Decked with Holly (5 page)

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Authors: Marni Bates

BOOK: Decked with Holly
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Chapter 5
Holly
 
I
f I had to hear one more crack about my weight, I was going to lose it.
I was going to scream in the fancy restaurant and I didn't care if the waiters forcibly removed me. It wouldn't be the first time I'd been dragged off in shame in front of my family. At least this time I wasn't dressed like a slutty elf. That had to count for some improvement. And really, the humiliation of getting escorted to the door might be worth it if it liberated me from the presence of certain family members.
But then my grandpa asked what I thought of the pie that I was currently butchering instead of eating. Well, he didn't mention the fact that I was clearly venting my frustration by stabbing the helpless dessert repeatedly with my fork, but I'm sure it was pretty obvious. Of course, I
had
wanted to eat the damn thing when I ordered it. But then my aunt had calculated the number of calories and the number of hours I would have to spend on a treadmill to burn them off. That promptly killed my enjoyment of the treat.
But it was still my grandpa's birthday cruise and I didn't want to spoil any of it for him. So even though my stomach felt tight and queasy, I took a big bite.
“Delicious.”
I don't know if it was that last small act of defiance that made me feel decidedly sick forty minutes later, but regardless of the reason, I had to make excuses to go straight to the cabin instead of a juggling performance. The boys headed for the teen center, while their sisters picked a different socializing technique: drinking at the bar. At least that's where I thought they were going with their casual, “Oh, just hanging out in the lounge for a while” response.
Yeah, more like
Oh, Grandpa, we're going to flirt with any guy who can buy us a drink.
Sometimes I seriously wonder if I could have been orphaned
and
adopted.
At least I had the tiny cabin to myself while I tried to sleep off my nausea. I closed my eyes and said, “It's okay, Holly. You aren't moving at sea. Oh, no, you are actually lying still on something very stable like . . . a mountain. That's right, an enormous mountain with no water anywhere nearby.”
I sounded like an idiot and my stomach wasn't buying a word of it.
But at least Allison and Claire weren't around to make fun of me.
So I turned onto my side, thrust my head into the pillow, and tried to think happy thoughts. Only two more days at sea before I would have my feet on dry land. That was only forty-eight hours. Or . . . a lot of minutes. The exact number eluded me and I wasn't about to force myself to do math when I needed to focus on not throwing up.
I started mentally listing activities I might enjoy tomorrow, occasionally muttering them into my blanket. Sit out on the sundeck, listen to my music, do some more sketching. Maybe I'd even take some photographs and people watch. I could do all of that while avoiding everyone but my grandpa.
It could happen.
I was just lulling myself into a false sense of comfort when the light flipped on and the thoroughly tipsy Twins from Hell stumbled in, clinging on to the arms of two boys who didn't appear to be of legal drinking age but must have gotten the girls drinks somehow, since they all were reeking of alcohol and laughing like hyenas.
The smell had my stomach clenching as if the boat had just rolled. I rubbed my face tiredly, sat up, and told them the truth.
“Listen, guys, I'm sorry but I'm feeling sick. Do you mind hanging out somewhere else? I'd really appreciate it.”
“It's only eleven!” one of the sleazoids informed me, as if that should make a difference to my churning stomach and the tightness that ached in my chest.
“And I'm sorry.” I apologized even though
hello, it wasn't my fault that I was seasick!
“But I'm trying not to puke and I really just . . . I need to sleep it off.”
“Oh, we understand,” Claire said as she collapsed onto the bed in a giggling drunken heap. “You don't want to party because you're a loser.” She snorted then dissolved into laughter. “Even the girl getting us free drinks was cooler than you!”
Allison giggled. “God, she was trying
so
hard. There's no way she's actually dating someone famous. Desperation was written all over her.”
Claire tossed back her long blond hair. “So pathetic. What was I saying again? Oh, yeah, we're going to have fun. You can do whatever you want.”
The smell was unbearable and the longer eau de tequila wafted over me the harder I had to work to suppress my gag reflex. I couldn't stay in that room. Especially not with one of the guys leering at me. Mustering up the effort to change into pajamas had been beyond me when I had first entered the cabin, and now I found myself incredibly grateful to be fully dressed. Just lurching to my feet felt like a Herculean task. Apparently, I was just not built for long periods of time on water.
Or any time on water.
I just wish that I had known that
before
I had boarded the ship.
“Fine,” I said, even as my body tried to mutiny against my every movement. “Enjoy your private party. I'll figure out something else.”
Scooping up my backpack and my iPod, I paused for a moment before snatching up my blanket for good measure. I might end up sleeping out on deck but I still required a modicum of comfort.
“Enjoy your night, girls, because eventually karma is going to catch up with you. Oh, and try not to get too many STDs.”
And with a cheery wave I made my exit.
Okay, maybe not the best of parting lines. It lacked, well, class for one thing. But no matter how many times my imaginary parents tell me to “rise above” my cousins there are times when I can't resist stooping to their level.
And this time I felt sick enough that I didn't even care.
Wrapping the blanket tighter around my arms, I meandered blindly down the hall and into an elevator.
“Nowhere to go but up.” I pressed a button at random, leaning heavily against the cool metal control panel as it began to rise. All I needed to find was an unoccupied couch in a corner somewhere. That should also be significantly closer and warmer than any deck chair, which would be good because not only was I sweating like I'd just bitten into a hunk of jalapeño, I also couldn't stop my body from quaking. Every last ounce of my spunkiness was officially drained.
But it had to be better than staying with Allison, Claire, and Sleazoids #1 and #2.
And to remind myself of that fact I kept repeating, “This is better, way better, it gets better,” with each step. My body didn't believe that any more than my mountain fantasy. Something in my chest squeezed tightly and I had to fight back a rising tide of bile.
I was going to throw up.
It wasn't a question of
Oh, maybe the sensation will pass
anymore. It was
Holy shit! I'm going to spew like Mount St. Helens! I need a restroom! NOW!
But all I could see in either direction was a long expanse of white hall. It was going to be off-white if I didn't find a trash can or a toilet in a hurry. But I didn't have time to run around, searching for public facilities. My body felt so utterly drained I wasn't sure I was capable of moving at a pace faster than a crawl.
I really hoped that whoever had booked room 327 wouldn't come out to inspect what was going on outside their door, because I wasn't going to make it.
Except . . . the door to room 329 appeared to be slightly ajar with a room service trolley waiting right outside of it.
I bolted inside.
Which was honestly the most daring thing I had done since . . . slapping Santa. Okay, bad example, because I am a good, rule-abiding citizen. Honestly. That had just been an instinctive—and justifiable—response to uncalled-for grope-age.
It was a knee-jerk reaction, which ended with me kneeing a jerk.
This time, at least, my instinctive response was unlikely to incite a minor brawl in a public area. That ought to count as even more progress. I was just doing a little bit of breaking and entering.
Oh, yeah, I had definitely earned myself a spot on Santa's naughty list this year.
A startled room service guy who appeared to be wringing the life out of a towel, or maybe turning it into one of those swans fancy hotels leave for decoration, tried to stop me with a horrifed “Ma'am!” but I just waved him off.
“It's fine. I'm supposed to be here!”
Which wasn't a total lie, strictly speaking. Getting sick in a bathroom was definitely preferable to having it happen in a pristine hallway. Although at that point, I honestly would have said anything for bathroom access.
I made it just in time. Clinging to the toilet, I let loose a muffled roar that sounded distinctly prehistoric, like the mating call of a dinosaur, which echoed dully around the room.
Then it all came back up and a distant part of myself that was observing in a state of calm detachment just shrugged and said, “Well, at least now you won't have to work off
those
calories. Aunt Jessica will be so proud.”
Because that was a healthy way to put things in perspective.
Not.
All I wanted was to hear the captain announce over the loudspeaker, “There has been a change of plans, folks. We're pulling into Cabo now and staying here for the full eight days of the cruise. We hope this isn't an inconvenience.”
That would be perfect. Although anything that would get me off the damn ship would sound like heaven to me. But the silence in the room remained unbroken for such a long time that I wondered if I really was all alone. If I could curl up and fall asleep right beside the toilet with no one the wiser.
That little fantasy fizzled out when I dimly heard a sliding door shut before the room service guy said, “Here's your coffee, sir. Will that be all?”
“Yep, that's it. Have a nice night.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Just my freaking luck.
The door clicked shut, and it should have been silent in the room again except I thought I heard . . . tapping. It sounded like there was a deranged woodpecker nearby, but that wasn't possible. Not on a cruise ship. My brain felt inundated with a wave of static as everything momentarily became pixilated and fuzzy. I rested my forehead in the palm of my hand and waited for the feeling to pass before trying to focus on the bright colors by my feet. It appeared to be a garish Hawaiian-print shirt, crumpled on top of dark jeans, which only exacerbated my headache.
The clothes appeared to be male in origin. Which also made sense given that I distinctly remembered the room service guy calling The Resident of Room 329 “sir.”
It had taken me way too long to figure out that little puzzle.
But at least now that my stomach was empty it couldn't churn quite so viciously and I could focus on the important stuff. Like whose room I had, ahem,
borrowed
.
Okay, so it belonged to a guy. Probably a nice, conservative corporate drone who fantasized about being a fisherman and leaving his cubicle far behind him. Although he might not be alone. If the room was anywhere near as nice as the bathroom, that guy had spent some serious money for these accommodations. Something he'd probably done in order to get Mrs. Corporate in the mood. I squeezed my eyes shut. I had no idea how I had gotten myself involved in this farce but I had to get out of there before they decided to hit the sheets.
So I wrapped the blanket around myself once again, hiked up my backpack on my shoulder, and stood on trembling legs. So far so good. Maybe I could slip out of the room without them even noticing. Cautiously, my heart pounding out a fast tattoo, I flushed the toilet, wincing at the loud gush and gurgle.
Nothing.
I turned to the sink and washed my hands as silently as I could, fearing that at any moment the bathroom door would jerk open and an irate lawyer would yell about slapping me with a lawsuit for breaking and entering. Or at least entering under false pretences, since technically I hadn't broken anything.
But all I could hear was my unsteady breathing. Feeling almost prepared to barrel my way out the same way I had barged in, I opened the door and took my first step toward freedom.
Freedom was blocked by a boxer-clad hottie.
The Hot Guy from the dining room!
My jaw dropped open. Yeah, he definitely looked as good without clothing as he had in his collared shirt and business jacket. Better, even. Okay, so maybe I was leering even worse than the skeazoids currently residing in my cabin, but it's not every day that a geek like me gets such an up-close-and-personal view of hotness. And after the hellish day I'd just had, I figured there was nothing wrong with appreciating what was right smack in front of me.

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