The Jerk Who Saved Me: A Romantic Comedy

by Ellie Rowe

Big man shrugs.

  “Okay. You come too. Captain will be pleased.” Hank gives me a side-eye but has the common sense not to say anything. I march past him and our little parade heads for the open air. We’ve only been under for a while but I shield my eyes against the sun like I haven’t seen it in weeks.

  “Well my friends! I am here at your service.” Hank smiles and gives a little bow. What. The. Fuck. Some of the pirates grin and nudge each other. Did I drink salt water today? Am I going crazy? Or is Hank treating this like one of his goddamn red-carpet events.

  I watch in disgust as he struts over and places a congenial hand on the young kid’s shoulder.

  “Now if you want the best light, make sure the sun isn’t directly above, and we’ve gotta get a little bit of shadow. Don’t want me squinting like a moron right?” He chuckles and the other men laugh. I’m so livid I sink my nails into my khaki shorts. Maybe if I pull hard enough I can resist the urge to throw this numbskull overboard. What is he doing?!

  Hank helps them to the best of the camera collection that they’ve so helpfully lifted from the paparazzi party goers. I keep my mouth shut for the time being and let the gaudy display distract the crew. Peeking over the side of the yacht I get a better glimpse at the pirate ship behind us. It’s rusty, yeah, but clearly, it’s gotten them this far.

  It’s clearly a motorboat so it’s not like I’d have to shovel coal while I steer. If I could just get to it while they’re all distracted or asleep or some shit…I could get out of here. I take another step to get a closer look at how it’s tied up.

  “Swift!” Captain green scarf gets my attention and waves his gun in my face with a look of suspicion. “You said you’d help? Come.” I make sure not to look again at the pirate ship, I don’t want them thinking for a second that I plan to make some daring escape. Nodding, I step in front of him and allow myself to be corralled back to the photoshoot.

  For my number one fan, he sure doesn’t seem to like me very much. Although in the writing business, that checks out. The strutting peacock on the other hand, has the pirates all laughing and chatting and taking…oh my God they’re taking selfies.

  The young kid has his fingers in a peace sign as Hank purses his lips in a signature ‘smoulder’ to the camera. I feel the barrel of the gun at the middle of my back and once again repress the burning hatred within me. My therapist will be so disappointed. How many months will it take to undo all that has transpired in the last 24 hours?

  “You take pictures too.” The captain says, more jovial at least, as I’m thrust into the photoshoot. “Then you tell us what to say.”

  “Ah, Miss Swift, so glad you could join us!” Hank opens his arms and I stare at him incredulously. My only joy is the grimace on his face as he recoils his arms back to his side.

  “Get together, get together!” The young kid says as he makes a scooching motion with his hand. No fucking way. Hank slides his hand around my waist and pulls me close to him, a little harder than necessary. Without a word I know he’s trying to tell me to ‘play nice’.

  The feel of his fingers curled around my waist sends a shiver through my spine. His pinky is just barely grazing the part of my side where my shirt has slid up from my khakis.

  I hate to admit it, but he’s the first man to touch my bare skin in what feels like years. Well. There’s the gays of LA. We get along famously, including many nights at the local club. But I’m afraid none of us were interested in the arousing factor of skin-on-skin contact at the time.

  I slide my hand up to his fingers and dig my nails hard into his hand, hoping to ward off the feelings bubbling inside me. Are you that desperate Veronica, Jesus Christ get a grip.

  I hear the satisfying hiss of pain and Hank releases my waist for a new pose.

  “There’s got to be some champagne left on board my friends!” Hank laughs and Scar gives a thumbs up before scrambling below deck. “Enjoy, enjoy please!”

  How did I end up in party boy purgatory? Wasn’t this supposed to be my trip of self-actualization? Or some bullshit? My hip still burns from where he touched me and I yank my shirt down to hide anymore exposed skin.

  “Why doesn’t the lady smile?” the young kid frowns as he snaps another picture. I take a deep breath. These thieves may be all chummy with my cell-mate but they don’t seem particularly fond of me. I need to keep my cool. But every bone in my body is screaming for the sake of every woman catcalled on her way past a construction site.

  “That’s alright kid, it’s in fashion to give that sexy kinda serious look to the camera.” Hank smolders a little as an example and the young kid laughs and nods before snapping away. Hank winks at me. Winks. What do you want you smug bastard, a fucking cookie?

  “Champagne!” Scar hollers as he bounds up the stairs. He whips out a terribly sharp looking knife and slides it down the neck of the bottle sending the cork and champagne fizz flying across the deck. This really was a party. A potentially fatal, elbow-rubbing with literal thieves, hostage situation party. Where was that rocket launcher?

  The booze gets passed between the pirates and Hank waves the young kid over to go through the last few rounds of photos and pick his best angle.

  “You don’t look half bad here sweetheart.” He smiles as he lingers on a photo and my heart beats a little faster. This smile is somehow different from his fashion-shoot cheesing. It just slightly tugs at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes squint up a little. Like it’s genuine.

  I turn away as the men all roar with laughter at a particularly unflattering shot.

  Fat chance.

  Twelve

  Hank

  I have to say, our escort back down to our cabin is much more polite, this time. The young pirate and I even do an improvised handshake and fist-bump before he locks us back inside. I feel a whole lot better about our situation. To be honest, I’m pretty proud of myself.

  I give the kind of satisfying stretch a job-well-done deserves. “Well,” I announce, “I think that went pretty well.”

  Shoulda known Veronica would see it differently. Sure enough, she spins on me, her eyes like daggers. “Pretty well?”

  What’s her problem? Isn’t it obvious that was all good? “Yeah,” I say stupidly.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me!” she storms away from me to the other side of the room. She loves storming away from me, it seems.

  “Hey, what’s your problem?” I pursue her.

  “Of course you don’t see it.” There’s not a lot of room in here, so she literally walks across the bed to put distance between us again.

  I stand my ground this time. “See what?” I ask.

  “For a second there, I thought you were actually going to enlist with them!”

  “Wait a second,” I say. I can’t believe where she’s going with this. “You’re mad because I was nice to them?”

  “Yes! In case you forgot, we’re their hostages!”

  I shake my head. Does she think I’m an idiot? I mean, clearly she thinks I’m an idiot, but c’mon. “You don’t do a lot of negotiating, do you, sweetheart? I deal with the scum of the earth. Worse than pirates. I’m talking about movie people. Producers, agents, you name it. I once had to serenade a leader of the Chinese Communist Party for two days just to convince him to release one of my films in his country.”

  She shrugs at me. “What a skill, to be able to chum it up with lowlifes. You’re a towering example of moral relevancy.”

  I’m pretty sure that’s another insult. I choose to take the high road. “I just know that you catch more bees with honey.” Something you should try, I think but have enough self-control not to say. She’s still unconvinced. “Look,” I explain, “I was ‘chummy’ with them because I’d rather have them like us than be suspicious of us. If they think we’re not a threat, we might be able to come out of this unharmed. That was my plan.”

  “That display up there was a plan?”

  I really can’t win with this woman. “If they like us, maybe they’l
l let us have separate cabins. Isn’t that what you want?”

  She starts to protest, then clams up. She knows I’m right. Score one for me, finally.

  After a moment of quiet thinking on her part, she takes a few hesitant steps closer to me. Huh? A minute ago I was pretty sure she was this close to kneeing me in the balls. I take a defensive step back.

  She makes some sort of weird gesture at me, her eyes flicking to the cabin door.

  I have no idea what the fuck she wants.

  She makes the gesture again, more emphatically.

  Huh? I shrug.

  She lets out an exasperated sigh. Then, through gritted teeth she whispers, “Come. Here.”

  Even though I’m still pretty sure she intends to do some damage to my nether regions, I lean toward her.

  Keeping her eye on the door, she whispers sharply in my ear, “I saw their boat. It’s being towed along. If we can get to it, we might be able to escape.”

  “Ohhh,” I whisper. I nod in an exaggerated way to show her just how ridiculous this conspiracy whispering is. Does she really think the kid standing guard is paying attention to us?

  She recognizes my sarcasm and slaps both her hands on my chest. “Hey,” I protest.

  Once again she marches away from me. She’s getting her steps in, at least.

  “Weren’t you the one who told me this isn’t a movie?” I point out. “I don’t like the odds of us being able to get to that boat and get away in it without getting shot.”

  “Of course not. You’re best friends with them, now. It’s me they’re going to…” she doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t have to.

  Shit. Sometimes I do forget to think everything through.

  “I wouldn’t let them do that,” I say seriously. I can’t quite tell if she believes me or not. “It’s not that your plan’s actually a bad one,” I offer. She looks up at that, intrigued. “And I guess if we timed it right, we might slip away.”

  “Yes, yes, exactly.”

  I hold my hands up. Let’s not get carried away. “Now, I gather you’ve spent time in the mountains and the desert, but I’m guessing you haven’t spent a lot of time in deep water?” She shakes her head. “I don’t think we’d get very far in that piece of shit. And the Let’s Do This would catch up to us pretty quick. Meaning we’d be their hostages again and they’d be pissed off at us.”

  She considers that a moment. Then I see her look confused. “The ‘Let’s Do This’?” she asks.

  “Yeah.” Another blank stare. “That’s the name of my boat.”

  Her eye roll is pretty fucking epic. She sees my annoyance and tries to backtrack. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Great name. I mean, usually boats are named after a woman or are, you know, clever in some way.”

  Is she for real?

  “But back to the plan –”

  “There is no plan,” I interrupt.

  “So we’re just going to sit here and wait for them to decide what to do to us?”

  “No,” I tell her, “we’re not just going to sit here.”

  “OK, then. What do we do?”

  “I’m going to take a shower.”

  “… What?”

  I peel off my white linen jacket and start to unbutton my shirt. “Hey! Hey!” she protests. “This isn’t your movie set trailer!”

  “No time for modesty, lady.” I give her a little wink. “Besides, we need to settle in. The cabin door’s locked and guarded. We’re not making any great escape to their boat tonight. And I hate going to bed grimy.”

  I unbuckle my pants. She closes her eyes and turns her head away, one hand up like she’s warding off the devil. “Don’t get naked in front of me! At least do it in the bathroom, would you please?”

  “Fine.” I hold my pants up and go into the tiny, cramped bathroom. I shut the door behind me.

  Creeeak.

  The door swings back in. I push it shut again.

  Creaak.

  No, no, no. This time I hold it shut for a moment. Let go.

  Creeeeaaak.

  “Dammit.”

  “What’s wrong?” she says from the cabin.

  “The bathroom door won’t shut.”

  “What?” She looks up. She looks scandalized as she sees the ajar door. We both realize that from just about any part of the cabin, you get an unobstructed view of most of the bathroom. Most prominently, the shower. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she moans.

  Her turn to try. She grabs the handle on her side of the door and yanks it shut. It pops open. One more time. Same result. We lock eyes. I give her a smile. She tries to close the door again and again… well, you get the picture. So does she.

  “Great,” she finally says, throwing up her hands. “Just great.”

  “No peeking,” I tell her, and point in mock seriousness. Then I flash her another grin.

  Listen, that grin, along with my charm, have bought me a mansion in Beverly Hills, a house on Lake Como, a private jet, and several cars with embarrassing price tags that I paid for in cash. Not to mention this yacht. At some point it’s got to have a positive effect on Veronica, right?

  She glares at me.

  The crazy this is, the fact that my grin and my charm are not working is intriguing to say the least. I don’t want to brag, but it’s just a fact that it’s been a long time since a woman was this resistant to me. No – it’s not that Veronica is resistant to me. It’s more like she’s just stunningly unaffected by me. She is so passionately her own woman.

  Even the fucking pirates weren’t immune to my celebrity. The fact that it has absolutely zero effect on Veronica is more than just surprising or novel.

  It’s downright fucking erotic.

  I turn away and consider stripping off my pants and taking that shower. Except I realize this bathroom door situation is actually a bit of a complication. It’s not that I’m modest. Modesty is something you lose pretty quickly as an actor. I’ve done sex scenes. Posed in various states of undress for magazine shoots. Even bared my ass in one of my ‘artsier’ films. Nudity around a relative stranger isn’t an issue for me.

  The problem is, every time I’m around Veronica, I realize I have a raging hard-on.

  Thirteen

  Veronica

  It’s like a goddamn sauna in here. Actually, I think we passed a sauna on our way down here. Fucking rich people. I mean, I do alright for myself. Enough to piss off my ex-husband anyway, but this yacht has a swimming pool. In the middle of the ocean. That’s just dumb.

  I’m trying to be polite or whatever, to give the man his privacy. Sure, I could probably check out a few DVD’s and see all he has to offer in HD but that’s not the point. I shift over to my side so I’m facing up to the ceiling.

  The steam wafts through the little room and I can smell his cologne as it washes over me. I have half a mind to yell at him for stinking up the joint and turn my head to say so. Oh God he really is naked in there isn’t he.

  The water pours off his broad shoulders, slipping over muscled creases as it splashes to the floor. He is built extremely well. How old is he anyway?

  I look away quickly to stare at the ceiling. What if he sees me looking? I’ll never live that down. He seemed pretty invested in the shower tile and scrubbing at his thick mane of hair. Maybe just one more look wouldn’t hurt?

  He’s turned and I have the most fantastic view of his ass. How?? I grumble in my head. He’s rich that’s how. I mean it’s his whole persona, right? Romantic-smarmy-adventurer-charmer with the body of a Greek god—holy shit.

  He turned. Oh god he turned front. Once again, I have a full view of his dripping wet body. He’s got those creases on the sides of his stomach leading down to…Does every man have a raging hard on in the shower?!

  I shoot my eyes back to the ceiling. Bad Veronica! Very bad. Hank cannot consent to my looking at him! I squeeze my eyes shut but the image of him only gets clearer.

  Maybe it’s the way the water’s swimming down the sides of the glass,
or the cloudy steam, but Hank Wilder looks massive. Porn massive.

  Why couldn’t I just not look? What’s the matter with me? But I couldn’t help it. The sight of him is fucking intoxicating.

  And why do the jerks always have the biggest dicks? There should be a law about it or something. I’ll have to write to Congress. I press my palms to my eyes and chastise myself once again for having such dirty thoughts. I’m so caught up in hating myself I don’t even hear the water shut off.

  “You okay?” My heart leaps a mile a minute and I look up angrily. Hank has a towel on with a hand securing it in place, but his bare chest is still exposed. I guess you can’t be in action movies without being in shape huh? He looks like his own stunt double god DAMN.

  “Mine is the first shift!” I proclaim hastily.

  “Fine.” Wow. He didn’t even put up a fight. Without bothering to dress he just pulls a wad of papers from the magazine holder next to the chair and plops down. I must’ve had a confused look on my face. “It’s a script.” He says and slaps the papers with the back of his hand.

  “Good for you.” I say scathingly as I turn away. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to sleep. I should be exhausted from everything that went on today, but I can’t stop thinking about what I saw.

  He has been attempting to be helpful. In his own ridiculous and unhelpful way. Maybe I could…lighten up a little. I pretend I’m home and listening to meditation off the internet. Calm and soothing thoughts. A tranquil forest. Rushing water.

  The shower head pummels into my sore muscles as I place my palms on the cool tile. I didn’t know how badly I needed this. I turn the nob so it’s as hot as it will go and the bathroom fills with steam.

  I run my hands through my hair and down my naked body, until I feel something strange. Two hands slide around my waist from behind and I’m thrust against the hard, muscled chest of Hank Wilder.

  “Mind if I join you?” I can hardly speak. One hand sweeps up the side of my body achingly slow. I bite my lip as I press my ass into him, feeling the length of him against me.