of seconds then super glues herself to Memphis. It’s a game of Twister with grandma on Christmas morning that went all sorts of wrong in a disturbing fashion.

“Baby,” Iris coos and peers up to Memphis through her thick, nasty, fake eyelashes, and then caresses his cheek. He doesn’t flinch. “I told you I shouldn’t have worn my Manolo Blahnik heels tonight.”

Iris rises to her feet with the help of Memphis not letting go of his hand once her fake ass sea legs are under her. It’s not a palm-to-palm, but finger-lacing, love you long time, let’s get it on, romantic hold. That nauseous feeling in my gut has officially struck my heart with force. It’s dumb, all so very juvenile and stupid.

So he fingered me, made my toes curl, and heart hammer? Big deal, it could happen with any alluring, ravishing man who is practically a stranger. The bully on the playground stole him from me and is now showing off her shiny toy. That’s no excuse for me to cross my arms and pout. Move on, face reality, and lick your wounds and all that other jazz.

Her piercing voice is powered by Energizer batteries. It never stops. “I’ve told him over and over again these shoes are for the bedroom. My baby has trained my legs to quake when I wear them if you know what I mean.”

The poor woman cranes her neck; I’m sure looking for Ashton Kutcher and his crew on Punk’d. The amount of counseling she’ll need to recover from nightmares of a grandma banging her grandson. Facts are facts, and that’s what they come across as with all of the plastic holding Iris together.

The grand finale of the entire shit show plays out in slow motion. I see it coming like a semi truck barreling down the highway in my lane. It’s a head-on collision. Iris spins around and faces me. Her shitty acting skills on fleek.

She tilts her head, eyes widen a bit in shock, and an evil smile matching her soul lights up her face. “Sweetie, it’s your little friend, Rosemary.”

My body jerks back. Roberto keeps his hand on my waist, pulling me closer to him. He’d been nudging me the duration of it, but I was cemented to the spot and now regret it.

“No Rosemary here. I do believe you’re referring to the gorgeous woman in my arms, Raylan.” Double sexy, hot as hell, Latino roll of the ‘r’ for the win. Take that.

“Iris,” Memphis warns, tugging on her hand.

I can’t help it. My vision locks in on their connection. Memphis clears his throat. I look back up to see him pissed. The ass has no right to be. The putrid combination of sandalwood, oranges, and lilacs brings me back to Iris who has her lips pursed and tits out as if she’s the victor.

“It was lovely to run into you again, Rosemary.” Iris offers up a finger wave then begins to turn. I’m not that lucky. She juts her chin out over her shoulder with Memphis and me both in her line of sight. “Sweetie, when we get home how about we go out to Old Navy and fetch me some plastic shoes like Rosemary’s then we can save these for the bedroom.”

One step forward then a full marathon sprint backward. The Golden Girls get back into formation with their play toy ready to strut on. The scent Memphis packs around wraps around my body in a gentle hug, erasing the smell of the flaming She-devil. Iris’s cruel intentions did nothing to me. Life has already done one hell of a bang up job showing me the ways of her kind.

I did and do believe Memphis when he told me it was complicated and begged me to hear him out. No way in hell a man with his looks and personality would tie themselves to her. The brutal honesty or moral of the story, if you will, is one person’s excuse may be an opportunity to the next one in line and that’s what scares me the most.

The fact Memphis hasn’t once looked back at me or offered one of his kind smiles that scream he’s sorry, stings far worse than anything Iris could ever think of doing. That alone tells me how well and truly hard I’ve fallen for Dr. Love in a matter of days.

I am not going to cry. I am not going to cry. I bite down on the inside of my cheek willing the angry tears away. I’m a pissed-off crier, which in turn pisses me off more, releasing a storm of tears. I refuse to let the water show start tonight.

Roberto tugs me closer until there’s nothing left between us. As if I need to feel like a bigger asshat, his kind gesture does just that to me. Roberto has no idea. He’s millimeters from starring as the clueless bloke on a Jerry Springer episode.

“Iris,” I blurt out before analyzing the pros and cons of my actions.

I live in a safe, quiet box at home where I’m practical in decision making. I’m part of the nice people tribe. And I’m sick of them being trampled on.

I step forward like a warrior with knocking knees and all. Roberto no longer has his hands on me. She turns to me and jerks her chin, matching my stance. Of course, she’d take the bait because she’s the type to always have the last word and come out the victor. I could've played her game and called her CiCi being the insider on my joke. I’m better.

Iris glares at me with looks that could kill, letting me know it’s my turn to take the stage.

“Wal-Mart. They’re from Wal-Mart. You can't beat their roll back prices.” I shrug, refusing to make eye contact with Memphis even though I feel his stare igniting me up from the inside out. “I hear osteoporosis is a real bitch at your age or at least that’s what my grandma experienced. Now that I’m thinking about it, I have an extra pair of flip-flops in my cabin. Stop by anytime it’s…”

I trail off, allowing the Oscar-worthy pause to take full effect. “Oh, wait, you know what cabin I’m in.”

I don’t wait for her tongue lashing or on the man who kicked off the turn of events. I’m rocking it cock out with my chin held high. Brenna would be damn proud of me. She’s been trying, like for years, to get me at this point in my life. I guess all it took was one hot as sin Ginger to push me overboard.

“She must work out,” Roberto says as we step on the dance floor.

“Excuse me?” I ask in confusion, craning my neck around to determine who he’s referring to.

“Your friend, Iris.” Roberto pulls me into his chest, his hips in motion to Enrique’s seductive song. What the hell is it with Enrique and this damn ship? And more importantly, did they hand out pills to all the men upon boarding to get chubs over grandmas? He must pick up on my puzzled expression and covers his ass. “For her age, she’s in good shape. That’s all.”

Oh, the hole this man is digging and doesn’t even know.

“So, go join their party.” I throw my hands up in the air so done with today.

“Whoa, whoa, amiga hermosa. I'm admiring the efforts of an older woman.”

“You think she’s old?” I ask and Roberto takes advantage of my relaxed stance, pulling back into his chest, moving us into a dance.

His fingers dig into the flesh of my hips through my sundress. “You don’t get a frozen face like hers without being a senior citizen and lots and lots of Botox.”

I’m not sure if it’s the change in song to Maroon 5’s “Moves Like Jagger”, my inner mean girl coming out to play, or the fact I know Memphis is watching me every chance without getting busted, but whatever it is, it turns me into a grinding, dancing machine. Roberto approved.