Sea Breeze

by Jennifer Senhaji

  Sea Breeze

  Jennifer Senhaji

  Published by Jennifer Senhaji

  Copyright 2015 Jennifer Senhaji

  Editing and Layout by Patricia D. Eddy

  Cover Design by Melody Barber, PageCurl Publishing and Promotion

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Author does not own any rights to music mentioned in this book.

  Also by Jennifer Senhaji

  Sunset Dreams Series

  Sweet Dreams

  Choosing to Dream coming in 2015

  Disguising Love Series

  Angels in Disguise (originally published as part of the Unwrapping Love Holiday Anthology)

  Praise for Sea Breeze

  Sea Breeze is a short, sexy read that will have you rooting for the brave heroine out to find herself after tragedy turns into relief.

  Ashlynn Pearce, author of the DirtSlap Series

  Ready for some sun, sand, and surf? Jennifer Senhaji’s writing takes you there. Amazingly well done.

  Tami Lund, author of the Tough Love Series

  Dedication

  For all the wannabe world travelers

  Chapter One

  I’m stuck. I don’t know where I’m going, but things can’t stay the way they are. So, I’m boarding a ship, and using this fourteen-day trip to figure out what I’m going to do with my life now.

  No, I’m not some fifty-something divorcée in the middle of a mid-life crisis. That’s the sad part. I’m twenty-five, single, living and working in Vegas. I’ve never been in love, and never been anywhere. I live this blah existence, schlepping drinks, dodging losers. Nothing ever changes. Until recently.

  I don’t believe in fate or luck, so it all comes down to me. That’s why I’m taking this trip. Well, that and my coworker, Kim, had an extra ticket. Her “boyfriend” bailed, and I was her shoulder to cry on. She’s supposed to meet up with friends. They’ve organized this trip as some kind of high school reunion. In any case, I’m taking advantage of the offer. We’re not close, we’re not really even friends, but I need this, and I wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity to finally get away.

  I’ve never left Nevada. Don’t get me wrong, the desert is beautiful. But... I want— I don’t know what I want, but I’ll be gazing out at the Caribbean while I try and figure it out.

  I’ve never been this close to the ocean before. What the hell have I been doing with my life? After almost five hours on a plane, my first time ever on a plane, I’m hungry, and my back aches. I stretch in every direction hoping to alleviate the pain from the knots that have formed.

  “Holy shit, this thing is huge, Kim.”

  “That’s what she said.”

  “Ha-ha.” I roll my eyes. Holding my hand over my face, I peer down to the end of the boat. “How big is this thing?”

  “This thing is the Stella Maris. She has eighteen decks, holds six thousand guests, and twenty-five hundred crew members.”

  Holy crap. The Hard Rock Hotel only has 670 rooms. This is like a city on the water.

  We make our way onto the ship and find our cabin. For such a big ship, this room is tiny. Like I-can-make-it-across-the-entire-double-room-in-five-steps tiny. “Interior Stateroom” had sounded so big in the brochure.

  There’s a six-page brochure with the itinerary on my bed. Six pages for—today? Holy Jesus. I’m overwhelmed. My eyes glaze over as I scan the section entitled “Important Things to Know Today,” and I fall back on the bed while Kim sends text messages to her friends to find out what rooms they’re in.

  The luggage will be delivered at some point today. With six thousand guests, who knows how long that will take? I put the ship map and book of “Important Things to Know” in a courier bag around my shoulders and walk out the door, noting my room number and that I’m on Deck Seven. I’ll wander until I’m required to present myself for the mandatory safety drill in an hour. I doubt Kim even realizes I’m gone.

  I want to stretch my legs, so I venture out from the center of the ship to find the outside deck. I pass a rock wall, and make a mental note to conquer it at some point during the trip.

  On Deck Five, I find what I think is the main shopping area. I stop at Starbucks—who knew they’d have a Starbucks on a ship?—and order a tall drip coffee with room. As I add my cream and Stevia, my gaze wanders over to the extremely handsome guy in shorts, sneakers, and a plain white T-shirt ordering a coffee to go. He gives the barista a fist-bump and comes toward me. Tall, handsome; nice forearms.

  “Need a little coffee for your cream?” Doh. I meant “cream for your coffee,” damn it. Smooth. Real smooth.

  “Good morning. No, some sugar please. Can you hand me a couple? Thanks.”

  “It’s not really morning anymore. It’s almost two o’clock in the afternoon. Are you just getting up?”

  He smiles at me over the rim of his sunglasses. “The life of a bartender.” A flutter tingles my stomach at the sight of his smile, but then my ears catch up with my brain. He said “bartender.” Damn it.

  “Ah. Enough said.” I pull my sunglasses down over my eyes, place a lid on my coffee, and head in the opposite direction as fast as I can.

  Chapter Two

  By day two, I’m thoroughly confused by the itinerary. There’s so much to choose from. I need to map out all of my activities or I’m going to miss something great. It looks like I’ll be on my own for most of this trip. Kim has found her group of friends, and I’ve been left to my own devices. It’s okay. I wasn’t expecting us to become besties or anything. Means more time for me think about... My chest tightens.

  It’s about three o’clock in the afternoon and the salt on my upper lip is evidence of the humidity. I’m used to dry heat. Not wet. Wiping my brow against the shoulder of my T-shirt, I make my way toward the pool deck, contemplating if I should go back to my room to get my suit.

  Laziness wins out, and I snag a stool at the Epic Surf Bar. My view overlooks the two wave pools: one for surf boards and one for boogie boards. Maybe I’ll try my hand at it. I’ve always wanted to learn how to surf, and the lifeguards on both sides make it look so easy. Yeah, I could do that.

  “What’ll it be?”

  “Sea Breeze, Stoli, please. Heavy on the grapefruit.” My eyes are trained on the surfers, not the bartender, as they effortlessly ride the waves.

  “Coming up.”

  One of the guys, who could be a model for Abercrombie, slides off his board with ease, and a male passenger in his twenties steps up to take his place. I glance behind me, quickly finding my drink on the bar. I take a long pull of the cool, refreshing liquid as New Guy steps onto the board, and immediately takes a nose-dive face-first into the water with a thud.

  “I’m surprised there’s not more blood in the water.”

  The comment causes my grapefruity bliss to spew out of my mouth. I witness the manufactured wave carry the poor soul up to the back of the pool and down again, while the lifeguards struggle to yank him out of harm’s way. Maybe I should hold off on my surfer girl dreams for a bit.

  I turn to grab a napkin and seek out the voice. A tanned forearm wipes down the bar next to my d
rink. It’s attached to a broad chest, covered in a red lifeguard T-shirt that stretches and shifts over perfectly-toned biceps and shoulders. At the top of this masterpiece is a face—wait a minute. I know that face. That’s the preppy bartender I met yesterday at Starbucks.

  “Blood? Do people knock out their front teeth doing that?” I allow myself a moment to admire his chiseled jawline.

  “Mostly bumps, bruises, an occasional broken nose. When the kids ride, they seem to come out of every fall unharmed. It’s the adults who think it looks easy that end up hurting themselves.”

  “Right. I’ll remember that and stay away.”

  He stops wiping and leans one arm on the bar. With a crinkle above his dark brows, he asks, “Do I know you?” His chocolate-colored eyes search mine, and my brain goes fuzzy for a second.

  “Coffee.”

  “You want a coffee?” He looks confused, considering the drink in my hand is still half full.

  “No, I mean, we bumped into each other yesterday while getting coffee.”

  “Right. What’s your name?” It’s so practiced, his smile. Typical. I’ve seen it a million times.

  My shoulders straighten. “Not interested.” I sip my drink and turn back toward the wave pool to see if they’ve extracted the poor man. Undeterred by the previous victim, a larger woman, probably in her mid-forties, is next. Oh dear Lord, are they actually going to let her try and get on that thing?

  “Well, Ms. Not Interested, my name is Eric, in case you’re wondering.”

  He walks to the other end of the bar to take an order. I slump in my chair, playing with my straw. Out of the corner of my eye, I observe the woman at the wave pool hanging on to the lifeguard while trying to balance on the surf board. I don’t know if I can watch this. Yet, I can’t turn away.

  My straw makes a suction noise. I swivel my chair back around and catch Eric watching me as he wipes down the well bottles. I nod my head in the international signal for “I need another drink,” and he starts pouring a second Sea Breeze, Stoli, heavy on the grapefruit. When I take in his cold demeanor as he approaches, I reconsider my previous behavior.

  “Will there be anything else?”

  “Jordan. My name is Jordan. Sorry, that was rude of—”

  Bam. Boom. Smack.

  My shoulders raise and I duck my head as the racket of what must have been a complete and totally painful wipeout startles me.

  “Man down?” I ask, barely containing my laughter.

  “Don’t look.” Eric shakes his head, a stern look on his face as if he’s witnessing a tragic accident. And now I feel guilty.

  “I’m a bad person. Shit, is she okay?” I turn and see her, ass-up, her wedgie in the face of the lifeguard as he struggles to try to grab her in an appropriate way.

  “They should really put a warning sign on that thing that says it’s for experienced surfers only.”

  They’ve got her out of the water. She looks fine, and walks out of the pool area with her suit between her cheeks. I can’t help but burst out laughing. Eric tries to hold it in, but his shoulders are shaking.

  “Have you ever ridden that thing? Is it really that hard?”

  “Yes and yes. I barely made it out of there with my board shorts still on. Nope. Not gonna risk the money-maker.” He motions to his face like a game show host and a guffaw escapes me.

  “Jordan, was it?”

  “Yeah. Sorry for being rude earlier.”

  “No problem.”

  He nods toward the wave pool and I watch another victim step up to the plate. This time it’s a girl, maybe between sixteen and eighteen: Lean, strong body, wearing a bikini top and board shorts. She steps on with a shaky step, and I clutch the railing on the bar. She finds her balance, starts slowly, and rides the wave up and down the pool, back and forth. Every muscle in my body tenses as I internally cheer her on.

  “Yeah!” She ends her ride and I let go a loud shout of approval with both hands up in the air. “That was awesome. Did you see her?” Eric whistles behind me, and I turn toward him, smiling as he claps his hands together a couple of times.

  “Yeah. She was good. Obviously surfs regularly, but that was good.” He flashes me another smile, only this time it’s more natural. Less practiced. I finish my drink and ask for my tab. He asks for my sea pass and I dig it out of my satchel. “Do you want to purchase a beverage package?”

  “Um, can’t I pay for my drinks at the bar?”

  “You can, but it’s better to have a package.”

  “No, I’ll pass. I don’t think I’m going to be spending much time at the bar.”

  He scans my sea pass into the system. “Here you go. The charge has been added to your room.”

  “Oh, okay.” I dig ten dollars out of my pocket and place it on the bar for a tip as a scream sounds overhead. I’m about to duck and cover when Eric points overhead to the girl racing across the zip line. My heart beats a little faster and instantly I know I have to try it. “See ya.”

  “Bye.” I barely hear him as I race toward the end of the boat to where a line has formed.

  Giddy, I fill out the waiver and hand over my sea pass. They strap me into the harness and give me all the directions as my pulse races.

  It’s my turn. My bag is safely stored in the locker, and it’s only me and the sky and the ocean. Deep breath in. I grab hold of the handle with my right hand and let go a squeal when I no longer feel the floor with my feet. Wind pushes the hair out of my face as I fly over the ship, the water so far below. My speed increases, and I race over the surf bar. A combination of a scream and laugh escapes me as Eric’s head pops up and he waves to me from below.

  Freedom. Yes. I finally feel alive.

  Chapter Three

  On the third day, we arrive in San Juan, Puerto Rico. I have from ten in the morning until five in the evening to spend ashore, and I’ve planned my day very carefully.

  I’ve got on my comfy cargos rolled up mid-shin, my white tennis shoes for walking all day, and a black tank top. A long-sleeved button-down is in my bag in case I start to burn. I hope I’ve slathered on enough sunscreen, a bottle of which is also safely tucked away in my bag to reapply later. My hair is pulled back, and my sunglasses are perched on top of my head.

  Kim is still asleep in our room. I leave some headache medicine and a bottle of water next to her bed. Judging from how loudly she stumbled around last night and the smell coming from her side of the room, she’s in for one hell of a hangover today.

  I’m one of the first people off the ship. I can’t believe I’m stepping onto an island. I know it’s part of the United States, but this is still so foreign to me. I’ve never even been to Mexico. It was never a possibility.

  I swallow the lump in my throat and walk down the pier, heading left toward the Casa Del Libro, according to my map. It’s a museum of rare books and old written scrolls. It’s supposed to house written mandates to Columbus from Ferdinand and Isabella from the 1400s. Unbelievable.

  Walking along a huge stone wall surrounding this side of the island, I’m led to a mass of street vendors. The smell of barbequed meat and something fried mixes with the salty air, and my mouth waters. It all smells so good. My stomach growls, urging me to hurry up and choose something to try.

  “Confused?”

  I spin around and find Eric standing behind me, grinning. He wears long cargo pants that match mine, a short-sleeved button-down that’s open to reveal a white undershirt and what might be a hint of ink on his left pect. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

  He smirks and rubs his hands together. “They do let us off the ship from time to time.”

  “I can’t decide and I’m starving. It all looks so good, but I don’t know what to pick.”

  “What kind of eater are you? Are you one of those “give me a salad, dressing on the side, but I’ll only eat half and take the rest home,” or...”

  “No, I can eat my entire burger with fries, and go for ice cream after.”

  Eri
c takes my elbow, causing tingles to shoot down my arm, and guides me toward one of the stands. “Great, you have to try a Tico Tripleta then. I always stop for one when I’m here. So good, and it’ll keep you full for a quite a while.”

  “I still want to be able to try other stuff though, too.”

  “You here for the whole day?”

  “Yes.”

  Eric smiles. “Don’t worry. You have time.”

  At the front of the line, Eric holds up two fingers, ordering for both of us. The guy at the grill gives him a nod of recognition, and then before I can ask how much, Eric has already paid, and we’re handed our sandwiches.

  “Oh, this is huge.” The bread is warm and the meat is steaming out of the sides. This could get messy.

  “You’re not wimping out on me now, are you?”

  “Hell, no.” I take a big bite for emphasis, and oh holy heaven on a bun, it’s so good. It kind of reminds me of cheesesteak. I grab a bunch of napkins that are really more like pieces of brown scratch paper, walk away from the food trucks to a patch of grass, and settle down to eat.

  “Here, hold this. I’ll be right back.” He hands me his sandwich, and I wait, annoyed for a moment that I’m not able to eat right away. He jogs back over with two cans in his hand. “You can’t eat a Tico Tripleta without a can of Medalla Light beer.”

  After he opens both cans and places mine in the grass next to me, I hand him back his sandwich. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  We eat our sandwiches in companionable silence. I get about three-fourths of the way through mine and put it down on a couple of napkins to take a break. I take a sip of my not-so-cold beer and ask, “So, where are you from?”

  “San Francisco. You?”

  “Las Vegas. What’s San Francisco like?”

  “Beautiful, but foggy. It’s a big city that feels small if you’ve lived there your whole life. There’s so much to do and yet not enough. There are more restaurants, bars, parks, and museums than any one person could ever visit, but when you live there, you get into a routine. You go to the next new bar or lounge, try out another new restaurant, end up at your hangout with your friends, and do it all again the next day. Don’t get me wrong, I love to eat and drink, but the routine gets old, at least for me. I always liked showing people from out-of-town around, taking them to Coit Tower, the Marina, and Lombard Street, places as a native I never really needed to go. It really is a beautiful city.”