Bad Cruz: A Reverse Grumpy/Sunshine Romance

We were running late.

Actually, running wouldn’t be the best way to describe it.

We were crawling late.

My fault, naturally.

Cruz and I hit the afternoon traffic to Port Wilmington. His Audi was moving at a snail’s pace, stuck among a hundred more cars.

He’d been admiringly polite and silent the entire drive out of Fairhope, but by the throbbing vein in his temple, which was an interesting shade of pomegranate, I was pretty sure he was about to punch my tit.

“Remind me again,” he drawled, choking his steering wheel to death. “What held you up in Jerry & Sons for forty-five minutes while I loitered around the parking lot like a B-grade drug dealer?”

I’d stayed late because my new trainee waitress, Trixie, a single mother of two’s douchebag husband walked out on her for a younger model only three weeks ago.

She was having a mental breakdown—not entirely surprising seeing as it was her second shift and she’d never worked in her life—and I had to take over until her tables had been served.

Of course, I wasn’t going to out her story or explain myself to this haughty prick.

I owed him nothing.

“Already told you.” I popped the passenger’s sun visor down, sliding the mirror open to line my Cupid’s bow again, a nice shade of rose. “I had to choose the best lipstick color to go with my outfit.”

“You’re wearing your waitress uniform.”

“Exactly. Did you know there are over a thousand shades of pink?”

“Did you know,” he retorted, “the Elation boards in fifteen minutes and we are going to miss the cruise?”

“Nonsense.” I waved a dismissive hand at him. The secret was in the faux confidence. “We’ll make it in time, and it’ll be wonderful.”

“Those things are mutually exclusive. If you’re there, it will not be wonderful.”

“Ouch,” I said, extra flatly, for emphasis that I couldn’t care less. “Can’t we all just get along?”

“The chances of us ever getting along flew out the window when you punched my throat six years ago.”

I could not believe his audacity at casually bringing that up.

“I was aiming for your face.”

“You’re as untalented as you are violent, Miss Turner.”

“Whatever happened to letting bygones be bygones?”

“Those don’t apply in our case. You would’ve kept beating me to death if we hadn’t had an audience.”

I smiled nostalgically. “To death? No. But I probably would’ve damaged the crown jewels.”

He ground his teeth together, scowling at the traffic jam through his wire-rimmed Aviator glasses. Vintage and likely expensive as heck. He looked like a war hero in a Tom Cruise movie. Which made me weak-kneed every time I stared at him directly. Maybe that’s why I liked irritating him—that clenched jaw, though!

I turned my face to my window and cranked up the radio. Fergie sang about her lovely lady lumps. I idly wondered if I should try my luck at writing lyrics. It couldn’t be that hard if this song made it to the radio.

I tried to cheer myself up by telling myself that this was Bear’s very first real vacation and he was stupid excited about it. Also, the ten-day cruise was going to give me some much-needed distance from Rob, who had been calling every day for the past couple weeks, but otherwise had been keeping a low profile in Fairhope. Once again, I was keeping his secret…sort of.

I still hadn’t broached the subject of his father with Bear, but was planning to do so this trip. Take him to one of the nice restaurants on the cruise ship and conduct a serious, grown-up conversation with him. The kind Dr. Phil would find inspiring.

Mr. Perfect’s voice sliced through Fergie’s singing. “Look, this cruise is supposed to help our families get to know each other better. I’m willing to let the throat-punching incident go if you play nice, too. What do you say?”

“Fine. Yes. I’ll give it a try. Can I call my son?”

Why I asked him for permission was beyond me.

I was a grown woman, on the verge of thirty, in fact. But I guess it was his car after all.

Also, Cruz always felt so much older than me, even though there were two years between us.

Also, maybe it would be nice to stop bickering for half a second.

“Go ahead, sweetheart.”

I was pretty sure the sweetheart part slipped accidentally, but it still made my thighs high-five each other and my clit wake up from its hibernation.

Real classy, Nessy. Wait till he enjoys an ice cream on the trip. Your vagina is probably going to detonate all over the open bar.

I FaceTimed Bear, who looked adorable in his neon-green framed shades and floppy hair. There was a lot of talking and laughing and microphone announcements in the background, so I gathered he was already on the ship.

“Hey there, Care Bear.” I grinned. “How’s my favorite boy?”

“Real good, Ma. You have to see this place. It’s crazy big. Like a city.”

“Well, honey, I’m on my way. Are Mamaw and Papaw with you?”

“Nope. Found a local gang heading toward the South China Sea. We’re going to become pirates. Do you think I’ll look good with an eye patch?”

The silent chuckle next to me, coming from Golden Boy, told me that this was supposed to be a joke. I frowned.

“Don’t laugh about such things with your mama, Care Bear.”

He winced. “Please don’t call me that publicly.”

“Don’t become a pirate, then.”

“Deal.”

My mother saw fit to grab Bear’s phone just then, smiling sunnily at me. By her pink cheeks and margarita the size of a bucket she was holding, I gathered she was lush.

I noticed she went uncharacteristically tame on the necklaces and bracelets, and my heart squeezed that she’d altered her style to fit into Catherine Costello’s neat universe.

“Nessy, honey?” She peered into the phone, as elderly people often did, as though to ensure I wasn’t physically trapped inside the small device. “What’s taking y’all so long? Wyatt and your sister are already here. The Costellos, too.”

“I got held up at work.” I winced.

Mom gave me a look of despair. “Please be here on time, Nessy. You cannot begin to imagine how much it means to your sister.”

“I know,” I said somberly. “We’re doing our best. We’ll be there.”

I hung up, feeling antsy. If we missed this cruise, no one in my family would forgive me. I craned my neck, as if I could see past the windshield.

“Are we there yet?” I asked.

“Almost. We’re rolling into the port right now. That’s the holdup. Parking’s impossible in this place.”

“Hmm,” I said helpfully.

“Bear sounds like a cool kid,” Cruz said, and my heart swelled. Bear was, indeed, the coolest kid on planet Earth. Objectively speaking, of course.

“Naturally. He takes after me.”

“Not in looks.”

There was a brief silence. My brain screamed at me not to broach the subject of Rob. But my big mouth flipped it the finger and moonwalked right into the sticky conversation.

“You know Rob’s back, right?”

Cruz gave half a nod. “It’s a small town.”

“Had a chance to hang out with him?” I asked. “Reminisce about the good ol’ days?”

“Why do you care?”

We were now inside the parking lot area, and Cruz was looking for a parking spot, trailing behind a Buick manned by a ninety-two-year-old woman.

“Because you’re best friends.”

Inseparable during adolescence.

The chosen ones of Fairhope High.

“Were,” he amended. “And I intend to grab a beer with him soon. It’ll be nice. I missed him.”

Of course he would.

They were the same wise guy in different packaging. I had no doubt Cruz would’ve acted the exact same way Rob had if I’d gotten knocked up with his child at sixteen.

Suddenly, I remembered all the reasons I hated Cruz Costello with such a passion.

“Know what?” I sighed. “Pluck it. I can’t do this. I can’t be nice to you.”

“Same. It was good while it lasted, though.”

“Not for me.”

He pulled into a parking spot.

I unbuckled myself. “So you can just stop pretending to be a gentleman around me. I know the truth.”

The truth that got you throat-punched in the first place.

He let out an incredulous chuckle when he got out, rounding his Audi and popping the trunk open. He grabbed my hot pink suitcase and flung it at me, making me stumble back on my high strappy sandals.

He was going to make me wheel my own suitcase, too. SUCH a gentleman.

“Tennessee?”

“Yeah?”

“I strongly advise you to take off your high heels right about now.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re about to make a run for it, and as of five seconds ago, I no longer have the inclination to carry your suitcase and your ass to the ship.”

My feet were burning.

This was not a figure of speech. They were on fire from running barefoot.

Currently, they were the size of the plates at Jerry & Sons and were a nice shade of red, with a few stripes of dead skin that resembled bacon.

I hobbled, shifting my weight from side to side by the check-in desk, in a one-player game of The Floor is Lava. Last week, I’d completed as much of the online check-in process as possible, purchasing an internet and drinks package, ensuring the correct card was on file, and printing and attaching the luggage tags beforehand.

Contrary to popular belief, I was not that messy.

The check-in ticket woman lady (I was too delirious with pain from sprinting through security to decipher what her actual title was) returned our passports, gave us our freshly-taken passenger ID cards (naturally, Cruz looked cover-ready in his, and she’d caught me mid-blink), and handed us a welcome packet, robotically reciting her lines.

“Thank you so much for choosing Allure of the Ocean cruise line! We sincerely hope you enjoy your stay here. Have a wonderful time!”

We tried to sneak past a photographer who forced Cruz and me to take a photo together in front of a cheesy fake background of the ship. Her smile faltered when she realized I could not physically muster a smile through the pain.

She quietly snapped the photos, told us we could purchase them at the photo gallery (hard pass), and sent us on our merry gangway.

Despite the pain, I’d never felt so happy in my entire life.

We’d made it.

We were on the ship, even if we’d had to wait at the check-in line that seemed to snake all the way up to New York (seemed we weren’t the only late ones—ha!). Our suitcases had been checked in, too, and were supposed to be waiting by the doors to our rooms after dinner.

But we were past that line now.

Done.

Finished.

Finito.

Free as birds.

There’s always a foolish sense of arrogance when you leave a trail of exhausted, irritated people behind you in a line you just crossed to the freedom of post-check-in, and in that moment, I felt it.

“Wanna stop somewhere, so you can put your sandals back on before we find our families?” Cruz’s thick eyebrows furled, his chivalry, in that moment, trumping his hatred toward me.

I shook my head. “At this point, putting anything on is only going to make my feet feel worse.”

“There’s a temporary solution for that.” He stared at me flatly.

Oh yeah.

That nonsense he’d been spewing back when we were still by his car.

“If I let you carry me, your reek of toxic masculinity will rub off.”

“How’d you guess?” He looked genuinely surprised and shocked. “That’s my favorite cologne.”

So. Dr. Costello had jokes.

Yay me and the ten days I was supposed to spend with him.

Three minutes of jumping from foot to foot had passed before I realized I was punishing myself, not him.

“Fine,” I said, resisting the urge to remind him it was his fault for choosing the parking garage so far from the port. “You can carry me.”

“Are you sure you’ll survive my stench?”

“I’ll hold my breath. But no copping a feel.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“Don’t try, promise.”

“Do I look that desperate to you?”

I gave it some genuine thought. He was, after all, dating one of the best-looking women in Fairhope.

“Not particularly, but that ’stache gives you a flasher’s vibe. Better be safe than sorry.”

He scooped me up with such ease, an indolent purr escaped me. I let my arms flap aimlessly beside my body, because holding onto his neck seemed too damsel in distress for my taste.

Still, it felt divine, borderline euphoric, when he carried me honeymoon-style in front of dozens of people who boarded the ship and were now aww-ing and ooo-ing, smiling at us with open admiration.

Look at that couple. They’re like Gisele and Tom Brady, but sufferable.

He must give her oral sex all the time, they probably thought. Not just on weekends and after a few drinks.

If only they knew there was nothing Cruz wanted more than to hurl me overboard like an anchor and watch me get dismembered by an angry mob of seals.

One woman elbowed her husband and asked why he couldn’t be that romantic, and another man put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. “Yeah, baby. That’s how you get some.” Which, naturally, earned him a slap on the head from his partner.

“They said they were by the upper deck’s waterpark, drinking at the bar,” I supplied.

Cruz made his way to the stairway because the cruise would be over before the line to the elevators emptied. I decided that he was my favorite form of transportation.

And also that he had extremely strong biceps.

I tried not to think of other ways he could give me a ride.

“Call them,” Cruz instructed.

My phone was already pressed to my ear. “There’s no signal down here.”

“It’s pretty loud in here,” Cruz said when we got to the upper deck, and I finally got a signal only to get Bear’s voicemail.

The waterpark.

Bear wasn’t kidding.

This place was as big as a city.

“Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

“You’re welcome, Catty Woman.”

“Wit looks good on you, Dr. Costello.”

“You should see what’s underneath it.”

That was the first time we’d treaded on the verge of flirting, and even that had enough venom to kill a herd of elephants.

“Might take you up on the offer,” I drawled sarcastically. “Everyone in Fairhope knows I give out the goods easily.”

He screeched to a stop, his chin sloping down, his deep-blue eyes darkening. Suddenly, we were staring at each other, our noses not even an inch apart, and the noise and shrieks and laughter and kids cannonballing into pools ceased to exist.

Cruz Costello looked…hungry.

And not for food.

My heart cartwheeled into a pool of something warm and gooey, and I resisted to urge to lick my lips.

For a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me. He clutched me deeper against his pecs, muscular as a Greek god, and every nerve ending in my body sizzled.

My insides turned into thick, syrupy liquid…and then I remembered who he was and what he’d done to me.

And also, that he had a girlfriend I hated (sometimes. In my head).

I snapped my head to the other side, making a show of checking out my two-inch nails.

“What the heck was that, Costello?”

“Nothing, Turner. You were just looking at me weird, so I searched for obvious signs of a heart attack. Your pupils are dilated, by the way.”

“Uh-huh. Just remember you have a girlfriend.”

“I don’t, actually.”

I had no business feeling as gleeful as I felt when he said that.

He resumed his sauntering with me in his arms. Only now, he was trudging. I felt his irritated footsteps on my spine.

We still couldn’t spot our families at the bar. It was packed, loud, and spilling over with people in different states of undress and intoxication.

The scent of BO, chlorine, and cheap alcohol drifted into my nostrils. Heaven. How come no one had ever bottled it into a perfume?

“Nawwww.” I made an exaggerated gesture, placing a hand on my heart. “But you were so perfect together. Oatmeal Couple of the Year. So, am I your next conquest? Your rebound?”

“Rebounds aren’t my speed.”

Was it me, or had he not flat-out denied it?

“So why’d you look like you were going to kiss me? Is it because I don’t fall at your feet?” I taunted.

“I usually like my dates at crotch level. If they’re at my feet, they’re doing something wrong.”

“Gross. Also—sexist.”

“Natural. Also—not if I’m reciprocating. Which, for your general knowledge, I always do. Anyway, you said I could be myself around you, right? That’s me. Take it or leave it.”

“I choose to leave it,” I said emphatically, my heart beating a thousand miles a minute, because what was going on?

Were we actually discussing sex?

“Well, sweetheart, I was never yours to begin with. Now call your parents again. I’ll try my mother.”

He put me down, having had enough of my malice. I caught a glimpse of the ocean for the first time. It was endless and blue and promising, spread at my feet, and I reminded myself that in a few minutes, I wouldn’t have to deal with Haughty McHotson at all.

I’d be too busy with my family, my son, and my tan.

No more basket making, no more tables to serve. Things were finally, finally looking up.

I called my mother, then my father, then Bear. I was waiting for Bear to pick up when I heard Cruz’s mother’s voice blasting through his phone’s speaker.

“Cruz? Where are you, darling?”

“Upper deck. Waterpark bar. We’re looking for you.”

I whipped my head to catch him video-chatting his mother, pacing from side to side. I wasn’t the only one who was staring. The entire female population of the cruise ship was ogling this piece of prime meat. Some of the men, too.

Stupid pride filled my chest. Everyone could look, but he was with me. But then I was also filled with dread, because not only were we NOT together, he was literally trying his hardest to get away from me.

“Yes. We’re at the lounge, which is right at the back. You’ll see the beautiful chandelier, made of empty vintage liquor bottles. So very pretty. I’m wearing an ivory dress and a straw hat, and Donna is wearing…oh, I don’t know what she is wearing, darling. These people wouldn’t recognize a good fashion choice if it whacked them across the tush.”

Welp.

I was pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to hear that.

I had no doubt I was lumped together with these people. The blue-collared folks of Fairhope.

Cruz had the decency to shoot me an apologetic glance before hurrying to the back of the waterpark’s bar.

“I can’t see the lounge. Are you sure you’re at the waterpark?”

“By the waterpark.”

“Yeah, I don’t see any chandeliers, either. Just a bar that looks like a yellow submarine.”

A panicky feeling began buzzing in the pit of my stomach. The ship’s horn sounded, drowning out my heartbeats.

“How about we meet somewhere else? I can wait for you by the spa center on the nineteenth deck.”

“The decks only go to eighteen, Mom.”

“Nonsense, Cruzy. You’d think a man who finished med school would know how to count.”

The panic in my abdomen slithered up, up, up toward my sternum, making it almost impossible to breathe.

Cruz stopped pacing, rubbing at his face tiredly and shaking his head.

“It’s right in the brochure, Mom. The Elation has eighteen decks. Look it up.”

“The Ecstasy has nineteen decks. Check for yourself—why are we even having this conversation?”

The panic ball inside me was now blocking my throat.

I couldn’t draw a breath.

Nausea washed over me.

Pluck, pluck, pluck.

Cruz slowly turned toward me, his bottomless ocean eyes flaring with accusation. Meanwhile, the Elation chose this exact moment to begin sailing, leaving the port while hundreds of vacationers lazed against the bannisters, watching as it drifted farther from land.

“The Ecstasy?” he repeated, for my ears, not hers.

“Yes, darling. Why? Wait, what ship are you on?” There was a little, nervous, what-are-the-chances laughter at the end of the sentence.

“The Elation,” he said point-blank, his gaze not leaving mine, growing hotter, darker, scarier.

I want my mommy.

“Why on earth would you be on the Elation?” his mother exploded.

Around her, our families had begun conversing hotly. The words “why?” and “not again” and “her fault” were thrown in the air.

“That’s a very good question, Mother. Why don’t you let me get back to you with the answer after I find out for myself?”

With that, he killed the call and turned fully to me. My only consolation was that we were in front of a lot of people, so it was unlikely he was going to throw me overboard.

Yet.

“The Elation,” he said simply. His voice rough and dead and so chilly, a shudder rolled down my spine.

I bit my lower lip. “I remembered something with an E.”

“You remembered.” He strode toward me, cool as a cucumber, but also formidable as Michael Myers. “But you didn’t think to, oh, I don’t know, double-check?”

I stepped backward, retreating toward a raised ramp on which a wet t-shirt contest was taking place, trying to avoid his wrath.

More than stupid, I felt hopeless, because I knew everyone was currently discussing how useless I was. How it was probably a miracle I could even hold a tray and take a pancake order.

“Perfectly capable of booking two tickets to a cruise,” Cruz mimicked my voice and did a good job of it, as he took another step in my direction, like a predator zeroing in on his prey. “That’s what you said at the diner. Should I have specified that I meant OUR FAMILIES’ CRUISE?”

“I…I…I…”

But the excuses died in my throat.

There was no justifying what had happened.

I’d been drunk, flustered with Rob’s return, and made a huge mistake. I’d confused the Elation with the Ecstasy, and now I remembered why: as soon as my parents had told me the Costellos were booking us a cruise, I’d begun researching the different cruise ships.

The Elation was the one I’d kept coming back to, because it seemed the nicest and came highly recommended. Though it didn’t do me much good now that I was sharing it with a man who wanted to drown me.

“Can I have the nice and phony Cruz back?”

I winced when he was so close, I could practically smell him. The tantalizing scent of sandalwood with leather on a moneyed man, and the sharp, potent musk of male.

His body was hard and large and flush with mine, humming with the need to break something. Preferably my bones.

My back was plastered against the raised ramp. Behind me, women were giggling and comparing wet t-shirts. I had nowhere to go.

“No,” he whispered, his minty breath fanning my three-tiered cake beehive. I squeezed my eyes shut. Maybe if I didn’t look at him, he’d disappear. “Nice Cruz is dead to you, Turner. Jesus. I can’t believe you’re actually so…fucking…stupid!”

Out of all the offensive things people had said about me along the years, I genuinely thought this was the most cutting.

First of all, because it came from Cruz, a man who was notoriously incapable of hurting a fly, even if the darned thing was me, and who’d specifically dedicated his life and work to making people feel better.

Secondly, because this time, I believed him.

I was stupid.

I looked away, trying hard not to cry, aware we were gathering a small and curious audience. My ability to burst into tears at a moment’s notice was legendary and was becoming a huge liability at the age of twenty-nine.

I tried to keep my voice calm. “I suggest we both go to our rooms to regroup and talk about it when you cool down a little.”

“You do?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Look at me now, Tennessee.”

I dragged my gaze up from the floorboards of the deck, using every ounce of courage in me to do so. He held up our boarding passes in front of my face.

“Does something about this look weird to you?”

I blinked. I couldn’t register anything, the adrenaline was so thick in my bloodstream.

Naturally, I felt even stupider.

I could practically hear his thoughts.

She can’t read. Unbelievable. My brother is marrying a woman whose sister is illiterate.

“What’s the matter?” I huffed, frustrated.

“How many rooms do you see here?”

“One.”

“And how many of us are here?”

“Two.”

“Good girl. Now let those numbers sink in.”

I hung my head in shame. How drunk, exactly, was I when I’d booked those tickets?

Very much, by the looks of it.

I could no longer hold back the tears, and I didn’t want him to see me cry, so I pushed at his chest, turned around, and made a run for it, leaving him right there, surrounded by women in bikinis and wet t-shirts and men who catcalled them to get off the stage and give them some sugar.

My feet still burned, but I was too numb to feel the pain anymore as I wandered aimlessly around the ship. Bear tried to call me back, but I stuffed my phone into my pocket after switching it to silent mode.

I couldn’t face my son with hot tears streaming down my cheeks after screwing up yet another simple task. To be honest, I couldn’t even look him in the eye after the mistake I’d made.

Mom, Dad, and Trinity called, too, but I didn’t want to talk to anyone right now.

Instead, I kept hiking round and round in circles.

This helplessness, this smallness of my being, felt like a symptom of something bigger.

Of my entire existence.