Below Deck

by Tara Sivec

  No having sex on the boat. Period. End of story.

  CHAPTER 3

  Declan

  “It’s too hot, the closets are too small, the color scheme is hideous, you really expect me to go barefoot for ten days just so I don’t scuff these second-rate floors?” Ben whines in a high-pitched voice, mimicking the two annoying blondes that boarded the yacht a few hours ago.

  “Can you believe that older bitch actually asked for orange juice with pulp in her mimosa, took a sip, then handed it back to me and demanded I strain out all the pulp?” Zoe complains as she helps us drain and scrub the Jacuzzi on the sundeck after the daughter of the “older bitch” said she saw a hair floating in the water and wouldn’t go anywhere near it until we fixed the problem.

  Normally, Zoe wouldn’t help with anything on the exterior of the boat since she’s a stew, but Ashley felt bad about the abuse she’d had to endure after serving the women lunch and told Zoe to take a fifteen-minute break. Zoe quickly ran outside and found Ben and me up on the sundeck, choosing to help us during her break instead of spending time inside, in close proximity to the guests who could run into her and bark more orders at her.

  While Ben and Zoe traded horror stories about the blondes, who had already managed to piss off every member of the crew in the short time they’d been on board, I kept my head down and my mouth shut as I scrubbed the inside of the Jacuzzi so hard my muscles started screaming in protest. Since I’d been busy helping the captain lift the anchor and performing all of my duties required for us to leave the dock, I’d managed to avoid the twins of terror and all their complaining. Listening to all of the shit Ben and Zoe dealt with or overheard happen was enough to piss me off, but not the main reason I almost scrubbed the color off the walls of the Jacuzzi as I took my anger out on the huge tub.

  My irritation at the moment lies all at the feet of one Mackenzie Armstrong. No, she didn’t snap orders at any of the stews, and no, she didn’t complain about one damn thing. She did whatever she could to not ask anyone for anything and, when she had to, she almost looked embarrassed that she had to ask someone to do something for her. And she never forgot her manners, always saying please and thank you, and following each one up with a wide, genuine smile. A gorgeous smile that made her ocean blue eyes sparkle on a face with smooth, sun-kissed skin. A head full of thick, shiny hair the same color as the mahogany wood accents in the guest quarters, which fell down around her shoulders in long waves, attached to a slim body with curves in all the right places accented by a short and tight tattered jean skirt, and a generous helping of cleavage that peeked out of the edge of her low-cut tank top that I could immediately tell was not attached to fake tits of any kind. They were perfect and they were real and every time she leaned over the table on the main deck during lunch, I couldn’t stop staring at them when I was supposed to be wiping off the wet footprints on the deck that Arianna tracked all the way back there after her quick dip in the Jacuzzi.

  The same Jacuzzi we had to fucking drain and clean when she saw a hair that was probably a strand from the fake-ass extensions on her own damn head.

  Not helping matters at the moment is the fact that I can’t stop thinking about the way I caught Mackenzie staring at me when she was supposed to be listening to the rules on the ship and safety instructions. It doesn’t matter what kind of guy you are or what sort of moral code you hold yourself to, when a woman as hot as Mackenzie Armstrong is staring at you like she’s trying to picture you naked, it’s impossible to put it out of your mind.

  The way her eyes were glazed over, the way her tongue darted out and slowly licked her bottom lip, the way her chest pushed her tits up and out when she took a few rapid breaths…

  “What’s the story with that Mackenzie chick?” Ben asks, my ears perking up at just the sound of her name, pissing me off all over again as I scrub the Jacuzzi with more gusto. “She’s the only brunette in a sea of blondes and she’s actually nice. Is she even related to those assholes?”

  Since Ben wasn’t included in the dossier meeting yesterday, and I only gave him and Eddie the basics on the guests, he doesn’t know Mackenzie isn’t related to the two blonde she-devils. I’m assuming since her father is also blond, she must have gotten her dark hair from her mother, wherever she is.

  Since Ashley was more forthcoming with her crew on the Armstrong family details, Zoe takes it upon herself to explain the family dynamic to Ben.

  “I overheard Mackenzie and her friend, Brooke, talking and I guess Mackenzie’s mom died when she was little. Her dad never dated anyone until Miss Resting Bitch face came along and brought RBF Junior with her,” Zoe tells him.

  My frantic scrubbing comes to a stop when she says this, making me realize Mackenzie and I have something in common. We both lost parents at a young age. Too bad that’s where the similarities end and I resume my washing with an irritated grunt. It doesn’t matter that we’ve both experienced loss, her with her mother and me with both of my parents, she’s still so far out of my league it’s not even funny. And it’s more than a little pathetic that I’m thinking about this considering she’s a guest and she’s off limits, no matter how gorgeous or seemingly unlike the rest of her family she is.

  “She’s being nice now, but just give it a day or two. She’ll be looking down her nose at you and putting you in your place, I guarantee it. They’re all the same, even if they want to pretend like they aren’t. Rich, entitled assholes who think they’re better than you,” I mutter, leaning up out of the Jacuzzi and rolling the kinks out of my shoulders.

  “I don’t know; she seems really different. And her friend, Brooke, is nice too,” Zoe muses, putting the hose into the tub and turning on the water to begin filling it again. “The dad isn’t so bad when you get him away from the wife and the stepdaughter. I kind of feel bad for him. He follows them around like a little puppy and agrees with whatever they say, but when they aren’t around, he’s sweet and charming.”

  “Awwwww, does Zoe have a crush on the old rich dude?” Ben jokes.

  She throws her towel at his face and shakes her head at him.

  “Sorry, old dudes aren’t my type, no matter how much money they have. Also, dudes, period, aren’t my type. Remember Benny-boy?”

  Zoe is a lesbian and it’s probably one of the main reasons we get along so well. She doesn’t have to worry about me doing something stupid like trying to get in her pants, and I don’t have to worry about having a drunken hookup with her and her turning into a psycho.

  “Fine. I’ll take one for the team and snag me a rich bitch if you two are going to pass,” Ben says, leaning against the deck railing with a smile.

  “Stay the fuck away from Mackenzie. She’s off limits,” I growl, the words coming out of my mouth before I can stop them.

  Ben and Zoe both stare at me with equal looks of shock on their face for a few seconds before Ben tosses his head back and howls with laughter.

  “Holy shit, you already broke your own cardinal rule and have a crush on one of the guests!” he exclaims through his laughs. “And only a few hours after you met the chick. That’s got to be some kind of a record.”

  His full-blown laughter dies down to a few chuckles when I glare at him, and Zoe covers her mouth with her hand to hide her own amused smile.

  “I don’t have a crush on Mackenzie, get your head out of your ass.”

  The lie flies right off my tongue as visions of Mackenzie’s tits and ass and long smooth legs float through my mind, and I start wondering what all that long thick hair would feel like brushing against my thighs while she wrapped those full pink lips around my cock.

  “She’s off limits because she’s a guest. Period,” I add, shifting my feet and stealthily rearranging the painful hard-on in my shorts behind the cover of the back wall of the Jacuzzi.

  “Sorry, man, I didn’t sign any contract when I started working on this ship that guests were off limits, and neither did you. There’s no rule that says we can’t have a little fun to brea
k up the monotony of being a slave to the rich and famous,” Ben informs me.

  While we didn’t sign any damn contracts, it’s still an unwritten rule in yachting. One that if broken, could result in serious consequences. Ben might not care about getting mixed up with a guest and, when things go sour, she complains to the captain and he loses his job, but I do. I can’t lose this job. Even though we make shit money on an hourly basis, the tips we get at the end of a charter more than make up for that as long as the guests aren’t total douchebags and give us the standard ten to twenty percent of the charter fee. With this charter, especially, one of the longest and most expensive ones we have booked for the season, costing Mark Armstrong $200,000, that can equal a tip up to twenty grand. With me and my two deckhands, Ashley and her two stews splitting that baby equally six ways means we each take home around $3,300 cash under the table. For ten days of work.

  I won’t do anything to jeopardize that tip, this job, or my plans for the future. I need to keep racking up the yachting hours so I can sit for my captain’s exam. I need the money to send home to my baby sister, and I need to save everything that’s left over so I can captain my own boat one day. A pair of tits and a great ass, no matter how spectacular they are, will not distract me.

  I open my mouth to remind Ben of all of this, when he pushes off the railing, comes around to the back of the Jacuzzi and smacks his hand down on my shoulder.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t poach your territory. Mackenzie isn’t really my type anyway,” Ben tells me with a wink. “She’s hot and all, but I’ve got my sights set on that Brooke chick. I saw her staring down the blonde bitches when they got shitty with your girl. She got a crazy look in her eyes, like she could reach across the table and stab them and not lose any sleep over it. You know I’ve got a thing for the crazy ones.”

  Ben gives me another pat on the shoulder before sticking his hands in his pockets.

  “Although, if you want to make any headway with your girl, you’re going to have to do a little more than grunt and snarl and stare at her tits all the time like you did when you were introduced to her. I’d suggest talking. I’ve heard the ladies like a good chat every now and again.”

  With that, he turns and walks away, whistling as he goes.

  “SHE’S NOT MY GIRL!” I shout back lamely, unable to come up with any other kind of comeback.

  Zoe laughs, and I aim my irritation with this entire situation at her.

  “Anything you’d like to add?” I fire at her.

  She shakes her head, fighting hard to hide the smile on her face.

  “Nope,” Zoe replies, popping the “p” at the end.

  There are a few minutes of comfortable silence between us as we both look out over the railing at the setting sun as we make our way to St. John. Right when I start to relax and forget about the stupid shit that came out of Ben’s mouth, Zoe changes her mind about having anything to add.

  “My break’s over, so I better get back inside and start getting everything ready for dinner,” she says, moving around the tub and towards the sliding glass doors that lead into the formal dining room. “But if you decide to stop grunting and staring at Mackenzie’s tits anytime soon, I can help you come up with some excellent conversation starters. I’m pretty good at chatting up the ladies and getting in their pants.”

  Without turning around, I lift my arm in the air and give her the finger, her laughter fading with the slide of the doors as she goes inside.

  I drop my arm back down to my side and stare into the Jacuzzi as it fills. As soon as I’m finished with this, I have to head around to the main deck aft where the outside dining table is set up for guests to eat when we don’t have high winds or bad weather, to help the stews with bartending duties while they’re busy serving dinner.

  I do everything I can to clear my mind of perfect tits, a great ass and hair brushing against my thighs while I shut off the water, wind up the hose and stick it back into the small storage closet. Having a fucking hard-on in front of the guests is probably frowned upon.

  I just need to get my head back in the game, focus on doing my job and forget about everything else. I’ve done it a thousand times before and I’m not going to let Mackenzie Armstrong fuck with my head or my dick, no matter how nice and different she’s pretending to be. She’ll show her true colors, it’s only a matter of time. I can keep my dick in check until then, no problem.

  CHAPTER 4

  Mackenzie

  “Remember that little diner we went to in Pennsylvania? You were what, eleven?” my dad asks, leaning back in his chair and sipping his after-dinner coffee.

  “Twelve,” I reply with a smile as my dad returns it, and his eyes soften with the memory. “It was called Mom’s Open Kitchen and they had—”

  “The best french fries in the world!” my dad finishes, and we both laugh.

  I’m not even going to lie; dinner was the most uncomfortable moment so far on this trip. The food was amazing, sitting on the upper deck watching the sun set over the ocean as we slowly made our way to St. John was a beautiful experience, but the company left a lot to be desired. Allyson and Arianna complained about every dish that was served and sent it back to the kitchen, bitched at the crew when they weren’t fast enough, and never once thanked them for anything. It was embarrassing and I lost count of how many times I apologized for their behavior to the crew, under my breath so the two hellions wouldn’t hear and have one more thing to bitch about.

  Even more embarrassing was the fact that Declan stood at the small bar a few feet away from our table and had to listen to this shit all night long. And deal with their nonsense as well since, according to them, every drink he made tasted like the bottom of a shoe. I don’t know why it bothers me so much more to have him witness my family’s behavior. I don’t even know the guy. I shouldn’t care what he thinks of me or the people I’m related to by marriage. Having one of the hottest guys I’ve ever laid eyes on see how they act somehow makes it a thousand times more humiliating, and makes me hope he’s not thinking I’m anything like them. Every time one of them screeched out another complaint or order, my eyes would automatically glance in his direction, hoping he hadn’t heard it, and I’d catch him looking at me. It made my heart beat faster and my palms sweat and my skin heat up in a way the hot tropical sun could never do. It made me forget, for just a moment, that I was on a vacation with two people I couldn’t stand, on a yacht we couldn’t afford to charter, with a father who barely noticed me since these women came into his life and turned it upside down.

  At least with a full belly and the two women in question busy taking selfies at the end of the table, he seemed to be able to relax for a few minutes and I could easily pretend Allyson and Arianna weren’t even there and it was just the two of us. Like it used to be.

  “What was the name of the place that had a giant stuffed grizzly bear and you could sit on its lap and take a picture?” dad asks, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table and hold his coffee cup between his two hands.

  “That was—”

  “BORING!” Allyson shouts, cutting me off as she gets up from the table and walks down to stand behind my father, draping her arms around his shoulders. “God, you two and your stupid, old stories. How many times do we have to hear them? They’re putting me to sleep.”

  Brooke reaches over from her chair next to me, grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. With my free hand, I snatch the full glass of wine in front of me and chug it until it’s gone, slamming it back down on the table a little roughly.

  “I’m so sorry, honey,” my dad apologizes to Allyson, setting his cup down on the table and reaching up to pat her arm.

  Our trip down memory lane is quickly forgotten as he looks up at her with a beaming smile, and I try not to throw up in my mouth when she tells him she’s ready for bed, and that she bought some new lingerie for him to unwrap.

  Dad pushes back from the table and gives Brooke, Arianna, and myself a kiss on the cheek, bidding us go
odnight before he grabs Allyson’s hand and pulls her through the sliding glass doors.

  “Well, that was enough to make all that delicious food we ate come right back up,” Brooke mutters, letting go of my hand to take her own huge drink of wine.

  “Do my boobs look perky enough? I was thinking of getting them lifted.” Arianna announces at the other end of the table to no one in particular, her hands cupping the boobs in question that my father already paid a hefty price to get enlarged two months ago.

  “Never mind. THAT’S enough to make me vomit,” Brooke adds with a grimace.

  We both watch in silent disgust as Arianna pushes her boobs together and up, before Brooke shakes her head and turns away to look at me.

  “You really need to have a heart-to-heart with your father. I thought this vacation would be good for you and a way to relax from all the stress, but I can still see it all over your face,” she informs me. “And I’ve seen you checking emails on your phone a hundred times since we boarded this ship. I thought we agreed when we got to St. Thomas that you would forget about work.”

  I sigh, twisting my empty wine glass around by the stem.

  “I can’t just forget about it, Brooke. I’ve got accountants and lawyers asking me a hundred different questions all day long. Our problems aren’t going away just because I’m out of town.”

  “Do you even hear yourself?” she asks with a raise of her eyebrows. “Our problems. They aren’t our problems, they’re your father’s problems. That he’s chosen to ignore. You can’t clean up all his messes, Mackenzie. You need to live your own life and let him deal with the consequences of his mistakes.”