Captain

by Lauren Rowe

  I put my phone on the bar and scan the place again, looking for Josh. He’s definitely more than fashionably late. I pick up my phone again. “Hey, Lambo,” I write to Josh. “We still on to meet at The Pine Box? I’m sitting at the bar.”

  I make small talk with the bartender for several minutes until, finally, my phone rings with an incoming call from Josh.

  “Hey, man,” I say, answering the call. “What’s up?”

  “I’m sorry, Ryan. I was just about to leave my house to meet you when Kat started barfing like the Exorcist.”

  “Oh, man. Poor Kat. My mom said the whole ‘morning sickness’ thing has been rough on her. Tell Kat I hope she feels better soon.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t text you earlier. I got caught up helping Kat and didn’t realize the time. I just don’t feel good about leaving her tonight.”

  “Oh, yeah, definitely stay with her,” I say. “I’m not at all surprised, by the way. Has Kat told you one of her many nicknames growing up was The Barf-o-matic?”

  Josh laughs. “Hey, why don’t you come over to our place, instead? I’m still down to hang out and I’m sure Kat would love to barf on you. I’ve got a pool table and a fully stocked bar.”

  “Sounds great,” I reply. “Maybe we could make a drinking game out of Kat’s misery? ‘Everyone drinks once when Kat pukes and twice when she gets barf in her hair!’”

  “Yeah, and then we all run for our lives when Kat starts beating the shit out of everyone playing our fun little drinking game.”

  “Excellent point. Ix-nay on the drinking game.” I chuckle. “So it seems you’ve already discovered my sister’s fully capable of murder, huh?”

  “You call her The Barf-o-matic? I call her Madame Terrorist.”

  I laugh. “I’m gonna have to steal that.”

  “Hey, is it okay with you if I invite my brother and his new wife to our little impromptu soiree? Jonas keeps saying he wants to meet one of the fabled Morgan brothers I keep talking about.”

  “Of course. I’d love to meet him.”

  “I think you already know his new wife, Sarah, right?”

  “Yeah, Sarah and I have partied together a few times over the years, mostly at Kat’s birthday pub crawls. Sarah’s a great girl.”

  And hot as fuck, I might add.

  In fact, my sister’s best friend since her freshman year in college is exactly the type of girl I’m attracted to the most: dark hair, olive skin, big, brown eyes, and curves for days. I love all types of women, don’t get me wrong (thank you, God, for making females in all their glorious shapes and sizes), but I must admit the Sarah Cruzes of the world have always turned my head the most. Add Sarah’s wit and intelligence and fantastic sense of humor on top of her boner-inducing packaging, and I’ll be the first to admit I’ve always had a massive crush on her.

  If I remember correctly, I started hitting on Sarah the first time I met her at one of Kat’s birthday shindigs three or four years ago, but Kat put the kibosh on that shit right quick. “Leave my bestie alone, Bacardi,” Kat warned me sharply. “No Morgan peen gets inside my best friend unless you’re planning to marry her and make her my sister under God, which we both know ain’t gonna happen any time soon when it comes to a slut like you. I’m not gonna let the biggest player of all my brothers break my best friend’s heart and make it awkward for me to invite both of you to future birthdays.” And, so, seeing as how I was a wee little lad of twenty-four or so at the time (and, Kat was absolutely right, not even remotely thinking about settling down with any one girl—even a girl as incredible as Sarah Cruz), I dutifully respected my sister’s off-limits designation and left her smoking-hot bestie alone (consoling myself for the next year, as I recall, with a string of Sarah look-alikes, none of whom could hold a candle to the original).

  “So, I’ll see you in a bit,” Josh says. “I’ll text you the address.”

  “Yeah, great,” I reply. “I’ve got to take care of a small snafu first, but I’ll head over there right afterward.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “It will be soon. Just gotta cut the last dangling thread on something. No biggie.”

  “Take your time. We’ll be here.”

  I shove my phone into my pocket, wave to the bartender for my bill, and pivot toward the front door, intending to hightail it to Olivia’s to confirm we’re absolutely through in no uncertain terms... but a jaw-dropping sight stops me dead in my tracks: two flight attendants, a curvy brunette and a petite redhead, are standing just inside the front entrance of the bar... and the brunette is, oh my fucking God, a jaw-dropper of epic proportions. Dark hair. Olive skin. Curves to make a man drop to his knees and thank the mighty lord for his beneficence.

  For a long beat, I stand stock-still, staring at the brunette bombshell at the door, my dick subtly tingling, my chest tight, my head suddenly filled with rather graphic visions of myself fucking the living hell out of that woman from behind, one fist gripping her hair, the other cupping her breast... until finally, slowly, and without consciously commanding my body to do it, I take a step backward and lower my ass onto my stool.

  Chapter 4

  Ryan

  The really hot one isn’t scoping out the place at all, but her friend sure is. Oh, yeah, the petite redhead is definitely the scout in this duo. She’s checking out the room and every man in it like a hungry lioness looking for her next meal. Her eyes are scanning, scanning, making calculations... hunting. And then... boom. The scout’s eyes land on me at the bar and stop moving. She flashes me a full, beaming smile and I smirk ever so slightly in reply.

  The redhead grasps her hot friend’s forearm like she’s cuffing a felon and leans urgently into her ear. The hot brunette whispers in reply to her friend, her head turned away from me. And now it’s Red’s turn to whisper something again.

  Back and forth they go as I shift my ass on my stool. I know I’m somewhat of a vain motherfucker—I fully admit that—but I’d bet anything those two women are talking about me right now. At least, I sure as fuck hope they are.

  Finally, they stop talking and Hot Brunette begins nonchalantly looking around the room at everything and everyone other than me (because, of course, that framed picture on the wall of the Seattle skyline is endlessly fascinating). Okay, clearly, the girl’s actively not looking over here—probably trying to come off like her eyes aren’t being pulled like magnets on steel to me. Fine with me, sweetheart. Play your little game. I’ll wait.

  Okay, Hot Brunette’s gaze is fiiiiiinally migrating, ever so slowly, toward me at the bar.

  Here she comes.

  Her gaze is drifting toward me.

  Getting closer.

  Hang on. Wait. What the fuck? Hot Brunette’s eyes have already swept down the full length of the bar and right past me... too fast for me to hold her gaze or even flash her a quick smile. And now she’s chatting with her red-haired friend again.

  I glance to my left. There’s a man and woman sitting immediately next to me with two open stools on their far side. “Hey, would you two mind shifting down a couple seats?” I ask the man. “I’m trying to free up two stools next to me.” I motion toward the duo at the door by way of explanation and the dude smiles broadly.

  “Sure thing,” he says, getting up. “Good luck.”

  And that’s all the invitation Redhead needs. Without hesitation, she grasps her friend’s upper arm like she’s wrangling a misbehaving toddler out of a candy store and literally drags her toward the two open stools.

  Come to Papa, baby.

  As Hot Brunette walks toward me, she keeps her head down and eyes averted, giving me a chance to ogle her undetected—hot damn!—but about twenty feet away, she unexpectedly lifts her head and looks straight at me... and then doesn’t look away for a long beat—long enough for me to know I’m fucking toast.

  Heat floods my entire body.

  I smile at her, my pulse pounding in my ears.

  Hot Brunette returns my smile and quickly looks down a
gain, her cheeks blazing, but I’ve already seen my future in her eyes, as surely as if I’ve peered into a crystal ball: I’m about to become Captain Ahab and this beautiful woman my whale—and, clearly, there’s not a damned thing I can do about it.

  Chapter 5

  Tessa

  “…for all his tattooings he was on the whole a clean, comely looking cannibal.”

  —Herman Melville, Moby Dick

  “Jackpot!” Charlotte blurts into my ear.

  “What?” I turn my head toward whatever (or whoever) Charlotte’s looking at with such unmistakable lust in her eyes, but she grabs my forearm and squeezes hard, snapping my attention to her vise-like grip. “Ow,” I say, grimacing. “What the...?”

  “Don’t look!” Charlotte hisses, her eyes wide. “The hottest guy ever is sitting at the bar right now. Oh my effing God, don’t look.”

  “Charlotte, you’re kind of hurting my arm, honey.”

  “Sorry.” She lets go. “I had to squeeze something so I wouldn’t pass out from all the blood whooshing into my cooch, all at once.”

  “Well, squeeze your own damn arm next time the world’s hottest guy gives you a lady-boner.” I rub my forearm. “That hurt.”

  “Sorry.” Charlotte gasps and squeezes me again. “Tessa, he’s looking right at you.”

  “Or you. We’re standing right next to each other, babe.”

  “No. He’s definitely looking at you. Oh, wow, you should see the hungry look on that man’s gorgeous face. Oh, God, he’s mentally eating you out.”

  “Jesus, Char. Now we’ve both got lady-boners. I’m gonna look.”

  “No, no, not yet. Let him salivate a bit longer. Holy hell, he wants you. He’s staring at you like a starving man at a butcher shop window.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “I’m not crazy—he’s not even trying to be subtle about his attraction to you.”

  “One little look.”

  “No. Men are hunters—let the man hunt. You don’t want him thinking you’re a slam dunk.”

  “Well, I’m not a slam dunk. I’m not even an easy lay-up.” I snicker. “Or a jump shot. Or a free throw.” I snort. “Or even a fade-away.”

  “Okay. I get it. You’re a whiz with basketball puns.” Charlotte bites her lip, her eyes still trained over my shoulder like lasers. “Good God, he’s making my mouth water.”

  “Okay, now you’re just being a bitch, Charlotte McDougal. At least tell me what the guy looks like.”

  “Like a man with a very big dick.”

  I laugh. “How many martinis did you have at that last bar?”

  “Just two. And a shot. Oh, and another shot.” She snorts.

  “Well, slow down High Speed. You get loose lips when you drink. Don’t embarrass me.”

  “Never.” She narrows her eyes at her target. “Gah. He’s perfection.”

  “At least tell me what he looks like.”

  “He’s white. Light brown hair. Cheekbones to die for. Tattoo-sleeves on both arms. Muscles in all the right places. Swagger, swagger, swagger. Gah. He’s perfect. Seriously, though, what straight man needs cheekbones like that?”

  “Maybe he’s not straight.”

  “Honey, he’s looking at you like he wants to mack down on your pussy. Clearly, he’s not a man who’s looking for a gal-pal.”

  “I’m gonna look.”

  “Okay. But just don’t be too obvious about it. Glance around the room first.”

  “Got it.”

  I begin looking around the room, anywhere and everywhere but in the direction Charlotte’s been staring for the last few minutes until finally letting my gaze drift toward the bar area and then sweep down the full length of the bar, straight past a muscled god with tattoos on his arms... Holy motherfucking shit! I look away, my heart raging in my chest, and lean into Charlotte’s ear. “Holy fuck, he’s hot.”

  “Like I said.”

  “I can’t do this, Char. I’ve been out of practice for too long. The last really hot guy I flirted with was Stu, and look how that turned out.”

  “Tessa, you just now flirted with all those guys at the last bar and you did great.”

  “Because none of those guys even remotely interested me. But this guy... one glance and I don’t have a few butterflies flapping around in my stomach, I’ve got an entire flock of bald eagles.”

  “It’s mind over matter, babe. For all you know, this guy could be a total asshole underneath those cheekbones. You were just going on and on the other day about how society places far too much value on physical appearance, remember?”

  “Yeah, but that was my brain talking. Now that I’m seeing this guy, my body’s telling my brain to shut the fuck up.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get the conversation started while you get your bald eagles under control, okay? Just join in whenever you’re comfortable.”

  I mumble something incoherent.

  “You got this. You’re Samantha the Randy Flight Attendant, not Tessa the Executive Personal Assistant—and Samantha’s a shameless flirt.”

  I look down at the uniform I’m wearing and my stomach clenches. “Crap. I forgot I’m dressed like this. Maybe I should—”

  Charlotte gasps and clutches my arm. “Oh my God!” she blurts, cutting me off. “Mr. Hottie just cleared two stools right next to him!” She grabs my upper arm and begins dragging me across the room. “Come on, Samantha. Let’s get that lady-boner of yours flying at full mast for the first time in nine months.”

  Chapter 6

  Ryan

  “There she blows! There she blows! A hump like a snow-hill! It is Moby Dick!”

  As the ladies settle onto their stools, Tim the Bartender comes over to take their drink orders (which I add to my tab), and introductions are quickly made: the cute redhead is Charlotte and the sexy brunette (who, thankfully, took the stool right next to mine) is Samantha.

  “She’s ‘Samantha the Randy Flight Attendant,’” the redhead chirps with a cartoon wink, leaning sideways across her gorgeous friend’s ample chest to tap my forearm.

  “Is that so?” I ask, laughing.

  Samantha looks mortified. “Ignore my drunk friend, please.”

  “I’m not drunk,” Charlotte says brightly. “Just highly buzzed. Although, admittedly, I can’t feel my face or toes.”

  I raise my glass. “To not being able to feel our faces or toes.”

  The three of us clink glasses—and, as we do, I’m able to sneak some solid eye contact with Samantha before she looks down at her hands, her cheeks on fire.

  “So how’d you two ladies wind up at The Pine Box?” I ask, directing my question to Samantha’s downturned face. “It’s nowhere near the airport.”

  “A friend of mine recommended it,” Charlotte replies breezily. “She told me hot men always seem to hang out here and, by God, she was right.” She blatantly looks me up and down like she’s assessing a side of beef. “As my namesake spider in E.B. White’s classic masterpiece would say, you’re ‘some pig!’, Ryan.”

  When I shoot Samantha an amused look, she giggles and explains, “Drunk Charlotte likes to quote Charlotte’s Web.”

  I laugh.

  “So have you been here before, Ryan?” Charlotte asks.

  I peel my eyes off Samantha. Good God, I feel magnetically pulled to this woman. “Uh, no. This place was picked by my buddy. He was supposed to meet me here, actually, but had to cancel last minute.” My phone pings with an incoming text and I hastily reach into my pocket and turn it off. If Olivia’s texting me right now, I don’t wanna know about it. “So where are you girls from?” I ask.

  Charlotte nudges her friend’s arm. “Ryan wants to know where we’re from, Samantha.”

  Samantha clears her throat. “L.A.”

  “Just here for a one-night layover,” the redhead says. “The glamorous life of a flight attendant.”

  Samantha shifts in her seat. “Well, the glamorous life for Charlotte, anyway. She’s the real flight attendant here—
I’m just dressed like one.”

  I laugh, thrilled to see Samantha’s loosening up enough to start cracking jokes.

  “So, Ryan,” the redhead says. “Wanna hear something jaw-dropping?” She leans across her friend’s ample chest and puts her hand on mine, forcing me to peel my eyes off Samantha’s stunning face. “Samantha here hasn’t been so much as kissed in nine freaking months!”

  “Charlotte!” Samantha blurts. “No!”

  The redhead waves dismissively at her friend. “Honey, we don’t have all night to get this show on the road.” She looks at me. “My friend’s been in a post-break-up slump for a while, so I’m wondering if you’d do me a huge favor and shamelessly flirt with her tonight—you know, maybe help her get her groove back? I’m trying to remind her it’s actually fun to go out and meet new people on occasion.”

  Samantha covers her face with her hands. “Charlotte.”

  “I’m one step ahead of you, Charlotte,” I say smoothly. “I’ve been shamelessly flirting with Samantha since she walked through the door—and definitely not as a favor to you or anyone.” I flash Samantha my most seductive smile. “So what do you say, Samantha? How about you let me buy you another drink and do my best to remind you it’s fun to go out and meet new people on occasion?”

  Samantha bites her lower lip.

  “Oh, for the love of fuck,” Charlotte barks. “Just say yes. The chemistry between you two is through the roof.”

  Samantha blushes. “Yes. Thank you. I’d love to have a drink and get to know you a bit, Ryan.”

  “Fabulous,” Charlotte says, shooting up from her stool. “My work here is done. I’m gonna hang out with those two nice gentlemen in the corner who’ve been shooting me ‘come hither’ stares since we walked in.” She grabs her martini off the bar. “Holler if you need me, girl, and I’ll come running.”