Unsportsmanlike Conduct

by Sophia Henry

  After graduating from Central State, I’d moved back in with my parents for two weeks while waiting for my apartment to open up, and Mom had hounded me every day. I didn’t miss that. Though, if you count the calls, texts, and drop-in visits to my new place, she still did.

  “Are you really going to have sex with him?” Sia asked.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I was joking.” Sort of. Who wouldn’t want to get naked and straddle a living god?

  Lena squinted, then shook her head. “I don’t like the look in your eye.”

  “What look? I’ve slept with two people in my life,” I said. “Guys find this thing super-sexy,” I joked, patting the top of my compressor.

  “I just think this is a bad idea.” Lena replaced the sunglasses on her head, using them as a headband to hold her dark brown hair out of her eyes.

  “It’s becoming more and more apparent why you guys hang out with me. I’m the positive one.”

  “He’s not Greek,” Lena warned.

  “But he’s hot,” I countered, hooking my bag onto my shoulder.

  “Super-hot,” Lena agreed. “Spiros is gonna be pissed.”

  Cultural expectations still took precedence over love in our community. Despite living in the twenty-first century, my parents expected me to marry another Greek. Which is probably why they happily shelled out the money for this cruise. It seemed like a sure thing. Even if I didn’t hook up with Spiros, there were hundreds of other young professional Greeks here as fallback suitors.

  Leave it to me to pick the black sheep in a sea of cyan and white. As if I didn’t cause my parents enough stress.

  “Spiros can find another girl who wants what he has to offer,” Sia said.

  “Exactly. I just hope he does it soon, because he’s not going to like what he sees if he keeps lurking,” I said.

  Sia rolled her eyes, visibly disgusted that I’d even joke about hooking up with a guy I’d just met. I admit, sleeping with a random guy wasn’t something I’d planned before the cruise. But everything about Pasha intrigued me. Especially when his full pink lips lifted into that sexy little smirk. My heart raced just thinking about him.

  I hadn’t felt this way about anyone in a long time.

  —

  That evening, as we walked the deck looking for a place to party, I stopped and gazed out into the immense body of water surrounding our boat. An involuntary shiver rippled through my body. A not-so-subtle reminder of why I’ve avoided the ocean my entire life. All I saw was a dark, vast abyss that could swallow a person whole.

  “Let’s take a picture,” Sia suggested.

  “Sure,” I agreed, despite my fear. “I haven’t done enough to document this trip yet.”

  “Good idea,” Lena said. “We should stand in front of the rail and have the water behind us.”

  I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the fact that my cousin wanted us to get closer to the edge. Closer to falling to our watery deaths.

  I plucked my phone from my wristlet and turned it to the camera setting. At least the camera worked without having to pay the ship’s ridiculous Internet rates.

  Lena and Sia stood against the rail. I stood in front of them.

  “What are you doing?” Sia asked. “Get on the other side of Lena.”

  “Hell no. Trying to take a cute selfie is hard enough without the added pressure of falling over the rail as I lean back.”

  “Oh my gosh! It’s not that bad,” Lena said.

  “Maybe you don’t care about falling to your death, but I sure do. I can’t swim well enough to stay afloat in creepy black water with who knows what kind of creatures circling below waiting to eat me.”

  Sia stared at me with wide eyes. Her lips, which had been turned up in a smile a second ago, had morphed into a thin line. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

  “I’m not getting near that rail. I’d rather be crazy than shark food.”

  Sia shook her head and held her hand out. “Give it to me.”

  “With pleasure.” I relinquished the phone.

  We crammed together and Sia extended her arm, expertly holding the phone in a grasp that left her thumb free to hit the shutter button. “One, two, three!”

  My entire body slid into the practiced photo pose I rocked every time someone held up a camera—shoulders down, neck out, eyes wide, with a slight pucker and lift to my lips. I’ve had the same facial expression for every photo since I learned it during my modeling days in high school. If I’m really happy or laughing and not thinking about it, I end up with squinty eyes and too much teeth.

  After the picture, I shuddered and stepped away from the rail. Once I’d gotten a few feet from it I relaxed again.

  “Let’s take one more, just in case,” Sia said.

  I backed up into my place and accidentally knocked into her. The phone slipped from her grasp and flew over the rail.

  “Oh, no!” she howled.

  I watched in wide-eyed horror as my phone plunged toward the ocean. My stomach dropped with it. The deck was so far from the surface, I didn’t even hear a splash when it hit the water.

  “Oh my God, Kristen. I’m so sorry,” Sia said quickly. She looked over the rail, but the phone obviously wasn’t visible.

  “It’s—it’s okay,” I assured her. My heart dropped, though I didn’t blame her at all. It was a complete accident. Thankfully I’d backed up my phone and all the pictures on it before I left for the cruise. Lena and Sia had taken a few pictures of the ship as we stood waiting to board, so I could get theirs later.

  “I feel horrible.” She peered over the rail again.

  “It’s okay, seriously. I mean, it sucks, but it happens.” I paused, racking my brain to find something positive to say. “You guys will just have to follow me around snapping pictures like the paparazzi I deserve,” I joked.

  “Let’s do it again,” Lena said. She’d already pulled her phone out, ready to re-create the shot.

  I glanced down at the water, mentally saying goodbye to the photos I’d miss out on because I didn’t have a camera with me. I’d just have to focus on making the kind of memories I’d remember even without capturing them on camera.

  Chapter 5

  I eyed the entrance to the Latin dance club, hoping that Kristen and her friends might walk in. I knew the odds were low that she’d choose this particular club, out of all the options on the ship, but I kept glancing over, just in case.

  “Dude,” Blake said after I’d checked the door for the tenth time in two minutes, “I invited you on this cruise to help me get into the swing of dating again. I need you to be your usual love-’em-and-leave-’em self.”

  “What does that mean? I don’t love any girls.” I downed a double shot of vodka and motioned to the bartender for another.

  “Hook up and walk away? I don’t know the singles lingo. I was married for the last five years.”

  “You sound like an asshole. Women don’t like assholes.”

  “Actually, they do. Or you wouldn’t get any,” Blake quipped. Then he tapped my arm with the back of his hand. “There’s one for you, Gribsy.”

  I followed his gaze to a smokin’ blonde with red lips, huge tits, and legs for days. Exactly the type of girl I’d be making a beeline for if I hadn’t met Kristen earlier. “Time to wheel,” I told him.

  “I’ll save your spot.”

  “I was talking about you.” I shoved his shoulder. “Get over there.”

  Blake straightened up after almost falling off the chair when I’d pushed him. “She’s not really my type.”

  Blake Panikos was one of those guys who wanted to be married. He liked boring girls whose idea of a perfect date was snuggling and watching movies on the couch.

  His ex-wife fit that mold. They’d been together since high school, and she moved with him when he was assigned to Detroit. With no friends around and no job to keep her occupied, she gave in to the loneliness that can come with being the partner of a hockey player.

  I get i
t, because being with a professional athlete is hard. We’re gone most of the time. Even if we aren’t traveling, we’re at our home rink or at one of the various community or promotional events set up by the organization. It can be lonely.

  That’s why it takes a strong, independent woman with goals of her own to be with one. Makes sense that guys with an intense professional drive would be attracted to girls with the same.

  Unless you’re Blake. He wanted the barefoot-and-pregnant girl who’d wait for him. Which is why his ex-wife cheated on him with their neighbor, the guy who was around when she got lonely and felt neglected.

  “She doesn’t have to be your type. It’s just for the night,” I reminded him. Maybe I was reminding myself.

  “Is that why you keep checking the door looking for the girl from the pool?” he asked.

  “Yep.”

  Kristen had everything I looked for and more. Beauty, body, fun: check, check, check. And she chirped better than some guys I’ve played against. Since sarcasm creeps into most of my sentences, it’s important for me to have someone who gets it and can give it back.

  Blake took a long pull on his beer and slammed the bottle on the bar. “All right. I’m going over there.”

  I raised the new glass of vodka the bartender had set in front of me. “Go get her!”

  He stood up, then sat back down. “Ya know, I’m just gonna wait for someone a little more low-maintenance. She’s got a ton of makeup on and I like girls a little more natural.”

  Blake wasn’t a chirper. He was a talker. And, though I loved the guy, sometimes he was annoying as fuck.

  “Do you know how much I want to punch you?” I asked.

  Blake lowered his head. “Yes.”

  “Good. Now go talk to someone, because I’m going to dance.”

  —

  “Latin dancing?” Sia whined as we stood in the doorway of one of the ship’s many nightclubs. “Do we have to go here?”

  “Yes,” I whispered, closing my eyes and letting the music penetrate my ears. After an entire childhood of dance classes, I still got lost every time I heard an infectious beat.

  “Did you really think Kristen was gonna let us walk by this place without going in?” Lena asked. She knew my love affair with any kind of dancing.

  The room exploded with flashing lights, pulsing strobes, and glowing neon backdrops. Across the way, multiple dancers stood on a huge stage. A few people at the front of the stage seemed to be giving instructions. My limbs itched to get up there and help, but this was my vacation, so I fought the urge to teach and set my sights on the floor instead.

  “They have a lesson going on up there.” I pointed to the stage. “Why don’t you try it?”

  Sia pursed her lips and shook her head. “I’d rather just watch you.”

  With a smile, I grabbed her hand and weaved through the crowd to the dance floor, where I let the pulse of the music take over. Who can hear a Latin beat and not want to shake something? The compelling pull makes it impossible to stand still.

  Though I knew it wouldn’t be anything like the sultry Latin Fridays back home at Cantina Diablos in Royal Oak, I thought a Latin club on a cruise had promise. Within thirty minutes, I’d realized that the dance floor held far more people with Sia’s skills than mine. Instead of expecting to find a partner who could keep up with me, I slipped into instructor mode and taught Sia and Lena a simple salsa step.

  Tons of bodies bumped, bounced, and gyrated around us. It’s hard to loosen up and let the music take hold while trying to sidestep each predatory pelvis. I’d much rather groove with a guy who stays in his zone than someone who tries to grind every girl in the vicinity.

  As I put weight on my back foot, rocking away from one particularly creepy dude, someone caught my hand and tugged me forward into his hard chest. What kind of guy had the audacity to grab me when I obviously hadn’t been giving off those vibes?

  To brace myself, I pressed my palms against a soft black button-down shirt. Pasha stood in front of me with an adorably arrogant smirk on his face. Instead of speaking, he held his arms up in a formal dance position. I took his hands and he immediately led me in a succession of smooth salsa steps.

  It wasn’t intricate choreography that only two dancers who had practiced together would know, just a series of basic Latin dance steps. He led and I followed. But nobody else on the dance floor knew that. To them it probably looked like a scripted routine straight out of a musical.

  And damn! Pasha could move.

  Instead of keeping the typical position, he released my right hand and stepped closer to me. He placed his hand on my waist while keeping his eyes locked with mine. His slight change in position made the moves harder for me to complete, since I was accustomed to being led by a partner with rigid form who left space between us. That was how I’d learned during my eight years of ballroom classes and competitions.

  Pasha was flawless as we floated across the floor. For the first time in years I had to pay attention and count steps. Our intense eye contact and close proximity made every seductive move a million times sexier.

  A trickle of sweat rolled down my back as I felt the heat both from the exercise and from being so close to him. Every time he stepped forward, our bodies were inches from mashing together. I’d seen couples perform sexy salsa dancing in competitions and practices, but I’d never participated. Probably because I’d never been with a partner who had the effortless confidence Pasha had.

  I knew that if I took my gaze from Pasha’s, I’d lose my count, so I couldn’t tell what the rest of the crowd was doing, but when hoots and claps thundered around us, I knew we’d gained an audience. The song morphed into another, and I finally closed my eyes, breaking the intensity of his gaze. Pasha tugged me into his arms and hugged me.

  “You surprise me.” Despite our close proximity, Pasha had to yell over the music.

  His comment made me laugh, because he was the one who’d surprised me. Outside of the studio, I’d never met another guy who was so good at ballroom dancing.

  “I would have never pegged you as a dancer.” My breath was still heavy from the activity.

  “Why?”

  “You’re bulky,” I said, trying to think of the right word.

  “What?” He pulled back, as if I’d insulted him.

  “Sorry. I just meant you’re bulkier than the partners I’m used to,” I explained. “I’ve always danced with tall, slim dudes. None of them were as muscular as you.”

  Pasha’s lips slid into an easy smile. Instead of responding in words, he placed his hand on my waist and guided me into another step. This time it was a merengue to match the sultry music, which was much easier to follow in the tight proximity he liked to hold me in. In fact, it was the perfect dance for the way he liked to hold me.

  Pasha took another step closer, placing his leg between mine. He released my grip and slid his hand against the back of my neck, pulling me close as we rocked and stepped in time with the music. I swallowed back the desire that pulsed through me.

  Dancing with this sexy stranger made me feel like Cinderella. But fairy tales aren’t real, and I knew that when the clock struck midnight, I’d lose it all.

  Chapter 6

  Kristen stiffened in my arms, so I stepped back to give her space. As soon as I released her, she began coughing.

  I watched with concern as she turned her head and hacked into her elbow. A tear trickled from the corner of her eye, which put me into action.

  “Everything okay?” I asked, putting my hand on her shoulder when it appeared that the coughing fit had subsided.

  “Yeah.” She nodded, closing her eyes briefly and wiping beads of sweat from her forehead. “I just need some water.”

  Without hesitation I placed a hand on her back and guided her to the bar. Relief rushed through me when I felt her breathing steady as we walked.

  I ordered a double shot of vodka and a bottled water from the bartender. When he brought the water, I loosened the cap a
nd handed it to Kristen.

  “Thank you.” She accepted the bottle and immediately took a long sip. Then she placed her hand on her chest and said, “Sorry about that.”

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah.” She nodded and wiped the wetness away from the outer corners of her eyes. “My allergies are kicking in on this boat. Must be the tiny rooms with no windows, eh?”

  “Your room has no windows?” I asked.

  When we booked the cruise, both Blake and I had opted for suites. Mine had a balcony, which didn’t seem very safe, but the extra space made me more comfortable. Being too confined made me think of the one-bedroom flat I grew up in with my babushka, my parents, my sister, and Svetlana, who moved in with us when her parents died.

  “Yours does?” Kristen asked, eyes wide with envy.

  “You should come by and check it out sometime,” I offered.

  She tilted her head and put a hand on her hip, as if I’d asked something inappropriate. I hadn’t meant it that way, but if that’s where her mind went, I wouldn’t hinder it.

  “How do you know how to dance like that?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “Years of lessons,” I said, a bit wistfully. I hadn’t danced like I had tonight in years. Not since I was a teenager. Dark memories flooded my head.

  “You took dance lessons?” she blurted out.

  I liked how she said what she thought. It made me feel better when I did the same thing.

  “My parents were competitive dancers,” I explained. “Well, my mother was.”

  “Really?”

  I tilted my head and smiled. “You seem surprised by this?”

  “I am,” she said. “It’s not very common.”

  “Maybe not where you’re from, but where I’m from it is very common. It’s a way of life for many people.”

  “Were you a competitive dancer?”

  “No,” I scoffed. “I played sports. Which made my father angry.”

  “He wanted you to dance?” Her question encouraged me to continue, so I did.

  I hadn’t planned on mentioning my father’s disapproval of my decisions, but it had slipped out because I felt comfortable talking to her. Which was ironic, because I was sure she’d have been pissed about my decision to pursue her without telling her who I was.