A Royal Christmas Cruise (Stonewall Investigations Miami 2.50)

Ace gave his chest a wiggle again, the table cracking up. Rex’s sweater was more subdued in its ugliness. It was an off-blue color, with oversized snowflakes stitched across the chest and arms, silver glitter sprinkled haphazardly across it.

“I just love how your sweaters match,” Ace said, pointing between Nick and me. Because of course he would catch on to the similarities and call them out.

Jada looked at us, nodding as if she’d just solved a tough sudoku. “You’re right. That’s so funny.”

Our sweaters matched because Nick hadn’t brought one and I had packed two when Mason and I were still together and forgot to take them out. My sweater, a blue-and-red creation, was terribly stitched with a smiling Santa that also might have been crying. He was lifting a beer mug to the side of the sweater, which made sense when I stood next to Nick, who had an elf on his, also stitched in the same terrible fashion, also holding a mug to the side of his sweater.

Before I could think up of a reason why our sweaters matched, I spotted someone in the crowd. He wasn’t dancing or drinking, but he was looking our way intently.

It was him again. The man with the bald head and maroon tinsel sweater. That’s when I saw he had his phone out and pointed toward us. I noticed something on his hand; a tattoo? A birthmark? It was hard to tell under the lights. Then I saw the barest hint of a flash go off.

It was enough for me to want a few words with the man.

“Guys, I’ll be right back. Give me a few minutes.”

I could feel Nick watch me as I stood and left the table. I started toward the man, who looked up from his phone screen and locked eyes with me. There was a brief moment of fear crossing his face before it went neutral again, the blues and whites of the igloo wall shining off his head. He turned and began to make his way through the crowd, toward the large exit sign above the open double doors. I sped up, accidentally shoving someone and offering a quick apology, not wanting to lose the guy.

He turned. I followed him, the exit sign shining like the North Star. But instead of going through it, the man made another turn, digging deeper into the sweater-adorned crowd, everyone laughing and chatting and dancing, none the wiser to the mini pursuit going on in their midst.

I went on tiptoes, looking over the crowd, spotting the bald head. I went through the dance floor, cutting past the bar, my power walk bordering on a full-out run.

He threw a glance over his shoulder, his big eyes catching mine again. It made me sure that I had the right guy.

We continued walking away from the exits, deeper into the crowd. Was he trying to lose me? It was admittedly getting difficult figuring out which sweater was his. People were bumping into me, some asking to dance.

I kept walking, my eye on the bald head that would weave in and out of the crowd. But I was catching up. He was getting closer. I could almost reach out and grab him by his sweater.

And then shit hit the fan. Or, well, the ship hit the fan. At least, that’s what it felt like when the ship suddenly rocked to one side, throwing me off my feet. This would have been fine, except I was right next to the table holding the massive Frosty the Snowman cake. When I reached out to stabilize myself, I pushed down on the table. This sent the cake flying into the air, where the head dislodged and came falling down, straight onto my head, landing on top of me with a delicious and loud splat. I couldn’t see or hear anything past the vanilla cake that now covered my entire face.

I hoped people were at least getting photos, because I had a feeling I looked absolutely crazy.

11 Nicholas Silva

“You looked so funny,” I said, handing my phone over to Shy so he could see the photos again as he finished toweling off his head. He had already cracked up at them for a good fifteen minutes, but he just couldn’t get enough it seemed, probably in the same way I couldn’t get enough of his bubbly laughter.

He cracked up again. “I look nuts.” He handed me back the phone. I looked at the screen, finding myself laughing along with Shy.

He really did appear crazy. There he was, standing next to a destroyed cake, wearing his ugly sweater and a pair of tight jeans, his head seemingly replaced by a frosted Frosty head, the carrot for the nose having fallen off so he was left with a hole where his real nose started poking out. One of the chocolate button eyes had also fallen, making him look even more rabid.