Braving the Waves (Cruisin’ With Curves)

3. Isaac

CHAPTER THREE

ISAAC

“Blue Team, you’re not looking so hot! Twist! Twist!”

I watch the family of four on the Twister mat in front of me contort to reach the colors they’re supposed to. They’re getting dominated by the Red Team, probably because the Red Team appears to be two couples who don’t mind getting intimate with each other. They’re all twisted around each other in a way that’s almost obscene. I can only imagine that this game is acting as foreplay for them, while the blue team is apparently a married couple with their two adult children.

“Alright, right hand on yellow!” As the words leave my mouth, my eyes glance up at the people passing by the activity area. When I first started on the ship, it bothered me when people would gawk as they went by. But now I know that they’re just looking because something is happening, not because they actually care. Sometimes the older folks get bored and stay to watch, but usually, it’s just people passing through on their way out to the deck.

And among the sea of faces, I spot her . It’s like her brightness is at a higher magnitude than everyone else. She has her hair pulled back today, and I watch her flitter over to the bar by the window and lean across it to request something from the bartender.

We’ve been on this ship for two days now, and I’ve seen her everywhere. In the dining hall, walking through the casino, sitting in the library.

Never out on the deck.

It’s like she’s scared of the sun or something. She’s all alone. I’ll admit, I didn’t see that one coming. I just assumed she had a whole crowd of other equally pretty friends that she came with. Or, I don’t know, a snarky boyfriend. But that pretty girl with the box of ashes is sitting at the bar by herself, seemingly waiting for no one.

“Left foot on blue!” I say, and her eyes pop over to me, like she didn’t see me before. Like she recognized my voice.

Her eyes linger on me, and mine linger on hers. She’s very beautiful, wearing a white tank top and a flowing blue skirt. She looks like someone who likes to hold hands while they stroll down the beach.

Someone on the blue team collapses, taking the whole group down with them, and my gaze is torn from the woman’s.

“Red Team wins!” I proclaim, perhaps a little less enthusiastic than usual as I try to find the woman again in the crowd. But the bar is empty, and she’s gone.