Love Sick

by HJ Bellus

  It’s the twilight zone on this ship. I’m convinced of it from the women in the bathroom, and Roberto convincing me more that Josi and Brenna did slip something in my drink.

  I force down a sick feeling. My stomach roils with shame and disgust. He doesn’t pull away. My skin prickles with embarrassment. I can’t believe I let myself think there might have been more between us. I felt it. It was there. And this is why I’m single and staying that way.

  Dr. Love my right tit! More like Dr. Dickhead Playing Asshole Whore. And I’m a fool once more. Shake it off and move on. It’s not like I was in a committed relationship with the rugged, striking man.

  The hunt is back on. Dozens of sexy men in my presence are ripe for the picking. I’m going to force myself to do this for no other reason than to prove a point to myself that it’s okay to let my hair down and have fun. I’m far too reliant on my comfort zone of playing everything safe. It’s time to start putting myself out there and taking chances and I’m on a cruise for Christ sakes! No better time and place to start mission Raylan Grow Some Nuts.

  Smoothing out the front of my dress, I make my way to a group. As mouth watering as these men may be, they don’t hold a candle to Memphis. I glance back to where he was sitting to find it deserted. And I shut that shit down. I don’t want to think about where he is or what could or could not be happening right now.

  As I look back to my target, my toe catches on a chair some asshat didn’t push in all the way. All I can think while sailing forward is thank the good Lord I don’t have a drink in my hand to add to this cluster fuck and that I’m wearing panties with this short dress. My arms flail desperately to clutch onto something and find nothing and come to terms with my face-planting into the hardwood floor.

  No quicker way to sober up than eating shit in a crowded room. My face is inches away from being reconstructed when a strong arm wraps around my middle, pulling me into a standing position. My back slams into a broad chest. I know who it is before he speaks.

  “You’re supposed to be flying into my lap, not falling face first, Raylan.” Memphis brushes his nose along the shell of my ear, sending chills over my body.

  The range of emotions attacking me spin my world to a point I don’t know if I’m coming or going right now. The embarrassment is the strongest force. Hot tears well up, but I refuse to cry. Memphis keeps his muscular arm in place, pulling me further into him. His erection pushes into my backside.

  “I saw you looking at me,” he whispers.

  “How?”

  He ignores my question. “Also, I saw you dancing with Douche King.”

  I gaze up to see the group of men I was approaching staring at me. I’m not a fool and know they’re holding back laughter. I want to cry. I’ve tried. I put myself out there and failed. Shit, senior citizens will be cock riding tonight and I…suck. And not dick either.

  Memphis lets me go, urging me to turn around, but I don’t. A girl can only handle so much in one day. The rollercoaster of events from today has been a nasty, cruel bitch, and I’m done. I’m smart enough not to run. I slip off both of the high heels and loop them over two fingers. Curiosity gets the best of me before I make my escape.

  “Who is she, Memphis?”

  He runs both hands through his already mussed up hair. The way he squeezes his eyes shut and exhales is all the answer I need.

  I make it all the way to my room without a hiccup. Then I fall in an exhausted heap on my bed, not attempting to analyze the day.

  Five

  Memphis

  “Fuck,” I growl, scrubbing my face and rolling over in bed.

  I scrubbed my skin raw last night in the shower, and her scent still lingers on me and now the sheets. I send my fist into the mattress disgusted with myself. My body craves and lives for sex in all various forms. It will always be my addiction, and I’m a sick bastard enjoying last night even though I didn’t. There’s no gray area anymore. It's so damn murky there’s not a hue on the color wheel to describe it.

  I had doubts about this trip before boarding the ship, and Iris sealed the deal last night. Her teeth marks will probably scar my dick for a lifetime.

  Always trust your gut. That’s what my mom always told me. She may not be a CEO or have Master’s degree, but lives in luxury and made it in life. Her old tried and true mantra was always trust your gut. My fatal mistake. I knew Iris was getting too attached. I should’ve nipped that shit in the ass, but money blinded me.

  After she saw me holding Raylan last night her claws came out, nearly breaking my dick well into the morning. It was relentless. Now, no man is ever going to complain about cumming but doesn’t mean I enjoyed how it got to that point. Thank God, she brought her friend who doesn’t like dick and was too greedy to share me with her other friend. The silver lining I can glimpse in this situation.

  Iris would lose her shit if she knew all I thought about was a brunette I’m dying to spend more time with. It was the one thing keeping my cock hard and thrusting. Iris was so transparent last night. She demanded that it was gritty, dirty, and extra rough all the while making snide comments about Raylan. She tried to conceal her jealousy, but did a shit job.

  After making her toes curl at least three times and then following her order to cum on her tits, I was excused from my duties. The memory of it causes me to growl like a rabid animal. Not to mention all of Iris’s reminders of why I’m on this cruise and how much she’s paying me. The memo was received loud and clear. She owns me. What every man wants to hear. Shit, at least I brought a lot of happy dick pills along with me.

  I force myself to crawl into the shower, trying in vain to scrub the scent of last night off. The problem is there’s not enough hot water in the world to help my problem. Or cologne for that fact. My poison of choice is Pi by Givenchy. I should own stock in the company at this point. It’s a milder scent screaming sensual ease. But now it stinks.

  I place my palms on the counter and stare at my face in the mirror. I should shave, but have no desire to. My hair is a mess with wet strands going every which way. Fuck it! It can stay like that. Hell, Wank Stain had the same look last night and also had a beautiful woman in his arms.

  “Get it together, Dr. Love. This is your life. Embrace it. Endure it. And then you’ll be gone. Last job.”

  I give myself a pep talk like it will do any good. I could scream at myself in the mirror and still be as screwed. I may resemble a frat boy who indulged a bit too much in a rager last night, but my attitude has flipped around as much as it can. I stuff down the thought of the real Memphis Love, the one Raylan brings out in me and hold my head high walking out of my cabin.

  It’s no coincidence I’m leaving early for breakfast. It’s a full out tactic to avoid Iris parading on my arm with Sophia not far behind. That woman is starving for my cock. Not many women I fuck give me the willies, but Sophia does. She’s obsessed with me and always a guest at Iris’s parties in Preston. She’s the first in line and last to leave. She’s straight-up whacked in the head and loves to call me daddy. It’s daddy this and daddy that. I die a little inside when she requests I stroke my cock and proceeds to chant, “Beat that meat, daddy.”

  With the collar on my polo popped up and a comfy pair of khaki shorts, I focus on making it a good day. Long term plans in mind. But who is coming my way? Miss High Tail and Run Herself. I can't blame her for it though. She saw straight through me last night like nobody else ever has. She’s deep in conversation with her two sidekicks. They’re harassing her about something, but today she’s not blushing and ducking her head. She’s giving it back as good as she gets, intriguing me more.

  I’ve never in all of my years had a woman sprint away from me as fast as she did last night. I was ready, consequences be dammed, to be tongue deep in her throat right in the middle of the dining hall. This mystery of a woman shocked me again. Still, no damn clue what it is about her, but she hasn’t left my thoughts since she landed in my lap, casting a damn love spell on me. It's the only way I
can think to explain it. My dick gets hard over fine-ass women all the time, but for a sole purpose. This is different.

  I continue their way. Raylan never looks up. Watching her tits bounce with each step, I’ve decided I’m a sick bastard addicted to self-torture. She’s five feet away animatedly chattering about her newfound infatuation with Latino men. I freeze with clenched fists. Everything inside of me wants to claim her right now, making damn sure the Latino men never cross her mind again. I can’t.

  She continues walking straight for me, not realizing it all the while rattling on about some nonsense. I don’t have to move left or right because she’s five steps from colliding into my chest. Brenna’s busy adjusting her plump tits while walking. I'm taking it she’s the multi-tasker of the group and Josi’s trying to take group selfies even though her friends are paying no attention to her. The three are a Goddamn circus.

  Sparks in four, three, two, one.

  Uumph.

  I look down, coming face-to-face with Raylan’s wild brown hair swirling around in the air. A cherry vanilla scent sweeter than anything I’ve ever smelled assaults my senses. She slowly raises her head, coming eye-to-eye with me already six words into her perfected apology before she realizes who I am.

  “I’m sor-” Her mouth snaps shut when she realizes who she barreled into.

  This gorgeous girl must love the floor. I’ve never met someone so damn clumsy. My lap, chest, and now she is wrapped in my arms. Oh, the other places she could land on and stay for a long, long time.

  “Expecting Wank Stain?” I ask, regretting it immediately. Where in the fuck did that bitterness come from?

  Raylan’s mouth opens and snaps shut. Several attempts at speech and a string of words that make no sense fall from her lips. I can’t help but study those lips and the shape of her mouth. I am going to hell, head first down the slippery, inferno slide to claim my VIP seat next to Satan. This girl has my head so messed up. I could’ve veered down another hallway taking the long way to brunch. But I didn’t. Starting to realize it’s been all the could’ve moments in life that have trapped me in a small town and the shit storm I’m in with Iris.

  “I’m Brenna.” She pulls her hand from her cleavage. “We never formally met.”

  My hardening dick shrinks, blowing right past the chub state. Yep, I must have a terminal illness because any other time my pony would’ve been stomping a hole through my shorts.

  I clear my throat. “Memphis. Memphis Love.”

  “Are you kidding me?” The snarky little shit cocks up an eyebrow.

  Raylan takes advantage of my distraction, taking a step back. The loss of our connection blows dick. Ain’t no other way to put it.

  “No.” I shake my head.

  “Josi.” Her other friend shoves her hand out as well.

  “So, who is that lady you’re here with? Your mom, grandma, sister, aunt, first cousin, second cousin, Godmother?” Brenna plants both hands on her hips.

  Blunt, much? Part of me feels victorious knowing Raylan has expressed interest in me. The other is defeated, facing my reality. I cup the back of my neck, gripping it, willing this conversation away.

  “You tell me first. Sisters?” I know for damn certain there’s no way these three are sisters.

  “Nope, best friends,” Josi replies.

  I don’t miss the fact the three of them are waiting expectantly for an answer from me. Two weeks is all I ask for to live in a dreamland of having regular interactions with a woman my age. It’s selfish, and a first class dick move, but I can’t help it when around Raylan. Skirting around the truth and withholding information is as good as lying in my book. That’s the one thing I never do is lie. I may go down in the history books as a manwhore, but not a liar. And now I’m a liar.

  “Nice.” I nod, keeping my hand on the back of my neck. “Any reason for the vacation?”

  I’m gambling here. It pays off because Raylan’s friends are more than eager to share.

  “Ray-Ray here has been through hell the last three months. Budget cuts and downsizes where she works. Her job was on the chopping block,” Brenna announces.

  Josi adds. “Those bag of dicks kept our girl, and we’re here celebrating and helping our girl let loose.”

  “Very loose,” Brenna over exaggerates.

  I throw my head back in amusement at the blush creeping up from Raylan’s cleavage making its way to her face.

  “Ray-Ray?” I ask, wanting to take some heat off her.

  “No.” Raylan perks up, taking a step toward me. “My name is Raylan and nothing else.”

  “Okay, okay.” I hold my hands up in surrender.

  “Hey, you want to have dinner with Raylan tonight?” Brenna asks, tilting her head in a begging gesture.

  Like she’d have to plead with me under normal circumstances. I run my hand through my hair, gripping the back of my head. I’m in hell right now.

  “Memphis. Honey.” Iris, Margaret, and Sophia step up from behind me.

  One on each arm in the blink of an eye with the tension growing thicker than I’ve ever experienced. Iris eyes Raylan up and down, scanning her. She doesn’t pay attention to her friends. She knows.

  “Ready for brunch, love?” She pets my chest. “We sure worked up an appetite last night.”

  “Iris,” I warn her. She ignores it. No shocker. Iris lets nothing or no one stand between her and what she wants.

  “Some of us wouldn’t know,” Sophia speaks up, petting my arm.

  “Patience, Sophia. Memphis knows a repeat of last night will be including you. If we are lucky, he’ll have us screaming his name before happy hour.”

  I stare at Raylan as this train wreck obliterates everything around me. The hurt in Raylan’s eyes burns me with raw guilt. Her vision blurs with sadness, tormenting the abundance of disgust I have for myself. I don’t know this woman. It doesn’t matter. This is my entire fault.

  Raylan dips her head, steps to the side, and takes off without a single word. Her friends are speechless as well, chasing after her.

  “Raylan,” I call after her.

  Her name rolls off my lips, promising this isn’t over between us. The lingering echo of it is sexy as hell, leaving me wanting her just like the sky is blue. I can't tell you why. It’s just there.

  “Oopsie! Did I interrupt something?” Iris asks, kissing my cheek.

  I don’t respond. Knowing myself all too well because I’m one wave from telling her to shove her money up her ass and paying her for this cruise. The saying you can’t have the cake and eat it, too, rings all too true right now. I can’t have the money and be the man I want. Reality can suck my big fat cock.

  Six

  Raylan

  “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.