“Ray-Ray, you need to eat,” Josi begs.

“No, I need my damn space. Please.”

“No.” Brenna stomps her foot down. “I won’t make you eat, but you’re not going back to your room and sulking. Let’s go to the spa.”

“Our appointment is this afternoon, and they had to be booked in advance to secure the spot.”

Brenna rolls her eyes, expressing her disgust with my type A personality tendencies.

“Have you seen our tits?” Josi cups her girls. “We will get in. Don’t worry about that.”

“Fine.” I hold up my hand, knowing these two won’t stop until I give in. Spa time is more favorable than gagging down food after that little bombshell. “Let me go back to the room for a few. I’ll meet you right back here in twenty.”

They relent, letting me rush back to my room. I’ve always been a private person, learning at a young age I was on my own. And it’s the way I cope as an adult. Josi and Brenna gave it their best to share a suite, but I remained firm in my conviction. Thank God. I need a few seconds to gather my composure before enduring spa time with those dicks.

Iris is evil. One up-close experience, and it was written all over her face. The look on Memphis’s face was the final nail in the coffin.

So many different emotions from being sorry, guilty, and downright remorseful played out across his rugged features. My heart sunk to the tip of my toes. All of the fun and carefree vibes from the cruise shriveled up. Dumb, dumb, dumb. It’s always my wild imagination sweeping me off my feet then the bitch reality crushing it all to pieces. And that’s why I stick to pounding out stories on the keyboard even though I do nothing with them.

“Call me Queen of the complicated twat waffle club in her fictional dimension of the universe,” I murmur to myself, rounding the corner to my room.

My shoulders slump defeated, knowing I’m away from prying eyes. Josi and Brenna are on a different deck, so there’s no chance of them following me to my room. Solace. It’s what I know and brings me comfort. I can be sad, upset, frustrated, and me letting it all out. Then and only then when I have enough energy, I’ll put back on my mask of being happy. I mean, after all, the world doesn’t know that Raylan Moore has actual feelings and is lonely. Nope, they don’t because I’ve made damn sure of that focusing on my job. The sad fact is it’s biting me in the ass now.

Pulling out my keycard, I hear crackling sounds behind me, causing me to drop the card. I peer over my shoulder to find the hallway vacant. Picking up the card I get the door open this time, pulling down the handle. My flesh tingles with an eerie feeling of being watched. I check another time to find the same scene. Not a soul in the hallway.

I shiver, leap into the room, and slam the door shut. My imagination always has scared the shit out of me. Yep, I’m the girl who rips back the shower curtain then exhales with relief when she doesn’t come face-to-face with a murderer wielding a bloody knife. My palms slap over my heart that’s doing its best to donkey punch out of my chest.

Awesome, add paranoia to the list of my positive assets. I’m a damn fine catch. My breathing slows then I cackle out loud in the suite. I’m a catch on a ship at sea.

I flop back on the bed, clutching my stomach with Memphis Love’s face front and center. Yes, I know my imagination is wild, dumb, ridiculous, and so on. From the moment I fell in his lap, there was a connection as cliché as it sounds. Shit, it’s far from cliché and nestled deep in corny as hell.

None of it makes sense. Iris isn’t his girlfriend, so what is she? His grandma? I know there’s a niche market for taboo books but boning your grandma is too far.

Jesus, now I’m analyzing Memphis tagging his grandma.

The mental imaginary making me dry heave. Maybe he’s married? Iris screamed sugar momma status. Still, it doesn’t add up. Memphis’s pleading gaze screamed guilt and shame. He wasn’t proud of the situation.

That thought causes tears to prick at the corners of my eyes. There is zero chance of developing a friendship let alone a two-week romantic affair with Iris’s claws dug in. My theory on men remains stable and perfect without one single flaw.

Josi and Brenna despise it and have coined it “The bullshit that shall not be named.” They convinced me this cruise was going to be perfect not only to celebrate the fact my job wasn’t cut but also to prove my theory dead wrong.

However, men continue to prove my theory over and over again. It goes like this. The good ones are taken. The men attracted to me have tiny peens and propose marriage before blowing their load. The lethal combination of sex appeal, huge cock imprint through jeans, and a suntan line around their ring finger. The most vicious one being the single man, hot as sin, massive dick imprint seen through their trousers, and loves to suck dick as much as me. Those sting like a bitch reminding you of all the what-ifs.

And then we have Memphis, the poster child for the manwhore. As long as it has a pond for them to dip their pole into, they are game, and they don’t stick to one pond for fishing trips.

I stare up at the ceiling, feeling every bit a fool for indulging in the idea of an intense romantic fling at sea. I’ve learned my lesson over and over again and I am two steps from swearing off the other sex. And I like dick, so chasing women will never shake out for me. Two weeks. That’s how long I have to fool the duo of meat lips known as my best friends.

It will take all of my patience to indulge in their whore-lympics voyage challenge. Josi’s goal is a solid five while Brenna went all out claiming a ten. Men that are on this damn ship. They forced me to pick a number, and living on the edge and all that crazy shit I went for half. They called bullshit, claiming oral didn’t count. I countered swallowing puts it right over half rounding it up to a solid one. No pearl necklace for me.

I force myself to sit up, knowing Josi and Brenna will be busting down my door if I don’t show up at the spa. While readjusting the messy bun on top of my head, Roberto drifts into my thoughts. I wonder where he falls on the theory scale? From the feeling of him grinding on me last night while dancing, he wasn’t small, and his cock was rocking out pressing into me. The ring finger inspection slipped my mind. Blame it on the booze, food, music, and cluster of fine, fine men all over the dining room. His thick Spanish accent makes me smile at my reflection. He was fun and the conversation easy. Hell, I’ve never had fun dancing until last night.

Roberto, by no means, had me falling into his lap or butterflies floating around low in my belly. Nor, has he been the hulky hero in my daydreams. Nor the one going down to his knees in a smooth movement, spreading my legs wide, and then…

“Stop!” I point a finger at myself in the mirror and glare. “Memphis is off limits. His broad chest, strong jawline I want to nibble, and everything else between.”

Roberto. My thoughts drift back to him. Well, not drift but more like shove with brute force. I’m not dead after all. His movements and touch were nice, but not explosive. Guess a girl can’t have her cake and eat it, too.

* * *

I should’ve faked battling seasickness or better yet explosive diarrhea. As loyal as these two are diarrhea is the line. I’ve perfected a bank of descriptive words to use when explaining how close to fire my butthole is and have the mewling sounds down to a fine science.

The Mimosas and an empty stomach are the two things saving my ass right now. The smart girl lost somewhere inside of me is warning me it’s a lethal combination since I don’t drink very often. I keep tipping them back, doing my best to ignore their jabs. I know it’s all in good fun, but it gets old when you’re the target every single time.

I stretch out my legs, finishing off another drink. Tasty. Ordering another one, I shake my head at dumb and dumber’s conversation. I flip them off when the woman doing my pedicure focuses on my toes. Her hand is steady as she lays stripes of neon orange polish on my nails. Flipping them the bird made me feel like a badass, so I send slut-pup and whore-kitten the double bird and stick out my tongue. Take that!

You never know what alcohol will bring out in me. It’s either the giggly, airhead girl, or my inner bitch. My inner bitch is winning out right now. I bite down on my lower lip, fighting to simmer down. A girl can only take so much though. Their faces are down while they get their massages. Their voices are muffled yet clear enough for the entire spa to hear them.

“I’m tempted to pay him myself to take Ray-Ray for a spin on his bicycle,” Brenna chirps.

“Ray-Ray.” Josi tries to lift her head up, but the Helga giving her the massage pushes her head right back down. I fight to keep the laughter contained. It doesn’t stop Josi from asking her question. Nope, she hollers louder.

“Do you think Dr. Love’s beef whistle is bigger than Ned’s?”

I shake my head, regretting sharing Memphis’s nickname with them. Their laughter is filling the entire spa drawing everyone’s attention over to us. It’s not a quick chuckle, but a long drawn out one.

“I forgot about Ned.” Brenna gets out between laughter.

“All two inches of him?” Josi adds. And the cackling starts all over again.

Ned has been the butt of every joke between those two. I’m not a virgin, but also not a well-oiled machine. On one finger using my knuckles, I can count how many men I’ve had sex with. Losing my virginity in high school with the tatted up bad boy never comes up in conversations. It’s always poor Ned and his micro-penis.

The man was good looking, kind, dollar bills spilling out of his asshole rich, and had manners for days. I tried. I really did. It’s not all about sex, but a little dick inside me is good. And he was two inches when he was hard. Grinding on his pubic bone was the only way I’d get off, and that was a rare occasion. Ned was a fan of missionary and pounding all two inches of himself into me. I gotta give the man credit. A small dick didn’t stop him from fucking like a porn star.

“We’d have to get Ray-Ray into counseling after seeing ginger pubes and his massive flesh flute,” Josi says.

Their laughter has died down. The mask I’m wearing to hide behind cinches down tighter with each of their jabs. It’s my fault for never sticking up to them. I’m the one whose put on the façade of having a steel heart when it’s the complete opposite. I hunger for the courage and adventures of the characters in my novel hidden away on my MacBook.

“And how would you know, Josi?” I ask her, fighting to tamp down my raw anger.

“Oh, Ray-Ray, if you’d ever pull your head out of the sand and your job you’d know it takes one peek to his nether regions to know the man is packing a healthy cock.” Brenna sits up, pulling her bikini top to her chest then tying it off in the back.

“The man is a player with a crystal clear prolific for whoring around.” Josi sits up, tying her own suit back in place.

“You mean proclivities, Jo.” I roll my eyes. “Careful, you might burn your last brain cell using big girl words.”

She shrugs. “Oh, well, my vagina will be living in happily ever after land.”

I go to open my mouth but decide against it knowing nothing but mean words will fly out thanks to my inner mean drunken bitch controlling me. Instead, I fake giggle and run my palms up and down my thighs. Deep inhales bring me back to reality. Josi and Brenna are themselves, and I know it’s not out of a vicious nature. It’s how they are. So, why is Memphis causing more of a sting than the rest of my miserable fails?

“C’mon, let’s go get your inner slut on.” Brenna holds out her hand. “My girl needs to learn how to ride without training wheels.”

I shake my head, not giving into their damn harassing. I’ll get my half with Roberto if I run into him again or better yet I’ll make up a wild tale about my half of man. I do adore fantasy and I'm not too shabby when it comes to pounding out words on a keyboard. I’m a warrior like that.

“Epic.” Josi reaches in front of me, giving Brenna a high five. “Ned was training wheel material.”

“You guys are dicks.” I send an elbow into both of their sides when they try to group hug my ass.

“You love us and you know it. It’s too easy to give you hell,” Josi says, then kisses my cheek. Brenna concurs, going on with her speech. I bite the inside of my cheek, refusing to break down in the middle of this posh spa. Lord knows, I’m close. I refuse to.

A server strides past with a tray of Mimosas for another group of clients. It doesn’t stop me from reaching out plucking two from the tray. I’m the recipient of an odd look, but the server doesn’t say a word. Problem solved. Both of my hands are now full, keeping me from wrapping my hands around their necks and squeezing the life out of the dicks.