Bad Cruz_L.J. Shen

by Shen, L. J.

  “He does now,” Trinity said apologetically. “Rob got his hands on Bear’s phone number somehow. And since Bear has been raiding the Costellos’ internet package…”

  It was good to know some things ran in the Turner family. Like their need to hijack other people’s online network.

  “No!” Tennessee gasped, sitting upright on the bed. “Are you kidding me? The gasshole! I can’t believe him.”

  I couldn’t believe she said gasshole. Intentionally.

  How old was this woman, three?

  And how come she didn’t have any problem dressing like a streetwalker when she gave strong prude vibes in other regards?

  “Yes,” Trinity said hotly. “But let me tell you, I was there when it happened, and Bear did not appreciate Rob going behind your back at all. He told him, and it’s a quote, ‘I don’t want to see you. Not because of what you did to me. We don’t know each other, so I’m not gonna take it personally. But because of what you did to my mom.’ That’s what he said. Said he couldn’t imagine betraying you like that. Then he hung up on him. It was epic.”

  I expected her to cheer this development, but her frown surprised me.

  “He wouldn’t be betraying me. I want him to have a father figure in his life.” Tennessee gnawed at that bottom pouty lip now, forgetting I was in the room. “I just hate that Rob did that without telling me. Shows that he hasn’t changed at all.”

  “Well, you did ghost him for two weeks,” Trinity pointed out.

  “He ghosted me for thirteen years!”

  “True. The flip-head.”

  There was so much wrong with this family and their vocabulary I didn’t know where to start.

  “Can you do me a favor?” Tennessee asked. “I need to ensure this doesn’t get out of control. Can you ask Bear to hand over his cell phone so that Rob cannot get to him? I want to give this man a piece of my mind and don’t want Bear to feel pressured.”

  “I don’t think Bear’s gonna like being punished for Rob’s actions,” Trinity warned.

  “Me neither. Tell him I’ll buy him the video game that he wants. And take him to that burger place in Salem.”

  “All right. Stay safe, sis.”

  “You, too.”

  They hung up.

  Tennessee still ignored my existence. She tapped her fingers against her knee worriedly. I appreciated how much she cared for her son, and how protective she was of him. She was obviously crazy about that kid.

  “Want me to talk to him?” I asked.

  Her head whipped up, like she’d just remembered I was there.

  “Rob,” I explained. “Not Bear.”

  I didn’t know Bear. He wasn’t my patient—his mom took him to an out-of-town clinic—and I had seen very little of him over the years, which suited me fine, considering the circumstances.

  “I can handle my own blip.”

  “The fact that you use the word blip in this scenario tells me differently. I’m just trying to help.”

  “Help by making yourself as scarce as possible.”

  Here we go again. I bit on my inner cheek, using every ounce of my patience not to snap at her.

  “It’s not me you’re mad at, so I suggest you take a deep breath.”

  “You’re just as bad as him,” she snapped, pinning me with a look.

  “Why? Because we used to be friends in high school?”

  “Because you’re the same brand of privileged gasshole.”

  “If I’m a stereotype, then today proved so are you.” I let loose a vicious smile.

  “I may be easy, Dr. Costello, but rest assured, for you, I’ll always make life difficult.” She got up and grabbed her purse. “Stick to your corner of the ship today.”

  And she slammed the door in my face.

  That went well.

  I spent dinner reading over Gabriella’s many text messages. She sent me pictures of her jugs (this was not a euphemism—she was launching new water bottles for women who went to the gym) and her modeling new lingerie she got for free as promotional material for her blog.

  I answered curtly, but I answered nonetheless.

  There was no point avoiding her the entire ten days. Not only was it cruel, but also unnecessary.

  It wasn’t like I had many people to talk to, with my companion hating my guts and a growing number of people on the ship thinking I had two penises and was married to a thieving hooker who gave me gonorrhea. (I noticed Brendan and the Warren couple were sharing a table at the dinner buffet.)

  Tennessee was nowhere to be seen, but knowing her, she did not miss the free dinner and kept to herself.

  Usually, I studied the itinerary during cruises and planned my days and evenings ahead. Not this time. I was too distracted to be my usual, calculated self. I winged it and walked around aimlessly after dinner.

  I ended up in the arcade.

  The past seven years, every time I got on a cruise with my family (and oftentimes with a designated girlfriend), I hadn’t had the chance to enjoy the arcade.

  It was considered juvenile, and I was in a different chapter in life. A chapter where I played golf and tennis with my father and discussed world politics and the stock market at the library with Wyatt and his balding friends.

  I didn’t know when would be the next time I could do this uninterrupted and unobserved by everyone who knew me.

  The average age at the arcade was fifteen, and that was only because I brought it up from twelve with my own thirty-one years. Apparently, there was another arcade on the cruise ship, which served alcohol, and that’s where most people chose to be. Everyone around me was at least two heads shorter, with tie-dyed clothes, gelled hair, and disproportioned amounts of cologne and perfume.

  I started with some NASCAR racing, switched to Donkey Kong, and then hit the Galaxian. I burned about an hour before I noticed the place was suspiciously emptying out.

  Or, to be more specific, everyone was moving toward one side of the arcade, huddling around the air hockey table in clusters of fours and fives.

  An air hockey connoisseur, myself, I headed over to the table to see what all the fuss was about.

  I should have known from the start the only person with the ability to attract the attention of every male on this cruise was Tennessee Turner.

  She leaned forward on one side of the air hockey table, her breasts spilling from her lacy dress like fountain soda at a loosely regulated movie theater.

  She pressed her finger pad to striker by the nub, like she couldn’t be bothered with holding the entire thing, stopping the puck from slipping into her slit.

  I glanced over at her competitor and found a man who looked to be in his late twenties, trimmed and decent-looking, who actually paid attention to the game and not her jugs (this was a euphemism, by the way).

  My pulse quickened. I ignored the weird sensation, chalking it up to the fact I was spending ten days with the village’s official idiot/harlot in the middle of the ocean.

  They went on for ten minutes. She smoked the poor guy, then another dudebro—younger, this time—took his place while the twenty-something man retired and returned a few moments later with a cocktail for the lady. And by ‘the lady’ I mean the current bane of my existence.

  She wiped the floor with dudebro number two, too, and then with the girl who replaced him, and the middle-aged man who stepped in—he was someone’s dad and had been called to save the day.

  Tennessee was indisputably talented at air hockey, I remembered from our adolescent years. In fact, there was only one person she hadn’t beaten in the entire town.

  Me.

  Even though we were supposed to keep away from one another tonight, I couldn’t turn down competition when one presented itself. So when more and more people gathered and begged to play with Tennessee, I stepped forward, in front of her, from the other side of the air hockey table, and dropped three Benjamins at the center.

  “Wanna make it interesting?”

  “This, coming from th
e most boring man on planet Earth.” She pretended to blow on her fingernails, like they were on fire, a sarcastic smile on her face. “What are you offering?”

  “Bet I could win this next game with one arm behind my back.”

  Everyone around us sucked in a breath.

  Tennessee straightened her posture, giving me her all-business look, which I’d been used to from Jerry & Sons. I’d secretly loved it when she waited my booth. Any crumbs of attention from her were welcome.

  She arched an eyebrow. “Mr. Weiner, I’m surprised.”

  “Why’s that, Mrs. Weiner?”

  “I thought I told you to leave me alone tonight.”

  “That was before it came to my attention that you were the main event at the arcade.” I made a point of dropping my gaze to her cleavage, letting her know I didn’t only mean her air hockey skills.

  She threw me a sex kitten smirk. It killed me that I wanted her and killed me even more that I couldn’t have her, even after I’d been given every advantage to make her mine.

  I was the one with the money, the impeccable reputation, and harem of prospective girlfriends. And yet, I couldn’t get more than an eye roll from this woman.

  “Honey, I thought it was established you can’t handle me.”

  Low whistles emerged from the thickening crowd forming around us. It seemed like half the goddamn cruise ship was watching. I waited for the dread of being caught doing something less than perfect to sour my insides, but it didn’t happen.

  I’d never felt more alive than I did in that moment.

  “Try me,” I drawled.

  “Make that three hundred a grand.” She lurched her chin to the money between us.

  “And when you lose?”

  “I won’t lose.”

  “And if you lose?” I amended. “What do I get?”

  “Your pick.”

  “I’ll get to pick what you wear for the remainder of the cruise. Take you out shopping and put you in what I want to see you in. I’ll dress you…” I paused strategically, “and undress you as I please.”

  The crowd hollered in elation (pun intended, obviously). I was surprised at their responsiveness for a moment until remembering our sham marriage…

  Her sharp hazel eyes, the lovely shade of a heart of a tree, flared for a fraction of a moment, before she fixed another sneer on those bright red lips.

  “As far as I’m concerned, you can ask me to walk around naked until we touch land again. You’re not winning, so I don’t really care what you want from me.”

  “Is that a deal?” I arched an eyebrow.

  She gave me a quick nod.

  The crowd cheered.

  I collected the money between us, stuffing it into my pocket and reached to shake on it. Her hand was cold and clammy. I withdrew from her, hating the sensation her simple handshake had on me.

  “Seven rounds or first to score seven points,” I laid down the rules.

  “Yeah, I know how to play air hockey, pal.”

  She annihilated me the first two rounds, but only because I let her. I wanted to build her confidence, and also to ensure that she thought she had a fair chance. By the third round, I stepped into the game. In our youth, Tennessee and I had always found ourselves competing in air hockey at the local arcade. We were simply the best at it. Rob used to be oblivious to how I looked at his girlfriend while I played with her. Probably because he was busy showing off to the other girls his claw machine talents—that bastard always got the teddy. He had a secret technique he wouldn’t share.

  I won the third, fourth, and fifth rounds, and planned to see where the wind blew with the sixth one. Tennessee was good—but I was better, and I also wanted to change her entire wardrobe and bring her back to Fairhope a new, respectable woman and get the brownie points for it.

  The perfect Dr. Costello gave Tennessee Turner a makeover and now his sister-in-law’s sibling looks like someone we might let babysit our kids.

  “You’ve gotten rusty,” Tennessee commented from across the table, blocking the puck I sent spinning toward her and sliding it back to me with force. She was panting.

  “You’ve gotten cocky,” I replied. She wanted to shatter my cool exterior. She was in for a great disappointment.

  “Yeah, well, the past few years were just a breeze.” She blew a lock of blonde hair that escaped her hairspray and fell across her eye. “So naturally, I let my guard down.”

  “Are you going to complain about your life every time we talk?” I sent the puck careening her way at the speed of light. “Because in that case, I’m not the only boring one here.”

  “You should have more empathy for me, you know,” she huffed. “Not all of us have perfect lives.”

  I have a lot more to offer you than empathy, if you’d just descend from the cloud of self-pity you’re stuck in.

  “Aren’t you two married?” a confused teenager in the crowd wondered aloud, scratching a pimple open on his cheek.

  “My life is not perfect,” I said, blocking the puck she sent my way. Damn. She had some moves on her. I forgot how fun she was to be around when we were actually…well, left to be our real selves.

  “Of course it is.” She let out a throaty, sexy laugh. “Why’d you dump poor Gabriella? Did you not like the test drive?”

  “We wanted different things,” I said curtly.

  “What do you want?” Tennessee asked, trying to distract me and slide that puck into my hole.

  You, I thought bitterly. I want you.

  But I didn’t have nearly enough alcohol in my system to say it, and anyway, I wans’t sure I really, truly wanted her. I mean, I wanted her, but in the same way I wanted four cinnamon rolls. It would feel good to have, but might kill you afterwards.

  “Not sure.” I leaned a hip against the air hockey table instead, making a show of getting bored. And, while I was at it, sent the puck straight into her hole. It landed inside in a clean strike. She groaned, hanging her head down as I continued, “I always figured when I found her, I’d know. Four-two to me, by the way.”

  She grabbed the puck and placed it on the table again, delivering the strike of a woman possessed by the devil. “You’re getting a little old.”

  “Aren’t you nearly thirty?” I asked conversationally. “Did you know that any pregnancy of a woman thirty-five and above is called geriatric pregnancy?”

  “You’re a real smooth talker, aren’t you, Mr. Weiner?”

  People chuckled around us. I had to remember we had an audience. It helped with keeping my heartrate—and that thing inside my pants—in check.

  I won another round, making it five-two to me, and wasn’t in the mood to offer her some grace in a form of letting her win a round.

  “You’ve always hated me,” I accused. “Why?”

  “That’s bull.” Her mouth hung open in outraged shock. “You’re the one who always looked down on me. Even before I started dating Rob.”

  “How so?”

  “Who is Rob?” someone asked.

  She put the puck back on the table, sent it my way, and nailed it straight into my goal.

  Fine. Maybe I was a little distracted.

  “Five-three to you.” She winked at me suggestively. “And I once overheard you telling him you thought he and I had nothing in common and that he shouldn’t ask me out. You said girls like me are a lot of work.”

  I didn’t want to tell her I had told him that because I’d had a horse in that race.

  “And you were.” I shrugged, putting the puck back in its place and starting another round.

  “You wouldn’t look me in the eye after I started dating him. You couldn’t bear that he didn’t listen to you, could you?”

  Yeah. That’s what it was. Sure.

  “I was right, wasn’t I?” I sent the puck spinning again.

  “Guess so, but that thing everyone called a mistake?” She held my gaze, stopping the game for a few seconds. “He’s the best thing that ever happened to me, and I wouldn’t r
eplace him for anything in this world.”

  “Good for you.”

  I slammed the puck with my striker and won again. “Six-three.”

  I had one more round to win before I put her in a sensible dress and flat shoes. I was probably the only man on Earth who wanted to see the woman he desired dressed like a senior librarian, and not because of some kinky fantasy.

  “So how are you going to handle an actual pair of jeans? And I don’t mean the Daisy Dukes kind. Is your body allergic to fabric?” I wondered.

  “It’s allergic to nonsense. That’s why you give me hives.”

  “I love our love,” I cooed sarcastically.

  She made gagging sounds. But she was still here.

  “Don’t chicken out on me,” I warned.

  “A bet is a bet.”

  With that, I delivered the final strike. I straightened my posture, an unbearably smug smirk decorating my face.

  “Seven-three.”

  The crowd around us clapped and whistled, cheering for me. Tennessee’s mouth fell open, but nothing came out of it. She looked genuinely confused.

  “You lose,” I drawled. “Again. You should be getting used to it by now, shouldn’t you, Mrs. Weiner?”

  The jest was peppered with a wink, designed to give her a chance to throw another verbal curveball my way. I was even fully prepared to let her have the last word. But she didn’t take the bait. Instead, she squared her shoulders, stepped back, congratulated me on my win, her voice quivering around the words, and ran away.

  She wasn’t in the stateroom when I got back from nursing two whiskeys and a headache at the bar. It was eleven-thirty, and even though going to bed early and letting her prowl the ship and sulk like the crazy woman she obviously was was tempting, I couldn’t do it.

  I groaned as I traipsed out of my room, stumbling upon Mr. and Mrs. Warren, who’d just returned from the casino, looking lush and unfairly lucky.

  “Where’s your little wife?” Mrs. Warren sneered with derision, seconds away from blowing a raspberry at me. I swear if she had a heart attack right here, right now, I’d piss all over my Hippocratic Oath and let her kick the bucket.

  “Admiring her flawless face and knockout figure in front of the mirror in our room,” I bit back, still holding a Cyprus-sized grudge against her for what she’d done to Tennessee. “Being with a woman of such beauty is a blessing and a curse.”