Page 9 of Fever Dream
She takes me in critically, but her expression is blank, bored even. She drops her shades back onto the bridge of her nose. And then—as though she’s examined me and found me entirely lacking—she turns her back on me.
Dhruv claps me on the shoulder solemnly, and Caleb removes his mouth from the straw in his drink only to laugh at the silent but vicious rejection.
“Damn! Turning thirty has killed your game,” Caleb exclaims, drawing a nod from Dhruv.
I roll my eyes, taking a sip of my beer before I bother responding to my two best friends from high school. “We all know that isn’t true,” I reply. We haven’t seen each other in forever, so when they invited me to join them on a Caribbean cruise over Christmas, I thought, why the fuck not?
With the WBRF, I’m on the road from November through May, save for Christmas break. But my parents died at Christmas, so the vibes at home are always a little… too sentimental. It means my family spends an inordinate amount of time talking about their feelings and reminiscing about our parents—something I prefer to avoid. And as much as I’m sure they wish I’d show up, they also love me enough to let me do what I need to do.
So the stars aligned for this makeshift high school reunion because the tickets were cheap, Dhruv’s family doesn’t celebrate Christmas, and Caleb’s an only child whose parents planned a trip to Paris without him.
But what they failed to mention when they sold me on the idea is that this is asinglescruise. And while we are all very, very single, being stuck at sea with thousands of people looking for a relationship is not my idea of a good time.
Especially not withherhere.
It’s weird seeing her outside of the bull-riding world or in passing around town. During the season, my home base is acondo in Calgary for its easy access to an international airport, but I’m still at the family farm in Emerald Lake frequently. Hell, I spend all offseason living and working there.
It’s a wonder we haven’t run into each other already—a testament to how ridiculously massive this stupid boat is. At least there’s only one night left on this floating city. But it wasn’t all bad. Free drinks, endless sunshine, and catching up with old friends who didn’t talk about scores, bulls, andworkthe entire time meant I actually relaxed for a week.
“You ever going to tell us why that girl just looked at you like you were gum stuck on the bottom of her shoe?” Dhruv asks, interrupting my reflection on the week.
A chuckle rumbles in my throat, because that isexactlyhow she looked at me.
Caving in, I cast another glance in her direction.
With those shades still securely on her face, she has a drink in her hand, gold flashing from the multiple rings on her fingers and bracelets stacked on her wrist. Her deep-pink bikini draws the eye, and the white scarf tied around her waist almost glows against her skin—more tan than usual after a week in the sun. She’s slicked her dark brown hair into a low, tight bun that looks downright uncomfortable.
A group of men and women about her age surrounds her, but there’s one guy specifically who’s sidled up close to her while two others do a dramatic reenactment of the story they’re telling. They’re all vying for her attention, and why wouldn’t they? Her brother annoys me, but I’m not above admitting their family genetics are pretty good.
And I can’t help but wonder what the dynamic is with Mr. Too-Close. Not that it matters, and not that I care. She’s with a large group of people, still pretending that I don’t exist, and she seems to be enjoying herself, which is all good enough for me.
So I turn back to my friends, who are waiting patiently for me to explain the silent exchange they just witnessed.
“Thatis my biggest competitor’s little sister. Julia Silva.”
“So… should you go say hi?” Caleb asks, his tone giving away his confusion.
A smile quirks my lips as I imagine marching over there just to say hi.
Oh, she’dhatethat.And so would Theo—which makes me want to do it even more.
“No. Maybe ‘competitor’ isn’t the right word for Theo Silva. Rival? Enemy? He hates me, and by default I’m sure she does too. So, I highly doubt she wants me to say hi.”
The guys look over at her again. They don’t keep track of the sport, but even they recognize the name Theo Silva.
“Well,” Dhruv announces with a disbelieving laugh, “there’s no accounting for taste, and we’ve only got one more night in paradise.” He lifts his drink. “So cheers to the haters. May we know them. May we be them. But most of all, may Emmett beat them this season!”
Caleb and I both laugh and join him in his toast. Because truly, what is better than showing up your haters?
Then we order another, making our stand at the narrow high-top table, and move on to better and more interesting topics of conversation.
The sun sets low on the horizon, painting the ship in dreamy hues of pink, purple, and gold before fading and snuffing out any last glow of natural light. As night falls around us, conversation flows, and so do the drinks. The DJ keeps the music going, and the night takes on that hazy, ethereal quality that comes with the heady buzz of too much alcohol.
Only one day left before it’s back to the grind, so I might as well enjoy myself, even if it makes the flight tomorrow morning miserable.
A few women join us at our table, and shortly after, Dhruv leaves with one of them. The other two stay and talk. The blonde latches on to Caleb, and the redhead to me. I absently wonder how I should break it to this woman that I am officially too drunk to get a boner and that—nice as she seems—all I want to do is get hammered and shoot the shit with my friends on our last night together.
There are no shortage of hookups on the road. From buckle bunnies to local girls at the bar, the allure of the one-night stand on vacation has long since lost its excitement for me. It’s just the norm now. And it remains preferable to touching a relationship with a ten-foot pole. But it’s not exhilarating. There’s no thrill, no rush.
