Page 13 of Under the Radar
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Mo nestled into a thickly padded lounge chair and set her drink on the table. The adrenaline spike from the past twenty-four hours was slowly dissipating. Her phone was off and stowed in her stateroom safe, along with the cash from her apartment. For now, being out of harm’s way and hidden in the midst of two thousand people was fantastic. Finally, she’d get a relaxing vibe going and enjoy the getaway.
She grabbed the bottle of sunscreen from her tote and lathered-up in between sips of a banana daiquiri. Her only plans for the rest of the day included the muster drill—a vital safety briefing in case they needed to abandon ship. Mo squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. It was statistically impossible for anything else to go wrong in her life this week.
After muster drill, the plan was to run five miles on the treadmill, followed by fifteen glorious minutes in the hot tub watching the sunset. She’d make a quick stop at the buffet on the Lido deck for food, and take a hot shower before browsing the duty-free shops. After all, this was her vacation.
A deep male voice roused her from her reverie. “Hey babe, you want me to put sunscreen on your back?” Mo peeked up at a figure large enough to block the sun in front of her chair.
Mo shook her head. “No, thank you.” She pulled a paperback from her tote and turned to the page marked with a sticky note. With any luck, he’d take the hint.
“Okay. Suit yourself.” The man tossed his towel on the chair next to hers and sat facing her. “You from Baltimore?” He took a swig of his beer and leaned closer.
She sighed. So much for soaking up the sun in peace. “Yes, I am.” Mo picked up her drink and stirred it with the mermaid swizzle stick.
“Wow. I had no idea Baltimore produced fillies as fine as you.” He leered at her with a dazzling smile and touched her knee.
Eew! Mo jerked her leg away from his fingers, and fought the urge to stab his eyes out with the mermaid’s swizzle tail. She took a deep breath. “What did you say your name was?”
“Chaz, my name is Chaz.” The oaf finished his beer in one long gulp.
“Look, Chaz, don’t touch me again. I’m not in the market for a hookup, a pickup, or a drinking buddy on this cruise. I have peculiar tastes that border on sadism, and my two ex-husbands are still in therapy. Capiche?” She removed her sunglasses and met his wide eyes with a frosty stare.
He raised his palms and sat back. “Okay, okay, I get the picture.”
Mo sipped her daiquiri, hoping that would be the end of his attempts to get to know her. She snatched a bag of pretzels from her tote, stuffed one in her mouth, and adjusted her wide-brim hat to sit lower on her face. If she could only relax a few minutes before the muster drill reminder boomed over the loudspeaker.
“Hey, you mind sharing those pretzels? That was my fourth beer, and the old stomach could use a little food.” He belched.
Mo bit her bottom lip. She passed the bag in his direction. “Keep them. There’s a huge buffet on the Lido deck if you need something more substantial.” The promise of food elsewhere might make him leave. He crunched on the pretzels for a couple minutes.
Chaz leaned toward her. “That shiner on your cheek,” he pointed, “you get that from the kinky stuff?”
Great. The heat must’ve caused her makeup to run. “No, I fell.” Thanks for the reminder of yesterday and her trashed apartment.
He stuffed another pretzel in his mouth. “That’s what they all say. Maybe you need counseling or something. What did you do to them?”
“Who?” She stared resolutely at her book.
“Your exes. What did you do to them? You know—that keeps them in therapy.” He flagged the roving waiter and pointed at his beer.
Mo’s mouth fell open. The man was not only a ill-mannered sexist but very intent on getting drunk. She tossed the book and suntan lotion into her bag and stood. “Leave me alone. I’m not interested.”
Mo looked at her watch. She’d have just enough time to reapply the makeup and cover her bruise before muster drill.
Next time, she wouldn’t be so nice.