Page 25 of Ship Happens

Owen scoffs, shaking his head. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Trust me, I’ve seen this play out before.” Kevin turns, grabbing the waistband of his underwear as he steps away. “Now look away, I’ve gotta moon you for a second.”

Sure enough, Kevin’s pale ass cheeks are out for the world to see a split second later.

“Dude,” Owen groans. “There’s a bathroom right there!”

The lido deck is packed with passengers.

Far too many for Owen’s taste. How dare people try and have fun.

“We want to welcome everyone today on what promises to be an incredible journey up the West Coast toward those gorgeous Alaskan shores!” the captain says, voice echoing through huge speakers as he greets the guests from his place underneath the shaded veranda. “It’s a trek I’ve made countless times, but it never gets any less beautiful. And one that I’m honored to get to share with all of you.”

Owen rolls his eyes.

“So, from all of us at Pacific Coast Cruises,” he starts to say, before every single cruise employee dressed in matching teal polos joins in with him to say in unison, “we want to welcome you to what’ll be the greatest week of your life!” A foghorn cuts through the air a beat later, the crowd’s cheers growing even louder.

Owen can’t help but flinch at the noise, then he feels the first lurch of the floor underneath his feet. With nothing but the cloudless sky to go off of, it’s hard to tell that they’re moving at first, especially as he floats half-submerged in front of the pool bar, ass already aching from the hard concrete stool underneath him.

They’d all gone their separate ways once they arrived on deck. Abigail pulled Kaitlyn right to the dance floor, surrounding themselves with the crowd. Kevin admitted that he was going to do the rounds and, in his own words: “Find a cute girl to make out with.”

And Jacob. He’d stood next to Owen for a beat too long, hovering there, not knowing what to say until Owen finally decided that the warm water would probably feel nice.

“I’m guessing you liked it?” The bartender approaches, nodding toward Owen as he cleans a glass.

“Sorry?” Owen apologizes, having not registered the man’s question one bit.

“Your drink.” The bartender gestures to the near-empty glass that Owen’s been cradling. “Can I get you another?”

“Oh, sure . . .” Owen slides it toward him. He always feels a little self-conscious ordering virgin drinks or mocktails. Sometimes he gets this look, instant judgment that a bartender or waiter just can’t help. Even if his inflammation or biologics weren’t a factor, the way he’d come to rely on alcohol during the worst part of his attempt at college had done enough to dissuade Owen from ever wanting to get drunk again.

“You know,” the bartender continues, refilling Owen’s glass from one of the nozzles behind the counter, “I’ve worked on this ship for a while—”

“Hmm . . .” Owen hums, unsure of what to do with this piece of information that he didn’t ask for.

The bartender nods, walking back to grab the syrups. His side of the bar is totally dry—obviously—but that hasn’t kept him from dressing in a short bathing suit, humongous thighs on display, along with a black tattoo that vanishes into the inseam, hiding the full picture from Owen.

The bartender continues, “—and I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look so depressed while they’re supposed to be on vacation.”

“Yeah, well . . .” Owen barely attempts a reply, staring at the refill as the bartender slides it toward him.

“Hey, can I just get a beer?” Hearing Jacob’s voice again makes Owen’s eyes roll so far back into his head he’s sure he can see his brain for a second. He can almost feel the man’s presence as he falls onto the barstool next to him. “Modelo? Lime, please.”

“You got it,” the bartender says.

“Oh . . .” There’s a playful tone to Jacob’s surprise, like he didn’t actually see Owen sitting here first.

Yeah, right, Owen thinks.

“Here you are.”

“Yeah,” Owen says, mostly into his drink. “Here I am.”

“You’re drinking now?” Jacob asks.

“It’s a mocktail.”

“Oh.”