Sex, Lies, and Cruising

by Cathryn Chapman

  And maybe I was just too pushy, expecting too much too soon. I thought maybe things had just moved too quickly for Cooper; between his tragic past and the speed with which our relationship had progressed, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been overwhelmed with emotion. And guilt.

  “I should probably just give Cooper some time, right?” I asked Jock.

  “I don’t know, lass,” he said. That unreadable expression was back on his face. “Not sure I’m the best person to ask; I’ve not been in the dating game for ages.” He laughed. “Even when I was, I’m not sure I ever had a clue what I was doing!” He shrugged. “I guess the only thing I can say is that I’ve always figured you should just be yourself when it comes to dating. I think the right person will love you as you are.”

  Maybe so, but I still felt like there was something I could have or should have done differently. I looked down at my tea, wishing the answers were at the bottom of the mug. They weren’t, but I kept hoping.

  Several hours later, I dragged myself out of Jock’s cabin and up to the Pic Stop. I could have quite happily stayed with Jock all day; we’d talked about holidays and our families, our favourite books and our favourite movies, and when I’d realised I needed to leave we’d been in the middle of a conversation about food.

  My shift was incredibly dull, and by the time I closed up I had a splitting headache. I was looking forward to crawling into bed. Not that it took much to convince me to avoid the crew bar; I wasn’t in the mood for playing nice, and the last thing I wanted was to run into Cooper before I figured out what I wanted to do.

  When you’re feeling rejected and depressed, there’s a kind of satisfaction in putting on your granny pyjamas and going to bed early. A brief phone call from Caitlin assured me she was fine and that Gabriel was taking good care of her. I was secretly a little relieved, as I needed the time alone.

  “Justin won’t put me through disciplinary action, dude,” Caitlin said, sounding extremely relieved. “He was actually kind of sweet, like he was actually worried, you know? I told him about the bulimia and everything, and he’s going to watch over me more from now on. Not too closely, I hope.” She exhaled loudly over the phone.

  That was certainly good news. When I hung up, she was on her way to bed with Gabriel; despite everything, it seemed like they were pretty well suited after all.

  I, on the other hand, was far from happy. Cooper had seemed so perfect. I went over everything he’d said to me over the past few weeks. There’d been the friendly banter, the genuine conversation, and then the flirty remarks. He’d confided in me about his fiancée, told me about his struggles with moving on…and as our closeness grew, so did the attraction. It had all seemed so perfect, so real.

  I had to admit that I’d chosen to ignore the part of me that felt his story might not have been one hundred per cent true. I hated to think it, but maybe Jock was right. I mean, he was a very charismatic guy, so much so that it was almost surprising. He had that nerdy, floppy-haired, unassuming look. Maybe that was how he drew them in?

  Even just thinking it made me feel bad. Nobody would lie about that sort of thing. Jock had to be wrong. I was just upset about Cooper wanting distance, and regretful that I’d done too much, too soon. Again. I’d read a lot about guys getting freaked out when they fell for someone too quickly, and I was sure that was what had happened here.

  I’d just back off and let him come to me. Show him I wasn’t pushing things. If you love someone, set them free, and all that. I thought back briefly to the golden canary we'd kept at home for years. He had his wings clipped and all, but still managed to disappear forever the day I let him out of his cage with my bedroom window open. Bad example, I thought with a shudder.

  I hadn’t known Cooper long enough to really indulge in a good cry, but I still felt sad as I lay on my bunk, thinking back over the past weeks. And stupid. When had everything become so fucked up?

  It had all started with Dan, really. Why the hell had we fallen apart so badly? We used to have so much in common. Despite our ups and downs, I’d always felt as though we were best mates. Friends forever. My nan used to say that the best foundation for a happy, lasting marriage was friendship. Sorry, Nan, but that had been complete bollocks. Dan had pretty much rejected me as soon as something more exciting came along, leaving me fragile and vulnerable and wildly insecure. Was it any wonder I’d fallen into Seth’s arms, and bed, the moment I arrived on board the ship? And when that failed, that I’d turned to Luciano?

  I thought Cooper had been my turning point, but his unexpected rejection was just so deflating, and the things I thought I knew started to get scrambled and I realised I really had no idea what I was thinking anymore. My head started to spin with thoughts of them all, and how much I had failed, and I became more and more depressed. Hot tears welled up in my eyes, and one or two sneakily escaped to slide down my cheek onto the pillow.

  I didn’t want to be the girl that cried over boys. I wanted to be the one who didn’t care and who rolled with the punches. In some ways, I was incredibly jealous of Caitlin. Obviously this recent hospital trip had shown us all that her life wasn’t quite as breezy as everyone thought, but all the same, I envied her ability to bounce back from relationship failures. Cruise ships were supposed to be fun, but it was hard to feel joyful when you felt completely rubbish. Deciding I was allowed to wallow, at least a little, I pulled up Coldplay, Adele, and some old school Tracey Chapman on my phone and let my melancholy mood deepen.

  The real problem was that however much I wanted to live a carefree life and pursue my love of photography, I knew I didn’t want to be alone. And I didn’t really want to let Cooper go so quickly. The situation would require careful handling, though, and I fell into a much-needed slumber with thoughts of getting Cooper back by rejecting him.

  “That’ll do the trick,” I mumbled to myself as I drifted off. I was determined to put my own rejection plan into action first thing in the morning.

  I was dragged from sleep sometime later by a rap on the door. I opened my eyes and squinted at the clock; I’d been asleep for several hours.

  “Ellie-belly,” came the distinctive sound of Cooper’s voice. I sat up straight, staring at the door. “Please let me in. I have to talk to you.” I experienced a brief moment of confusion, unsure if I was awake or dreaming. “Ellie!”

  I scrambled out of bed, my legs tangling in the blankets, and stumbled to the door. I had barely opened it when Cooper slid inside, kicked the door shut, and pushed me up against the wall with a rush of energy and passion.

  He kissed me fervently, his teeth nipping at my bottom lip. His breathing was so loud that the sound reverberated through my head like a freight train. He reeked of alcohol and was more than a bit unsteady on his feet, something that became very obvious as he tried to lift me up and manoeuvre my legs around his waist. I faltered and landed in an awkward position with one foot up and one foot down. Cooper barely noticed; he just pressed me further against the wall, rubbing himself against me and kissing me with such desperation my lips started to bruise.

  “I thought you wanted to think about things?” I whispered into his ear.

  “This is me thinking about it,” he replied. “I still don’t know what I want.”

  His words stopped me cold. Though my body wanted to arch towards him, I stiffened up and turned my head away from his hungry mouth. I placed my hands on his chest and pushed him away.

  It was such a confusing moment. I had been wondering how to get him back, wanting him to want me, and now he did. Problem solved, right? Except he was drunk, and I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he didn’t actually want me after all, if I was just a convenient body. How could his words say one thing when his body clearly said another? I knew if I was going to fix things, I had to let him know that his uncertainty wasn’t going to wash with me.

  I took a deep breath and said, “Cooper, I think you should go.” I briefly caught his eye and then looked down at the floor. “We can talk about
this in the morning.” I slid away from the wall and opened the door.

  He shot me a sad, sad look that just about did me in; I was a sucker for puppy-dog eyes. As he placed his hand on the door handle, he asked, “Are you sure? I thought this was what you wanted.”

  “I do. I did. I…don’t know.” The multitude of smashing one-liners I’d conjured up hours earlier all escaped me in my moment of need.

  After Cooper slunk out, I put my ear up to the door to listen to his departure. I waited for his cabin door to open and slam shut, but it didn’t. I waited a minute or two to make sure the coast was clear and then opened the door a crack. I peeked through, scoping out the scene. Cooper was nowhere to be seen; the corridor was empty. Probably he’d gone back to the crew bar. I liked to think that he needed to drown his rejection sorrows.

  Following Cooper’s visit, sleep was impossible. I tossed and turned, wondering if I should just have gone with it, impressed him with my inventive moves, and driven him crazy with my sexy, irresistible, and tigress-like sexual power. Or something. Still, while hindsight was fantastic, it didn’t solve any of my problems, and so I resigned myself to a sleepless night listening to further sad music and planning my next course of action.

  The morning called for double espresso and a girly-chat with Caitlin, who’d reappeared at the cabin in the early hours. I’d wondered if I should tell her I thought Maria might have purposefully plied her with drinks in an attempt to get her sacked, which was my deduction from her actions on the night in question, but had ultimately decided against it. Caitlin didn’t need more things to worry about, and I needed to focus on my plan to get Cooper back. I thought playing hard to get and making him jealous might do the trick.

  Caitlin’s response to the story was to emphatically declare, “Motherfucker.” She settled in for a planning session, adding, “We’re going to get him to notice you again. He doesn’t know who he’s messing with.”

  I opted not to go ashore with Caitlin in Barbados, deciding instead to catch up on my tanning upstairs in the private, crew-only sunbaking area at the back of the ship. I knew Cooper would be on board for the day; he was on a daytime shift, printing photos, and therefore had no time for onshore frolicking. My theory was simple: if he happened to stroll by the crew sundeck and see me flirting with an officer or two, then so be it. There were always plenty of men around, and with a ridiculously high male-to-female ratio, the very fact of being female was guaranteed to get me some attention.

  The smorgasbord of men sunning themselves on the top deck certainly didn’t disappoint. It was still early, but mirrored sunglasses, tiny swimwear, and coconut-scented body oil were in plentiful supply, as were washboard stomachs and blonde tufts of chest hair. Testosterone hung heavy in the air. Most of my friends back in the UK would have started hyperventilating at the choices surrounding them, but they were only so much window-dressing to me. I was keeping an eye out for a slightly tubby Canadian.

  I found a spot amidst testosterone-filled sailors and set up my deck chair, towel, and iPod. Just before the moment of disrobing to my modest one-piece, I felt a sharp stab of panic about exposing my body to these golden gods, and then remembered that I wasn’t the same pasty, fleshy girl I’d been when I first come aboard. No, I was Ellie, golden sex goddess. Or at least I was pretending to be. So, with a deep breath, I shed my excess clothing and settled down on the deck chair. As soon as my bottom hit the chair, it was on. The surreptitious glances I’d noticed when I’d first appeared had become much more blatant stares, and by the time I’d listened to three songs through my headphones, I’d had one guy ask me if he could borrow sunscreen, another offer me a bottle of water, and a third go straight in for the kill, introducing himself as Bernard in a very Americanised Norwegian accent. Without waiting for me to reply in kind, he plunked himself down on the neighbouring deck chair and proceeded to pump me for information: name, rank, serial number… Okay, so it wasn’t quite that bad, but I did feel a bit like I was being interrogated.

  He seemed pleased when he discovered I’d only been working in the world of cruise lines for a couple of months. With a tell-tale glint in his eyes, he said, “I could show you around.”

  I restrained myself from laughing in his face. I imagined he could, although I was quite sure it would only involve showing me around his sleeping quarters.

  It wasn’t at all why I was there, but it was difficult not to feel flattered. I looked around the deck, my eyes falling on pretty, slim, tanned girls everywhere, and I suddenly realised that I was one of them. I sneaked a peek at my body; maybe I wasn’t as stunning as some of them, but I could hold my own. And that was a nice realisation.

  “Yes, I have two stripes,” Bernard said, puffing out his chest and dragging my attention back to him. As he continued talking about himself, and how important he was on the ship, I stifled a yawn and stole surreptitious glances around the deck for Cooper. Lordy, Bernard was boring.

  “So, Ellen…”

  “Ellie,” I corrected him.

  “Right, Ellie,” he said, rolling his eyes. I got the impression that my name was really not of much importance, which didn’t bode well for any woman he attempted to draw into conversation. As I was really only using him as a jealousy tactic, it didn’t matter much to me if he knew my name or not. “As I was saying,” he continued, “now it’s really difficult to be at home on my vacation, because I don’t like doing my own washing and cooking.” He looked very sorry for himself. I didn’t even feel all that bad for not paying much attention; anyone who bemoans living a normal life has got to be a bit of a douche. Probably he thought all women were good for was cooking, cleaning, and sex. Real catch, this one.

  “It sucks to be you,” I said. He completely missed the sarcasm in my voice, and launched into the details of his gym routine. I was just contemplating ways to get rid of him when movement caught the corner of my eye and Cooper appeared on the sundeck.

  “Hi, Cooper!” called a stunning blonde on a nearby sun-lounger. Well. Cooper’s charms were definitely far-reaching.

  He ambled over to her group of friends and they all exchanged cheek kisses. A spare chair was produced, a beach towel arranged, and a cold drink thrust into his hand before he’d been there two minutes. I watched in stupefied silence as the girls practically tripped over themselves offering to rub sunscreen on his back. Cooper took it all in stride; he looked happy and seemed unflustered by all the attention.

  It wasn’t until he was settling back into his sun lounge, about to pull his hat over his eyes, that he finally noticed me. He took a double take and sat up a bit, half-raising his hand in greeting.

  I gave him a completely uninterested wave in return, suppressing the urge to wave wildly and beckon him to come over, and turned back to Bernard. I giggled loudly in response to the workout story he was now telling, and leaned over to touch his arm flirtatiously. He probably thought I was crazy, given I’d been bored out of my mind a minute before, but the sudden show of interest must have been quite the aphrodisiac. He immediately started speaking at a million miles an hour, prattling on about bicep curls and his paleo diet and intermittently showering me with half-baked compliments. Definitely the first time I’d ever been compared to a piece of gym equipment. On the bright side, at least I made his pulse rise? And then, of course, to top off the flirtatious tableau I’d set up, he started throwing in some accidental knee grazes. I tried my best to give him my full attention, despite the fact my interest was pretty much nil, and didn’t cast even the tiniest glance at Cooper.

  When I eventually peeked in Cooper’s direction, he was staring straight at me, his face frozen into an angry mask. What was that terrible expression my father always used? “Treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen,” he used to say. Dad had used it to ensure I never got too close to any potential boyfriends, but I thought the tactic would work well here.

  I gazed at Bernard, and wondered how mean I could get.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The fake tête-á-têt
e with Bernard carried on longer than I’d anticipated, which was unfortunate seeing as I was bored after about five minutes. After an hour of listening to his stories of bravado and then being dragged around his group of friends, I agreed to meet up in the officers’ bar after work. I then gratefully escaped, without so much as a backward glance at Cooper, and hid in my cabin until it was time to go to work. For once, I wished work would last forever; I had to go meet up with Bernard once I closed up, and I’d have been much happier if I could have gone back to the cabin and snuggled up with chocolate and a rom-com.

  I’d only been to the officers’ bar once, weeks earlier with Caitlin, and I was struck by how different the atmosphere was. It was so much quieter than the crew bar; the music wasn’t ear-splitting, which meant people weren’t trying to shout over the top of it. Since the dance floor was miniscule, there wasn’t anyone on it; the bar’s occupants were well-supplied with drink, but seemed content to carry on quiet conversation.

  Bernard saw me come in and waved me over. I joined him, taking care to stay slightly out of reach; I had a bad feeling that if I seemed at all encouraging that I might spend the entire evening dodging his advances. I went with the classic I’m English and we don’t really do affection ploy, which seemed to work its magic once I managed to avoid an attempted hug.

  “Ellie, I bought you a drink!” he exclaimed loudly, causing more than one head to turn our way. “I hope you like vodka,” he added, beaming at me excitedly.

  Hooray, vodka. I’d avoided vodka since a particularly drunken night out in second year, when I’d got completely pissed, blacked out, woke up the next morning on my floor, and then spent the entire day hanging my head over the toilet. Vodka had promptly gone on my ‘never again’ list. Unfortunately for me, my parents had taught me to be gracious, so I smiled at Bernard and sipped gingerly at the shot glass he’d given me.