by MJ Fields
I whisper to Tonya, “So, this isn’t a girl thing then?”
“Apparently not,” she whispers back as she waves to Bridget.
Bridget pushes up on her toes, kisses her husband’s cheek, and then nods to us. Simon waves, dips down, and gives her a sweet kiss before releasing her, and she walks toward us.
“I’m so happy you two came. Let’s get a drink before we go take our place at the table.”
When a waiter appears beside her, she smiles and grabs two glasses of champagne off his tray. “Perfect, thank you.”
“Like magic.” I smile as I take one for myself and Bridget hands her second to Tonya.
Simon comes up behind Bridget and wraps his arm around her waist. “We should all head down to the dining area; we’re about to launch.”
Bridget nods. “Follow us, ladies?”
“So …?” Tonya whispers beside me, and I look back at her. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Tonya. It’s just a casual thing, you know?”
“I know casual. You, however, dated the same boy in high school for two years and then him.”
I roll my eyes, and she rolls hers back.
“But, you’re okay?”
Unable to hide my smile, I nod. “I’ve been having less frequent conversations with myself lately, so that’s good.”
Her brows rise. “Seriously? That’s it? You’re going to freeze me out?”
I shake my head. “I’m good. He’s great. And honestly, I’m fine with casual.”
I call bullshit.
Ignoring my inner voice, I continue, “I’d say it took having a real man, one who’s honest about his intentions, to help me realize I’m still a woman. The added bonus is something about him makes me feel stronger.”
She nods and gives me an almost sad smile.
I finish my glass of champagne and grin. “But, if it wasn’t for my best friend, I would’ve been home getting off to Jamie and wishing I were Claire. Last night, this morning, this afternoon, I wouldn’t have wanted to be anyone but me.”
She nods once. “But, if you’d have given up on yourself, you wouldn’t have listened to your friend or the ‘magic’ you still believe in.”
“Magic was a gift from Dad; that will never die.”
“Ladies,” Simon calls after us, and I realize we’ve done that thing we do—got lost in conversation.
After Simon pushes his wife’s chair in, he moves around the extremely long, rectangle table and pulls one out for Tonya, causing her to blush. I look to see if it may have somehow offended Bridget. It hasn’t. I love when I see confidence within a relationship. Someday, I hope to find a man I can trust completely, one who I’ll just know won’t end up hurting me.
Smiling inside as I reach for my chair, I allow myself to think that maybe I already have.
Take it for what it is and enjoy.
“I’ve got this.”
The hair on the back of my neck stands up in recognition of the voice, and I look behind me.
Tingles on steroid! Ethan James Stewart in a tux!
“I’ll get my own seat. Thanks, EJ.”
I look around him and see a malnourished, spray-tanned redhead in a green dress with a Jersey accent.
My eyes swiftly move back to his, and his narrow slightly.
Fuck.
You.
I glare at him as I grip the back of my chair and pull it out farther to sit my large ass in it.
“We’re at the other end,” he tells her as he attempts to push my chair in, but I plant my feet so he can’t move it and push against his effort.
When gravity seems to leave the dining room, I realize EJ is lifting my chair, pushing it in and setting it down. I want to turn around and sock him in the nose. Instead, I grip the edge of the table and try to remain calm.
I feel a hand on my knee and look over at Tonya, whose lips form a line. I force a smile, hoping it resonates, I’ve got this, and she nods her understanding.
I slip the small, navy Prada crossbody— a knock off, of course— over my body, wrap the strap around it, and place it beside me on the table. I, of course, take my time doing this, because I really have no desire to look up and see Bridget or Simon, who were kind enough to have us here, feel uncomfortable because Dr. Stewart has a problem with his dick.
Or that they may both see it written all over your face that you, too, have a problem… hoe.
“Do you mind going to find the ladies’ room with me?” Tonya asks as she stands up.
“Sure.” I look up and smile at Bridget then turn to Simon and see him looking across the dining room. I assume it’s toward him.
“Mind if I come along?” Bridget asks.
“Of course.”
As she stands, I turn and look at Tonya.
“You’re talking to yourself again, aren’t you?” she asks.
“No,” I lie.
“Are you okay?”
“Of course. I mean, I needed to get laid. It was me who came on to him, remember?”
I feel a hand on my back, Bridget’s. “It’s this way.”
I inhale and nod. “Awesome.”
Once inside the ladies’ room, I hurry into an empty stall.
“So,” Tonya starts. “I never asked, but what is this party for?”
“It’s kind of a bon voyage for Dr. Stewart. Simon and a few of their other coworkers at the ER wanted to have a party for him and he said no, so it was meant to be a surprise.”
Mission accomplished.
Nervous laughter begins to erupt, and I cover my mouth as I pee.
“I want you to know that Simon mentioned he thought Dr. Stewart was interested in Lizzie and when Calliope cancelled, he suggested I ask the two of you to come.”
“We appreciate it,” Tonya lies.
“You sure about that?” Bridget asks sweetly with concern in her voice.
“Yes, it’ll be fun!” I yell out so that Tonya doesn’t unknowingly slut shame me.
“Okay, well, if I did miss something, and you want to discuss anything with me, you know you can.” Bridget adds, “And if you’d like me to have a word with my husband, I—”
I flush and walk out. “No, please don’t do that. It was very nice to be thought of.” I turn on the water to wash my hands. “But you could let Simon know I really have no interest in Dr. Stewart, like at all.”
She pats my shoulder and nods. “Of course.”
When I feel the yacht begin to move, I sigh, realizing now there is no escape from this anything but Sweet Pleasure dinner cruise.
While Bridget uses the bathroom, I look at Tonya. “I need a drink.”
Tonya smiles. “Me, too.”
“Me three,” Bridget calls out from behind the stall door.
We hit the bar, do a shot, which isn’t a norm for me, but the situation absolutely calls for it, and then grab another glass of champagne before we head back down to the dining room below deck where approximately twenty finely-dressed guests are here to wish Dr. Stewart the best.
My ass hits my seat quicker than a kid playing a game of musical chairs. I do not want to relive being lifted and placed by a man whose face was between my legs last night, who brought a date, who has little to no ass to sit on, ever again.
Good one. I smile to myself.
“You okay?” Tonya whispers as she sits down next to me.
I nod as Simon stands and clinks a utensil to his glass, gathering everyone’s attention.
“Thank you all for coming out to celebrate.” He chuckles and looks in Ethan’s direction. I do not. “Dr Stewart adamantly declined a send-off since he still has hospital privileges and would see enough of us—”
“More than enough,” the man next to him says. “His words were more than enough of us.”
Everyone laughs.
Shitty bedside manner clearly spills over to asshole coworker.
Dick.
“When Dr. Stewart left a cushy sports medicine career, traveling worldwide with the Ranger
Football Club to come to the US, it wasn’t an easy transition, which many of us can attest to.”
Laughter fills the plush dining hall on this million-dollar luxury yacht that, in any other circumstance, I would be extremely grateful for being given the opportunity to step foot on.
Simon continues, “He stood his ground when it came to the care he gave his patients.”
“I’m a fucking doctor, not a goddammed mechanic,” the man on the opposite side of Simon says, mimicking Ethan’s accent, which gives everyone a chuckle. “I’ll not nail nor screw every break that comes through these doors because some bawbag behind a desk with a clerical degree says it’s the best way.”
The place roars in laughter, and as angry as I am, even I can’t help from smiling.
“All right, enough,” Ethan states with a sliver of humor in his voice.
Simon smiles. “Clearly, Ethan’s not a fan of our health care system. Oddly enough, he’s become one of Rhode Island’s best orthopedic surgeons, and as much as we’ll miss him being on staff at the ER, we and those he’s mentored or given advice to over the past four years—”
“Whether they liked it or not,” a woman says from farther down the long table, laughing.
Simon chuckles. “We’re all blessed to have worked beside you. We may still see you from time to time, but your ethics, your honesty, your ability to push people around and get what you want, which is always what’s best for the patient, will be missed.” Simon then says, “Raise your glasses to toast Dr. Stewart.”
Everyone raises their glasses, including me, as Simon says, “Slainte Mhath! Slainte Mhor!”
Everyone repeats Simon’s toast and taps glasses.
When I steal a glance toward the opposite end of the table where Ethan sits looking absolutely amazing, his eyes are on me, brows slightly narrowed as he licks his lips quickly.
And yes, tingles.
When the redhead leans over and says something as she places her hand on his shoulder, smiling, I look away quickly.
Cursing his good looks, the very vivid memories of last night, this morning, and yes, this afternoon, I decide I will no longer be watching Outlander, because I’m one hundred percent sure this is the curse of Jamie.
Bullshit. It’s Ethan James Stewart.
“Shut up,” I mumble to myself as I look away.
“You think you should slow down?”
I look over my fifth glass of champagne toward Tonya and scowl as the last of the five-course meal— dessert— is placed before us. I’m one hundred percent sure I can’t eat another bite.
Swallowing my drink, I hold my hand up to stop the server from setting down the exquisite chocolate dessert. “I truly couldn’t eat another bite, but thank you so much.”
She smiles sweetly and as she steps back, she accidentally hits the glass of champagne, causing it to spill all over my dress.
“I am so, so, so sorry, miss.”
“It’s fine. Absolutely fine.” I give her hand a squeeze as she grabs the white linen napkin like she’s going to clean up the mess.
Tears fill her eyes. “But I—”
“Girl, you’re fine,” I interrupt her and smile. “Last week at The Oasis while working my shift, I spilled an entire carafe of red on two women.” I hold up two fingers.
“You’re a waitress?” She sniffs.
“For the better part of six years.” I nod. “That’s how I paid my way through college.” I push back my seat. “Still pays my bills.”
I stand —well, sort of stand—and she catches my elbow.
“You okay?” she whispers.
“I’ve a leg and a half working. Neither the one nor the half of one, are of the sea variety. Add those two minor issues to the fact that I’ve drank more champagne tonight than I ever have in my life and I clearly have a problem.”
She smiles now.
“Mind helping me keep rocking this dress in front of this crew by standing behind me and maybe catching me if I fall?”
“Of course.” She grins.
“Want some help?” Tonya asks.
“No, me and …” I stop and look at her.
“Maci, Maci Foster.” She nods.
Once up the steps, laughing because I’m pretty freaking drunk, I look up to see Captain Nichols is standing with his arms crossed, glowering at Maci.
“Is everything okay?”
“It won’t be if you don’t let the best server I’ve ever had get me to the bathroom. I’ve had a bit too much, spilled my drink, and I’m hoping not to spill my bladder, Captain.”
“Maci, be sure to take care of our guest.”
After we pass him, I look over at her.
“You really didn’t have to do that, but thank you.”
“He’s—”
“An ass,” she whispers.
“All the hot ones are.” I laugh, and so does she.
When I walk out of the stall, I jump when I see Ethan leaning casually against the ladies’ room counter.
“What are you doing here?”
“Could ask ye the same thing, but from what I gather, ye’re here at Bridget’s request.”
“Great. Could you move so I can wash my hands?”
“Aye, but I won’t until ye look at me, Elizabeth Bloom.”
“Fuck you,” I hiss.
He smirks. “That’s a given.”
He reaches for me, and I instinctually raise a knee.
Adrenaline soaring, I rush past Ethan, who is hunched over and hopefully suffering from an ache of his own.
“Soak yer ballbag, you tatter.”
The door slams behind me and I hobble and, yes, wobble, due to the ship’s movement —due to alcohol— rushing down the deck toward the sound of laughter and chatter.
“Hey, you okay?” Bridget asks as she and Tonya approach me.
“Yeah, I could totally use another shot about now, though.” I rush past them and call over my shoulder, “Come on.”
Balls
Ethan
Scientifically, it makes no sense at all how the hell a man who’s just had a knee to the balls can possibly get hard, I think as I splash cold water on my face to take some of the heat caused by anger … and, yes, arousal away.
I could skin a Brit’s hide and make a rug out of it for not only throwing a dinner party I dinna want, but also for inviting a woman who I’ve definitely mentioned on more occasions in the past two weeks than I care to admit drives me absolutely fucking insane.
I’m pissed. I hadn’t planned on fucking Elizabeth Bloom at all after making a dinner date with Kenzie, and now here we are, stuck on this floating fiasco.
In pain. A knee to the nuts is never a good time.
And yeah, fucking turned on. Elizabeth Bloom, enough said.
Regardless, I’ve got to keep my shit together and not allow instinct to drive me to throw her sexy, barely covered ass over my shoulder, give her a good spanking, and then fuck her twice as hard as I had last night. Had I not taken it easy on her this morning and afternoon, she would have still been stuck to the sheets.
Walking out of the bathroom, I look down the deck and see Kenzie talking with Bridget, Tonya, and Elizabeth, who’s gripping the railing as if it’s holding her steady and still swaying.
She’s drunk.
Fuck.
Scanning the area for Captain Nichols to find out how soon we can get this thing back to the launch point, I find him immediately. Thank fuck.
Forty minutes, he tells me, forty fucking minutes.
Balls sore or not, I’m not okay with Kenzie chatting it up with Elizabeth, who looks like a pissed-off baby kitten ready to take on a fucking tiger. That tiger is filing her claws.
Kenzie asked me who each guest was during dinner, homing in on Elizabeth. I simply told her that she and her friend were with Bridget, and that I didn’t know them well.
This is fucking ridiculous.
Once upon a time, I may have found it hot when two women wanted me. Hell, I would even enjoy sitt
ing on the bench and seeing who would win, hoping it would be a draw that could be resolved by all three of us … in bed, but not anymore.
I thank Dr. Jefferson for coming, hoping he couldn’t tell I didn’t pay one bit of attention to what he was talking about, and then me, and my aching balls, make our way to Simon, Bridget, Tonya, Kenzie, and the cause of my aching balls— Elizabeth Bloom.
“I love your dress.” Kenzie flashes a fake smile. “Is it a Kate Spade?”
“Thank you. No, it’s from Targét.”
Her friend Tonya chuckles silently, and Bridget sucks in her lips.
“Never heard of Targét; is it a new line?”
Targét, aka Target. Kenzie isn’t catching on, but everyone else is.
“So, are you a doctor or nurse, too?” Kenzie looks her up and down, sizing her up like women do to each other, and that’s enough for me.
“No, I’m a waitress, actually.”
The way Kenzie smiles at her is ugly, and if we were on land, I’d insist on putting her in a car and sending her on her way. Instead, I’m forced to play defense.
I take her elbow. “Kenzie, come meet Dr. and Mrs. Hugh?”
Thankfully, Kenzie is all about networking, and as soon as I introduce her to someone else, she takes it from there.
Longest forty minutes of my fucking life, I think as I stand here, pretending to listen to Dr. Buckman while looking over his head, shifting my gaze from the shore to Elizabeth then swinging it to monitor Kenzie, hoping she doesn’t come and find me again as he drones on and on about, of all things, testicular cancer, which does nothing but make my balls ache even worse.
While watching Elizabeth get piss drunk, I missed that Kenzie had as well, and because of that, I won’t be taking a car home. I’ll be driving her in hers.
The realization of how much worse that will look to Elizabeth than it already does and how much harder I’ll have to work to get back inside her pisses me off, but it can be a blessing in disguise.
This could never work, not with Elizabeth Bloom.
My aching balls agree, but the tightening in my chest surpasses the ache.
