Sex, Lies, and Cruising

by Cathryn Chapman

  Caitlin jumped up. “No—I’ve got an awesome idea!” She looked very pleased with herself. “Operation Straight Boy! I’ll just pretend I’m your girlfriend. Gabriel won’t mind.”

  “Wait, really? You think it will work?”

  “Oh, God, parents love me,” Caitlin said, shrugging. I glanced at her, surprised, as she added, “Really, it will be a pushover.”

  Nick’s face brightened. “I could go to New York, and not be homeless, and my parents would still be happy…” He beamed. “Let’s do it.”

  The moment devolved into a giant cuddle pile, until Nick finally extracted himself.

  “I really want to thank you girls for tonight,” he said. “I have wanted to get that off my chest for ages, and… I’m really glad I told you everything.” He looked at Caitlin. “And thank you for offering to help. I am off to bed to ponder ‘Operation Straight Boy’.”

  “And I’m going to go down to the medical centre again, to see the doc,” Caitlin said, dragging herself to her feet. “My throat is still killing me and these drugs aren’t making a scrap of difference.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I’m going to hit the sack. I’m completely knackered.”

  Left alone in the silence of the cabin, I lay back on my bunk and stared into space. A crack of light appeared at the door, and I realised Caitlin had left the door ajar. I didn’t have the energy to get up—my worries were weighing me down. Had I really made the right decision in making Cooper jealous? Or had I gone too far and made him think I was a skanky tart? I sighed. Maybe I just shouldn’t think too much. Perhaps it was time just to listen to my own heart, which was telling me to just talk to Cooper about how I felt.

  I’d just started thinking about how to start such a conversation with Cooper when the door flew open.

  “Forget something, roomie?” I asked without looking. She was always forgetting things.

  “It’s not Caitlin,” said a familiar male voice, in an accent I instantly recognised.

  I sat up and swung my legs around, carefully putting my feet on the floor.

  “Wait, don’t get up,” Cooper said. “I need to say this without you looking at me.”

  “Okay,” I said, with some trepidation. That sounded a little ominous, and I wasn’t sure I was prepared for any more bad news.

  “I’m really sorry I stuffed you around,” he said quietly. “I really like you, Ellie, and I’ve realised I’m ready for a relationship. Let’s give it a go.”

  I sat silently while my brain processed what he’d just said. He wanted to be with me? The jealousy game had actually worked! I wanted to shout it from the pool deck and let everybody know he was finally my man. Success was mine!

  Instead, I smiled shyly and stood up to take Cooper’s outstretched hand.

  “I’m in.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Puerto Rico is an excellent place to swan around on the arm of a new beau. I wanted to introduce myself to everyone we passed in the historical city of ‘Old’ San Juan and chirp “Hi, I’m Ellie. This is my boyfriend, Cooper.” Puerto Ricans tended to be a friendly lot, so they probably wouldn’t have minded, but I rather thought that I might embarrass Cooper if I started showing him off.

  “So, babe, what do you want to do?” I purred, nuzzling Cooper’s shoulder with my chin. “It’s such a beautiful day.” I latched onto him tightly, resisting the urge to skip down the cobbled street. Given how little sleep we’d both had after earnestly consummating our ‘official’ status, I was a little surprised at how bouncy I felt. Sex really does wonders.

  When I say ‘official’, I mean it was official to the two of us. Cooper had asked if we could keep it quiet for a little while, as he was still relatively new to the team. Hearing this news for the third time, I didn’t even bat an eyelid. I knew the drill: nobody minds who you sleep with—except your boss.

  “Hmmmm, do you wanna go to McDonald’s?” he said after a moment, sounding unsure.

  McDonald’s in Puerto Rico? How boring. I’d read an article in Cosmo that said men got really turned on by adventurous women. I was hardly the most adventurous person, but he didn’t know that. So instead I said, “How do you feel about street food?”

  “Wow, really?” Cooper said, looking down at me with a definite air of newfound appreciation. “You’re amazing! Most girls shy away from street food. Worried they’ll get food poisoning or something…”

  Hooray, success! I sent a silent thank you heavenward to Cosmo, the holy book of all relationships. I shrugged nonchalantly and smiled up at Cooper. “I’m always up for something new.” I patted the charcoal tablets I’d stashed in my pocket in case of emergencies and secretly hoped we’d find a vendor who didn’t cook our food in last week’s oil.

  We strolled up the street, looking for an irresistible display of mouth-watering delicacies. My camera, slung over my shoulder, knocked against my side, so I picked it up and popped off the lens cap. San Juan was a photographer’s paradise; the buildings, like those on most of the other Caribbean islands, were painted in a fruit-inspired palette of yellows, pinks, and blues. Many of them were crumbling away; years of sun and salt air corroded the layers of paint, creating an irresistible canvas of textures just begging to be captured on camera.

  I swung around and focused the lens on Cooper’s face, and, laughing, tried to prod him into pulling a pose. He stuck out his tongue and crossed his eyes, and proceeded to pose in increasingly ridiculous positions for me.

  “You are ridiculous,” I informed him, replacing the lens cap and slinging the camera back over my shoulder.

  “Oh, I know,” he said. He held out his hand and wiggled his fingers. “Shall we?”

  I took his hand and we started down the street again.

  A few minutes later, we passed an open-air theatre where a small crowd had gathered to watch a band playing drums in a thumping, rhythmic beat; a sweating dance troupe was jumping around to the music in what I would have described as jungle-inspired dance steps. A sign announced ‘Bomba Dance & Drum Show—Daily’.

  “Did you know Puerto Rico has American, European and African influences?” Cooper said, startling me. I looked up at him as he nodded at the dancers. Adopting an encyclopaedic voice, he continued, “Puerto Ricans love this African-inspired Bomba dance, which is a battle between dancer and drums, but they also claim to have invented salsa. Do you know how to salsa?”

  “No, not really,” I answered, blocking out visions of my first night on board, when Seth and I salsa’d our way into the sack. “I’d love for you to teach me.”

  In response, he grabbed me around the waist and gave me a squeeze. “Maybe later,” he whispered.

  We wandered the city’s narrow streets, dodging out of the way of oncoming cars and peering into the shops we passed. Even now, after having been on and off at each port of call more than once, I was still surprised by how many high-end shops there were. Never underestimate how much tourists are willing to buy.

  We settled upon a street food vendor who had just cooked up a fresh batch of garlicky, spicy chicken on kebab sticks. I inspected them as subtly as I could for tell-tale signs of poor hygiene.

  “Hola Seňor, cuatro por favor,” Cooper said, the Spanish rolling off his tongue. I hadn’t known he spoke Spanish, and I wondered what other unexpected talents he possessed. I was imagining all of the things he might be able to do with his mouth when he nudged me towards a couple of plastic crates.

  We sat down and he handed me a plate. After a few minutes of silence as we ate, I looked up to find Cooper watching me, a smile on his face.

  “You’ve got a little thing…here…” he said, wiping the corner of my mouth. His hand lingered, and then he leaned forward and licked the corner of my mouth. Warmth surged downwards and I started to feel tingly; if we hadn’t been sitting out in the open I’d probably have jumped him right then. Then I remembered that I was supposed to be trying to be a bit less available; playing hard to get had worked so well thus far that it seemed
a shame to toss it aside so soon.

  “Let’s go play pool,” I said, jumping up and smoothing down the back of my shorts. “Nick told me there’s a great bar near here, where all the crew go.”

  Cooper groaned with mock exasperation, but got to his feet and followed me down the street.

  The bar was tricky to find; after we’d been searching for a while with no luck, Cooper wanted to give up, but I insisted we keep looking. We found it eventually, and when we walked inside, I was glad we’d made the effort. It was long and narrow, with dark paint on the walls; it smelled of stale beer and spicy potato wedges. Atmospheric, one might say. I’d been expecting to find it full of crew, but it was completely deserted. I was completely fine with that, because it meant I could drape myself all over Cooper.

  He racked up the balls and offered me a break, the smile on his face telling me that he expected me to have no idea what I was doing. I concealed my own smile; my dad had started teaching me to play pool from about the age of four, and although I rarely defeated him or his pool-hall mates, I generally wiped the floor with my friends. Being the daughter of a pool champ has its advantages. It had been years since anyone had even invited me to play; they’d all got tired of losing. Even Dan, who’d fancied himself a bit of a pool shark, had always avoided playing against me.

  But this wasn’t Dan, or my dad; it was Cooper, and the last thing I wanted was to embarrass him. Male pride is such a funny thing. So I erred on the side of caution and tried not to sink too many balls on the break. I did sink one, but admittedly, it looked like a fluke. The sight of Cooper concentrating hard on the balls, secretly willing me not to pocket anything, was so cute I was a little distracted.

  “Oooh, lucky,” he said, leaning on his cue and shaking his head adorably. He gave me a kiss on the forehead and grinned. “Let me show you how it’s done.” He proceeded to make a big display of announcing the desired pocket and lining up the ball with great fanfare, explaining things to me carefully. He pointed out his stance and hand technique.

  And then missed.

  Red cheeks declared his embarrassment, and I felt awkward for him; he’d wanted so badly to show off for me, and it had backfired. It was one of those times you want to have your arse kicked.

  When I’d come home for Christmas my first year at uni, I’d massively fancied this bloke who didn’t seem to realise I existed, and I’d wailed about it to my mother as we cleaned up after Christmas dinner. Dad and the rest of the family were watching Elf on telly, so Mum and I sat down in the dining room and talked about men and relationships.

  “Ellie, men are simple,” she’d said. “They just like to be bigger, better, cleverer, and more talented at everything than we are.”

  She’d pulled down an old photo album and flicked through it to pictures of her and Dad before they’d had me. “See how happy he looks, Ellie?” she’d said. “It’s because I always made him feel like a man. You just need to cajole and caress their egos at every opportunity, love.”

  I knew my mother was brilliant at a lot of things, but you’d never have known. My whole life, she’d let Dad be the one who was right, let him be the one who always won.

  I had always found their straightforward, light-hearted relationship inspiring. They were always laughing, and Mum was ever the vulnerable female. I knew it was a bit 50s, but I quite liked the simplicity. It had always seemed a bit unfair to keep Mum’s talents hidden, but their marriage was so solid, it seemed like it was worth following my mum’s lead.

  With that in mind, I soothed Cooper’s ruffled ego, assuring him he was brilliant and sexy and every other positive term that came to mind. I purposefully missed my next shot, which seemed to perk Cooper up quite a bit; he consoled me in much the same way as I had him, and then successfully potted his next ball. “You make me so happy,” he said, leaning on his cue stick and holding my hand in his. Smiling, he added, “I’m the happiest I’ve been in years. Thank you.”

  Mum was right; men really were simple.

  We played three more games, and I managed to lose each one worse than the last; by the final game, I was trying to see how badly I could miss my shots. Cooper made sympathetic clucking noises and, while beaming after winning his fourth straight game, suggested we ought to head back before he thrashed me again. Which was fine by me; don’t get me wrong, I loved spending the time with Cooper, and I was pleased about helping to make him happy and boost his ego, but there’s only so long you can pretend to be bad at something before you get bored.

  Cooper dropped me back at my cabin after lunch; I’d hardly been there for five minutes before Caitlin ran in the door, arms flailing, dress askew, hair flying, puffing like she’d run a marathon.

  “Thank fuck you’re here, roomie!” she said, almost tackling me with a hug. She buried her face in my shoulder. “You are not going to believe this…”

  This did not sound promising. “So you know I went back to the doctor last night to get more stuff from my throat?” she asked, flopping down on the bottom bunk. I nodded mutely, wondering where this was going. “He was worried the antibiotics weren’t working, and called the senior doctor. He looked in my throat and said, ‘That’s not tonsillitis. It’s herpes of the throat.’ Oh, my fucking God, roomie, can you believe that?! So fucking gross.”

  I stood speechless for a moment. On the bright side, she wasn’t pregnant and there wasn’t any further alcohol or Gabriel-related drama. On the other hand…ew. She was right, it was disgusting. “Eeeeewwwwwwwwwww,” I said.

  “I know. I’m so hideous,” she said, sitting up. “I thought Gabriel would be a bit more sympathetic, since he obviously gave it to me, but he was actually a bit offended when I suggested it was him!”

  I grimaced. “Not that it matters, I suppose, but is there any chance it wasn’t?” I was thinking about her foursome story. I loved Caitlin, but I knew she wasn’t always as careful as she could be, and so it was entirely possible it hadn’t been Gabriel after all. One look at Caitlin’s face, though, told me it wasn’t the right time to bring it up.

  “Well, yeah, we’ve both fucked around lots,” she admitted. “But it was almost definitely him. I have always been okay with using protection, but Gabriel never does. He gets tested a lot and he thinks it’s the same thing.” She rolled her eyes and pushed her hair back. I stayed quiet. “On the up side, the doc gave me some antivirals. He said they should work pretty quickly, so I’ll feel good as new in a couple of days.” She smiled weakly, looking strained and tired. “And until then, I’m so not giving him head,” she added. She definitely had her priorities in order, this one.

  Later, after a loved-up day with Cooper, I practically floated to the crew bar after work. He’d promised he’d meet up with me later on; in anticipation of the off-chance he let me stay the night in his cabin, I’d even done a little DIY bikini wax.

  Jock was behind the bar when I drifted up to it. He looked in rather a better mood than the last time I’d spoken to him, so I thought maybe he’d forgiven me for whatever I’d inadvertently done.

  “Hi,” I said. Ellie Green, master of the stunning conversation opener.

  “Eh, well, hello there, lass,” Jock said. His eyes darkened to a deep blue-grey; the colour made him look rather melancholy. Somewhere deep down, something was still troubling him, and I still had no idea what it was. He looked down and then, avoiding my gaze, said, “Sorry about the other day. I was being a right bastard for no reason.”

  “It’s okay,” I said cautiously. “It was probably my fault.” I hesitated, and then added, “I’ve missed you.”

  He laughed. “You can’t miss someone in a day or two!”

  I shook my head. “You were so cross with me that I was afraid maybe I’d completely buggered up our friendship.”

  “I’m harder to get rid of than that, lass,” he said. “Now, what are you having?”

  “Can I get a wine please?” I said. I scanned the room. No Cooper. “I’m just waiting for Cooper.” I leaned against the bar. J
ock’s expression didn’t change, so I added, “We’re all sorted now.” Cooper wanted to keep things quiet, but Jock already knew basically everything about my escapades on the ship, so I hardly thought revealing the secret would be problematic.

  “Ah,” Jock said noncommittally, measuring out a large glass of wine. “I see. Excellent.”

  That flat tone had come back again, and this time I knew it had something to do with Cooper. I wished Jock could see how wonderful Cooper was, like I could, but sometimes men could be so ridiculously stubborn that there wasn’t really much point in trying to convince him.

  I wanted to stick around, try to keep repairing my friendship with Jock, but I knew Cooper would arrive any moment, and the last thing I wanted was another confrontation between the two. “It was good to see you,” I said, picking up my wine. As I walked away, I took a sneaky look back. He was so lovely with his floppy hair and expressive eyes, and I really hoped our friendship would be okay. Jock meant a lot to me—maybe more than I was willing to admit. I didn’t want to drive him away.

  As I crossed the room, I spotted Maria in the booths, sitting with a guy I’d never seen before. She was wearing a short white skirt that barely covered her knickers and was laughing and flirting like her life depended on it. The really odd bit was that despite the skirt, her flirting lacked the sexy edge it usually had; she was oddly sweet, and for a moment I wondered if I’d accidentally stumbled into a parallel universe—a feeling only amplified when she spotted me and called out in a warm, friendly voice,

  “Oh, my God, Ellie! Hi! How are you?” I stared at her, wondering if there was another girl named Ellie who happened to be right behind me, but when I glanced around, I was the only one in the area. And then she called out again, in the same sickly sweet voice, “Ellie! Hi! Come and meet my darling boyfriend, Luiz!”

  There was absolutely nothing I would have liked to do less, but since she’d singled me out I couldn’t exactly ignore her. Gripping my wine glass like a shield, I crept closer, just waiting for the claws to come flying out to rip me to shreds.