Bossy

by Kim Linwood

  But what if I fucked up? It’s not like I didn’t pack enough condoms to keep her happy until long after the cruise is over. I didn’t ask, and it pisses me off that this mess is as much my fault as hers. I hate fucking up.

  What if Angie’s exactly what she looks like? A girl book-smart enough to get into med school, but naive enough to date a drugged up loser and only see the best in him. And maybe even worse, trust an asshole like me. What is it my anger management counsellor used to say? Gavin, you’re projecting. You need to let it go. Dr. Meriam’s voice sounds in my head like she’s standing right next to me. If she is, I hope she’s as fucking soaked as I am.

  Everything brings me back to Angie.

  Except my feet. It’s not like she’ll give me the fucking time of day now, even if I tried. But I want to see her. Touch her. Forget the last day and get back to what we had the other night. After we got married. I laugh, and spit out the mouthful of rain that comes with it. I’ve done some crazy shit, but nothing that compares to this trip.

  Fuck, we had so much fun before this mess. I did at least. The teasing, the war of the words. All that delicious tension. Angie loved it too. She can’t tell me she didn’t. I carried her to bed that night, and when we finally came together it was fucking explosive. She rode my cock like it was made for her, and just thinking about it makes me hard.

  A wave catches me full in the face, taking my breath away. It’s getting rougher out here. I love the storm, but I’m not fucking stupid. It’s time to get back inside before I get washed overboard. That’d be a shitty end to this trip. I wait for the next dip, then as soon as the spray passes me, I move, holding on to anything I can find as I go.

  Which is a pain in the ass with a hardon. Shit. Even out in the storm, I can’t clear my head of Angie. I hear her voice so clearly over the thrum of the waves that it’s almost like she’s really out here.

  “Help!”

  Wait a fucking minute.

  Chapter 28: Angie

  I wake up just like I went to bed. Alone.

  In the front room, the blankets are half on the couch and half on the floor. I try to pretend it doesn’t matter, but knowing he was here last night makes me feel a little better. Only a little though, because he’s gone again, and he never said a word. Did he check on me? Did he even care?

  The floor heaves beneath my feet and I grab the wall for support. My stomach lurches right along with it, cutting off my train of thought. I remember that yesterday the lower levels felt more stable, so I head down to get something to eat and hopefully settle my stomach. I really hope I’m just seasick.

  Something about riding the elevator in this weather terrifies me, so I take the stairs, clinging to the handrails all the way down. I’m starting to get why Mom hates boats. I thought ships this big were supposed to be pretty stable, but I guess when the weather gets bad enough, all bets are off. Still, just being out of the room and having a focus is helping. I’m already less likely to empty my stomach in the stairwell.

  I reach the mid-decks, and the rocking’s a lot less pronounced. I’m just passing a porthole when movement draws my attention out in the rain. A flash of color moving down the deck towards the bow. Someone’s out there in this weather? I squint, trying to make out the shape. There is someone out there, a faint shadow weaving unsteadily away, but it looks like a dress fluttering in the wind, and... a walker? Mabel? Where’s Joyce?

  Panic crushes what’s left of my seasickness. I need to help her, or whoever that is. There’s no way she’s getting back on her own, and I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to her because I didn’t act fast enough. Well, it’s not going to happen. I’m going out there.

  I brace against the heavy door, pushing it open with effort. I can barely do it when the weather’s good. With the wind against me, I almost don’t manage. How did Mabel get out there? It doesn’t make sense, but that doesn’t matter right now. Stepping out into the driving rain, I pull up the hood on my sweatshirt, only to have it ripped right back off by the wind. After a couple tries, I give up. Everything’s soaked already, anyway.

  Holding on to anything I can find, I make my way towards the staggering figure, but it’s moving too fast. It’s the wind, blowing her away. Her wheels must be sliding on the wet deck. Jesus. I try to move faster without losing control myself. Bending low, I half run along the rail.

  She seems impossibly far away.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  I’ll have to risk it. For a moment, I squeeze my eyes shut and draw a deep breath, then I let go, charging after her while the deck tips scarily beneath me. Whenever I can, I grab onto something to steady myself, but even then I almost go down a couple of times.

  I’m getting closer, but as if in slow motion, I watch her finally lose control and fall. The metallic crash of her walker is barely audible through the storm. Steeling myself, I rush forward as quickly as I can, adrenaline giving me strength.

  I pray I’ll be able to get her back on her feet.

  It’s only when I’m almost there that I realize what an idiot I am. Collapsed on the deck is a serving cart with a ripped parasol, knocked over by the wind, its wheels still spinning. I grab the slippery railing, half laughing, half sobbing. I just put my life in danger for a rogue piece of deck equipment. My only consolation is that nobody saw me, because now that I’m closer, it doesn’t look anything like a person.

  The ship crests a wave and crashes down towards the next one, and only my death grip on the railing keeps me from going on my face. Shit, I might be in trouble. Now I’m the crazy person out in the storm, and the door isn’t even visible from this far forwards. I need to get inside before I’m launched overboard.

  I give the cart a frustrated glare before I start the long journey back. God, I feel stupid. I think the storm agrees with me. With the wind in my face, it seems even angrier than it was on the way out, and my knuckles whiten on the rail while I try to keep my footing.

  Hand over hand, I pull myself along, keeping my eyes firmly on the shadowy outline of the center of the ship. I got out here. I can get back. Doing my best to convince myself while the wind and rain tear at my face and the crashing of the sea roars in my ears, I drag myself closer, step by step.

  Either the storm is getting worse, or my arms are getting tired. Every wave that spills over the railings puts me that much closer to losing my footing and going down. I’m so wet and cold that it hurts, and my grip is getting weaker. I grit my teeth in determination, but part of me just wants to sit down and give up.

  I can do this.

  Someone once told me that every seventh wave is bigger when it washes up on shore. As a kid, I used to count them on the beach, running up the sand every time I got to seven, expecting it to come rushing further than the ones before. Sometimes it did, and sometimes it didn’t, but maybe I was counting them wrong. It must be a seventh wave that suddenly washes over the ship, tearing my feet out from under me and ripping my grip loose from the railing.

  I scream and my mouth fills with water. Scrambling for anything to hold on to, I get my fingers around the legs of one of the deck-mounted tables, but not without banging my forearm against one of the others. That’s going to bruise in the morning, but bruises heal. Getting washed off the side of the ship? Much worse. Crawling under the table, I wrap both of my arms around the leg and cling to it for dear life. I’d hoped I’d get a little cover, but the rain’s going straight sideways. Doesn’t matter. There’s no part of me left that isn’t completely drenched.

  Now what? I’m close enough that I can almost see the door, but new waves rush by, and I don’t think I can manage to actually walk the rest of the way. So near, and yet too far. I don’t know what to do, so I cry for help. No one’s going to hear me, but I have to try.

  “Help!” The first time, all I get is a mouthful of brine that cuts the sound right off. Sputtering and coughing, I spit, trying to get the raw taste of it out of my mouth. I try again, this time waiting for a wave to pass by before
I yell. “Help!”

  I don’t know who I expect to answer. A guardian angel? A crew member taking a walk in the stormy weather? Captain Chuck? I guess I expect nothing, which is exactly what I get. My voice is lost in the rumble of the storm, carried away by the wind. If someone was standing right in front of me, I’m not sure they’d hear me. It’s only the refusal to give up that millions of years of evolution have instilled in me that keeps me yelling until my throat hurts.

  No one is coming. I need to save my strength and try it on my own, before I give up and let go. I’m soaked clean through and my teeth are chattering. My eyes sting, and I can’t tell if it’s the rain or my frustrated tears. The door seems impossibly far away, but I need to make it.

  It’s now or nothing. Drawing a deep breath, I let go of the table and shimmy out into the open. Getting to my feet, I cling to the wall next to me, trying to keep my legs from giving out.

  I’m never going to make it. Yes, you will. I refuse to end up a tragic footnote in the next issue of ‘Cruising Life’.

  Right. I swallow the huge lump in my throat and square my shoulders. Just one last burst of energy, then I’ll be safe. All I need to do is get inside, then I can go back upstairs, take a nice warm shower and pretend this whole thing never happened. Everything’s going to be perfect, or at least no more messed up than it was.

  You can do this, Angie.

  I go. Running into the wind, it feels like Poseidon’s cold, wet hands are trying to pull me back. I get at least two, maybe three steps, before a wall of water crashes over me and knocks me off my feet. I should’ve counted to seven.

  The hard deck knocks the air out of my lungs as I go right on my back. Streaks of pain ratchet through me, making me cry out.

  More bruises. Not like it’ll matter if I don’t get back inside. I’m not sure how, when I can’t even get back on my feet. My fingers look for handholds, but there’s nothing, and for several long moments I lie there, buffeted by the water rushing along the deck and trying not to cry. I’m not doing a very good job of it. My eyes close.

  Something clutches at my upper arm, and I panic. Images of giant octopi and sharks flash against the insides of my eyelids. I scream, but the grip doesn’t let go, instead pulling me closer. Instinctively, I struggle, until I hear the voice. His voice.

  Chapter 29: Angie

  “Jesus, Angie. Calm the fuck down. I’m just trying to help. Unless you hate me so much you’d rather drown.” Not waiting for me to answer, Gavin gets an arm under my armpit and pulls me up close.

  I cry and cling to him, too exhausted and relieved to even think about being mad at him. “What are you doing here?” My throat is raw, and even this close I’m not sure he can hear my raspy voice.

  “How about we talk about that later, when we’re not being washed around and your lips aren’t quite so blue, alright?” Wrapping one arm tightly around me, he grabs the wall next to us for support and pulls both of us up like my extra weight is nothing. Icy water rushes past us across the deck. “Can you stand?”

  I don’t answer right away, because I have no idea. I grab his arm, clinging to it for support while I test my legs. When they don’t immediately give out, I swallow and nod.

  “Good. We’re going to walk slowly together, alright? I’ll hold along here, and you hold on to me. I’ve got you.” His voice is calm, and I use it to center myself. If he can keep his cool, then I will too. He leans in and speaks in a lower voice. “Are you ready?”

  I draw a deep breath, then nod. Surprisingly enough, I trust him.

  Without a word, he starts to move, nearly carrying me with him. Water spray and strong winds tear at me as we move slowly forwards. I support myself with my legs and balance as well as I can, but I’m pretty sure that even if I were unconscious he’d still carry me in. Even through our clothes, I feel the strength of him as he brings me to safety.

  Several long, wet moments later, he pulls open the door. Its hinges squeak in protest and the wind does its best to slam it shut again, but he grunts and holds it in place, ushering me in ahead of him. As soon as I’m inside, I collapse against the wall, sliding down to the floor, my forehead resting on my shaking knees. My heart’s jackhammering in my chest and my whole face tingles. I can’t help it. I start to sob.

  The door shuts with a slam, and I look up through saltwater and tears to see Gavin engaging the lock. His clothes cling to him like a second skin, and especially his t-shirt looks painted on. Even more than usual, I mean.

  He turns, his face hard and his hair plastered to his skin. “What the fuck were you doing out there? You could’ve gotten hurt.” The calm is over, and now the storm has moved inside.

  “I—I thought I saw Mabel out there. I was just trying to...” I sob. “I was just trying to help her, but it was a stupid serving rack, and then the waves got stronger and I didn’t count to seven and I slipped and—” A hiccup shakes my chest and I draw in a ragged breath.

  “Never mind. Save your strength.” The anger has left his voice. When I open my eyes again to look at him, all I see is concern and relief. “You can tell me later.”

  And with that, he scoops me up like a little kid and carries me. At first I want to tell him to let go of me, and that I’m still mad at him, but the words die unspoken. Instead, I wrap my arms around his neck and rest my face against the warmth of his chest. His shirt’s still wet and sticky, but I can hear his heartbeat through it and that feels too good to ruin by arguing.

  He heads straight for the elevator, keeping his feet even with the rocking of the ship. The idea of being trapped in an elevator during the storm still scares me, but I trust his judgement and he doesn’t hesitate, hitting the call button. The doors open immediately. Most people are keeping in their staterooms today.

  We ride up in silence, and he never lets me go. I’m pretty sure I can stand just fine on my own now, but I don’t say anything. I remember the last time he carried me. It was over the threshold on our wedding night. With all my heart I wish I could relive that night instead of the bickering and accusations that will probably begin as soon as he puts me down.

  Our suite’s a mess. The room service cart from last night has fallen over, scattering popcorn, napkins and what was left of the melted ice. The rocking’s worse up here, but not as bad as I remember from this morning. Maybe the storm is settling.

  I push at his chest, and squirm a bit expecting him to put me down, but instead he brings me right into the bathroom, sets me on the floor and starts the shower. “We need to get you warmed up. Don’t take this the wrong way, babe, but you look like hell.”

  A glance in the mirror leaves me speechless. I don’t know if I’d say hell, but it’s not my finest moment. “Yeah well,” My teeth clack together as a shiver runs through me. “You aren’t exactly a catch either. Unless it’s the catch of the day.”

  He laughs and bends down, unzipping my hoodie. “I can’t gawk at you in the shower if you’re wearing all these things.”

  And here I thought I’d be glad if I never saw that smirk again. It actually makes me smile.

  “Hey.” I protest, but weakly, my teeth still chattering. I’m pretty sure I can undress myself just fine, but it feels nice when he does it. We aren’t arguing yet, and I want to enjoy the feeling for as long as I can.

  He drops my hoodie on the floor with a wet plop, then pulls me gently to my feet. I shiver in front of him, only my bra covering my top half. His gaze darkens as he takes in my breasts, but he’s all business as he hooks his fingers into my sweatpants and yanks them off along with my panties. Blood rushes to my face and my flush battles the residual cold from the wind and rain.

  “Turn around,” he orders.

  I clutch my arms in front of me and obey mechanically, until he stops me with his hands on my upper arms. He unlatches my bra and slips it off. I half expect him to grope me as he does, but he’s a perfect gentleman. “Alright, in you go.” The gentleman act goes right out the window when he lands a sharp smack on my ass
to get me moving.

  I forget to be annoyed when the hot water streams over me. God, that’s good. Two days ago I’d have said better than sex, but now I’m not so sure. I tilt my face up at the showerhead, the warm water streaming over my skin a welcome change from the stinging rain outside. For several long moments, I forget about anything else.

  Chapter 30: Angie

  I snap out of it when I hear the shower door open and close behind me. I sense him just before I catch him out of the corner of my eye.

  He’s naked, and I’m not sure how to feel about that. Nothing has changed, including the way I react to him. Except now that I know how he can make me feel, the heat of the shower is nothing compared to the heat that’s pooling between my legs. Even so, the last time we were in the room together he pretty much called me a gold digging slut. My whole body tenses at the memory.

  “My clothes were soaked too,” is all I get in explanation. He’s got a washcloth, which he reaches past me to get wet before he douses it in shower soap. “Stand still.” So close behind me that we’re almost touching, he begins to scrub my back and shoulders.

  I feel weak for letting him do this before we’ve resolved anything, but my muscles slowly relax and I don’t say a word. Is it his way of apologizing? It’s not nearly enough, but damn if it isn’t half convincing me. I’ve had far, far worse apologies.

  The cloth slips lower, until he’s running it over my hips and my ass. Down the outsides of my thighs and over my calves. He even gets my feet, making me giggle when it tickles, before he slides back up along the insides of my legs. Definitely weak, but I can’t find it in me to care.

  When he starts to wash the insides of my thighs, I spread my legs a little without thinking about it. He soaps almost all the way up, but not quite, then stands. “Turn around, babe.”

  I swallow. Am I ready for this? We have so much we need to talk about, but would it hurt to just let this happen? One more perfect moment to remember from a trip of confusion and heartache. I should say no, but I turn to face him.