Bad Cruz

Of my entire existence.

I couldn’t believe this woman.

She was a goddamn menace in a skimpy dress.

I should’ve never let her handle the ticket-booking. This was the girl who’d infamously gotten knocked up under the bleachers of Fairhope High’s football field, while I spotted for her and Rob, the honorable wingman that I was.

I remembered that scene too well.

Cara Loughlin had been buttering me up, trying to get me to ask her to prom in roundabout ways, and all I could think about was the fact that Rob was taking Tennessee Turner’s virginity not even a few feet away from me.

I heard his feral groans, like he was wrestling a pig, not making love with his high school sweetheart, and one soft sigh from her.

Four months later, Tennessee dropped out of high school and started wearing baggy clothes, and we all knew what it meant.

Didn’t help that Rob broke up with her, and in one drunken moment post-prom, while we were all getting tanked at the gazebo by the library, he climbed onto the white pagoda’s roof and hollered, “I’ve been in Tennessee and it felt hella good, y’all!”

The woman who, when asked what was good at Jerry & Sons, replied, “The restroom. Sometimes. When they get cleaned.”

This was the woman I’d trusted to book us the tickets.

I had no one to blame but myself.

In lieu of plan B, I went to locate our stateroom, which was spacious for a cruise (a low standard) but far too small to avoid a woman with a personality the size of Mississippi.

Next, I retrieved my lifejacket and headed to the muster drill.

Anyone who’s ever been on a cruise knows you have a better chance of becoming the first unicorn astronaut than getting out of muster-drill duty. Their announcements are loud enough to wake the dead, and they call your room and make your existence a living hell until you attend the mandatory exercise.

One of the cruise staff scanned my ID card, confirmed my identity, and pointed me to a seat in the corner of the stand-up comedy lounge, my assigned muster station.

While I waited to hear the thirty-minute safety spiel, I tried to think back to how Tennessee Turner had become my one (and only) enemy in Fairhope.

I knew exactly why I detested her, even though my reasons might not be so fair to her, but I hadn’t the faintest idea why she hated me.

I only knew that she did, because she was one of the very few residents in Fairhope who opted to register with a physician all the way in Wilmington instead of staying local.

After the muster drill, I stopped by the guest services desk, which had emptied up considerably, and asked about getting off on the nearest island and joining the Ecstasy.

“Well…” The representative in the extra-ironed uniform beamed timidly. “The issue wouldn’t be leaving the Elation, but finding available rooms on the Ecstasy. Not to mention, both cruise ships would have to be on the same island at approximately the same day for that to happen, which may only occur on day four, depending on the weather.”

“What happens in case of an emergency?”

“We do have an in-house medical clinic, fully equipped, and a helicopter landing pad for medical emergencies. Could you explain the situation to me? Maybe then I’ll be able to help,” the representative encouraged.

I would, but even I don’t understand it very well.

“Do you happen to have any spare rooms, then?” I sighed. “I’ll pay anything.”

Anything.

My lease on the Q8 was ending in half a second, and I was going to upgrade to a Land Rover Sport, but screw it, avoiding this woman took precedence.

“No, I’m so sorry.”

“So am I,” I muttered.

I left her my details and room number, anyway, and asked her to let me know if and when I could escape this unexpected slumber party with the elder Turner.