Page 2 of Not that Sea-Rious

Beau Bryan

T he sun had no business shining so brightly. Would it kill Mother Nature to have one damn cloud in the sky? Mocked by the cheeriness of the Sunshine State, Beau ran a hand through his hair as the beads of sweat formed. At least the Florida humidity was high as hell. So, today wasn’t perfect.

As he moved around the cruise ship terminal, going through the process of boarding the ship, he regretted his decision to take the four-day vacation alone. Amid the other passengers’ joyousness, he felt out of place. What was he thinking?

Sighing, he re-shouldered his carry-on bag.

No matter what the circumstances, he couldn’t justify throwing three thousand dollars away.

Catching his fiancée in bed with his best friend, and business partner, because he had the audacity to come home early to prepare for a trip, wasn’t extenuating circumstances, according to the cruise line.

He either had to take the trip or flush money down the toilet.

Neither option appealed to him, so here he was, walking through the last corridor before boarding the massive ship.

The positive energy of the other guests swirled around him, but he held no such excitement.

He fully intended on spending the next four days in a drunken stupor.

Maybe he could accidentally fall overboard.

That’d be a delightful end to his week. He’d gotten the unlimited drink package. Might as well put it to good use.

How much alcohol would it take to forget Megan’s cries of passion while Jordan plowed her doggy style in not just his house but his damn bed? Inquiring minds needed to know.

So much for brothers from another mother. Hell, she’d agreed to marry him three months ago. This stupid cruise was supposed to be a celebration of their fucking engagement.

Shaking his head, Beau headed straight for the first bar he could find. Eying the last empty seat, he considered the stool beside a group of women drinking colorful slushy drinks from hurricane glasses garnished with pineapples and cherries.

Nope.

Definitely not his vibe.

There had to be a sports bar or something else that had fewer people.

Actually, he should ditch his bag and head to his room.

He didn’t need to carry around his toothbrush and other toiletries.

The last thing he needed to do was lose his passport because he forgot it somewhere on the ship on day one.

He strolled toward the back of the ship. It’d be faster if he avoided the elevators the porters used to get the luggage to the staterooms. Considering everyone boarded in the middle of the ship, it was safe to bet the rear of the boat wouldn’t be as busy.

Just outside the closed casino, before getting to the party pool area, he found a bank of elevators.

Beau pressed the button, stood back, and waited for one to arrive.

Thankfully, it showed up before any other guests did.

He wasn’t sure he could handle being in close quarters with anyone having a good time.

His own sour mood might taint theirs. Pressing the button, he hit the highest deck.

As the elevator hummed and lifted, he mentally kicked himself. When he’d organized this whole thing, booking an ocean-view suite seemed like a fantastic way to celebrate his future. Upon arriving on his floor, as he passed each stateroom, he heard the cha-ching of the cash register.

What a waste.

He could’ve used that money toward a down payment on a car—a newer, better one. Maybe even a convertible. Something fast with sleek curves—like his former fiancée.

Ugh.

After he slipped the key card into the slot, the green lights lit, and the whir of the lock sounded. He turned the knob and pushed the heavy door open. Massive floor-to-ceiling windows gave him an unobstructed view of the sea. Squinting and blocking out the light, he sighed. Far too bright.

He stomped into the room, past the sofa, the coffee table, and the desk, determined to shut those curtains and darken his space so it would match his stormy mood. As he approached the king-size bed with the rose petals in the shape of a heart, he groaned.

Beau had forgotten he’d set that up. Slapping his hand over his face, he dropped his carry-on bag on the bed as he sank onto it. In a silver bucket of ice sat a champagne bottle and chocolate-covered strawberries.

Motherfucker.

He flopped back and let his arms fall out at his sides. Every romantic gesture rubbed salt into his gaping emotional wound. He’d never gone all out like this before. Megan was supposed to be special. She’d agreed to be his wife.

More money down the drain.

Emotions stormed inside him. Betrayal tangled with embarrassment fueled his rage. He’d been so stunned when he’d opened his bedroom door, expecting to find Megan watching porn or something. He hadn’t even gotten a chance to punch Jordan.

The two scrambled off the bed so fast Beau barely registered what he saw. Well, no. He definitely witnessed them fucking. The image of Jordan’s bare ass was burned into his brain. He just hadn’t been able to process the scene fast enough to respond appropriately.

Scrubbing his face, Beau tried to wipe his memory.

He was too sober for this. By his calculations, he was roughly three cocktails behind schedule. Eying the ice bucket, he blew out a breath. Overpriced champagne wasn’t exactly his taste, but he’d make do.

It was supposed to be a celebration. As he worked the cork from the bottle, he considered his situation. Perhaps he could still enjoy the next four days. Filling the fluted glass with the bubbly liquid, he chuckled to himself.

It could’ve been worse. This trip could’ve been his honeymoon, or maybe his five-year wedding anniversary. At least he found out Megan didn’t know how to commit before he actually married her.

Bringing the alcohol to his lips, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He hadn’t shaved or showered before heading to the port. His short red hair looked unkempt, as did his wrinkled clothes. He was a sight to behold for sure.

Lifting his glass, he smirked and offered his reflection a nod. “Here’s to being single.”