Crew Hates by Deana Birch
Chapter Six
Day Six
There was zero trace of the previous afternoon’s drama on Mrs. Phillips’ face the next morning at breakfast. In fact, I had the distinct impression that it was never to be spoken of again. But I kept a watchful eye on her and hoped I was less obvious in doing so than her husband was.
We cruised to Saint Tropez, and as soon as the anchor clinked its contact to the sea bottom, Victoria and Abby were ready to go inland. Dinner would be in town for the Phillips, and Rosa and the rest of us were to remain on the boat.
When I’d applied for and accepted the job, I’d imagined sailing in the South of France with the wind blowing through my hair. I was doing that, but I wasn’t seeing any of France except the coastline from the boat. I never thought I would feel claustrophobic in such a short amount of time. Nonetheless, there I was again, watching my employers taxi off to heal their sea legs, and me suffering from a serious case of envy.
After dinner, Rosa went upstairs to knit on the comfortable sofa, and the three of us stayed around the table. Robbie explained some kind of mechanical thingy to Nick. I was lost after the word ‘combustor’ but needed the conversation, even if I couldn’t participate.
Unfortunately, the company didn’t last long. Robbie’s mechanical idea needed to be shown rather than told, and the two of them left for the machine room.
I decided on a longer-than-permitted shower and padded off to our cabin.
In the bathroom I noticed that one of the guys had left their shower gel, and I opened it up to smell. Mint. It was most definitely Nick’s. I inhaled the scent again. There was something about it that soothed me. It was too tempting. I justified stealing some and let its perfume mix with the steam as I rubbed it all over my body. I rinsed and basked in the candy-cane humidity. After what I was certain was too long, I turned the water off. With my hair still damp, I wrapped the towel around my chest and opened the door. Olive-green eyes looked up from the bottom bunk across the cabin.
“Long shower,” Nick said. His gaze jumped from my cleavage back to my eyes.
Ladies and gentlemen, we have a boob man.
He’d never seen the tops of my girls before. Polo shirts and unrevealing dresses hadn’t given them the light of day in the past week. But even though his glance was quick, it gave me a whole lot of information.
“You gonna tell on me?”
“No. As you pointed out last night, I’m not much of a talker.”
“Does that make you a man of action?” I moved from the bathroom over to my closet, passing in front of him. I found my pajama pants and T-shirt and spun back around to face him. His dimples were on full display, but he still didn’t answer. “Well?” I raised an eyebrow, then bent down and pulled on the pants.
He pressed his lips together, watching my every move. An intensity built between us, some kind of tense flirting that would lead to nothing and disappear as quickly as it had come. “Would you like to find out?”
Maybe.
“I wouldn’t dream of it. I need the money from this job.” I pulled the T-shirt overhead, threaded my arms through and let it fall to my waist. Then I slipped the towel out like a magician pulls a tablecloth. And in the time it took to do so, the sexy tension between us was gone.
In its place was a puzzled look on his face. “How do you do that?”
“What?”
“Get dressed and undressed without showing any real skin?”
“Practice. Are you waiting for me to slip up?”
He rubbed his face a few times then said, “I don’t know.”
Nick went back to reading, and I understood that our conversation was over. After drying my hair, I hung the towel on the edge of the bed and climbed into my bunk.
I was pretty sure we’d just flirted. But a week without much for conversation had left me doubting any or all social cues. Maybe we hadn’t, but at least he was talking to me.
“Good night, Nick.”
“Night.”