The Singles Game
Page 80
Jake sighed. ‘He kept it from you for your sake, Charlie. Because he knew you’d be upset.’
‘Well, this feels worse than if he’d just treated me like an adult in the first place.’
It was Jake’s turn to say nothing. He didn’t have to: Charlie knew exactly what he was thinking.
She stood up. ‘I’m beat. Still not used to the time change. I’m going to turn in.’
Jake held out a hand and Charlie helped pull him up. ‘Sure you are,’ he said with a wicked grin.
‘What? You think there’s room in Marco’s bed tonight? You don’t have to worry about that. Judging from dinner, his cabin is going to look like a deli counter: Take a number and get in line.’
‘Lovely,’ Jake said, laughing. ‘You taking a number?’
‘Good night, Jake …’
‘You’re seriously missing the jam session? It’s U2, Charlie.’
‘I’m on probation, remember? Todd probably has the yacht on a live feed. Besides, they’re doing a real concert for everyone tomorrow night. And I’m tired. I’ll be asleep when you come in, so be quiet, okay?’ She kissed his cheek and waved to Dan on her way to the staircase that would lead to her cabin. As she walked by, she thought she could sense Marco watching her, but when she glanced back he was smiling at a woman draped on his shoulder. As she changed into a nightshirt and brushed her teeth and washed her face, she must have checked her phone a hundred times, but there was nothing. Radio silence from the hot Spaniard. She was more surprised at the depth of her disappointment than anything else.
Charlie didn’t remember falling asleep, but when she awakened, the cabin was pitch-black. The yacht’s motor hummed from somewhere belowdecks as the boat rocked gently. Her phone read 4:58 a.m. She knew from the printed card next to her bed that sunrise would occur around 5:30 a.m. and that they were due to anchor in Capri a half hour later. It was immediately obvious she wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep, so she stretched for a bit and made her way to the bathroom. It was only then she noticed that Jake’s bed was still untouched.
Charlie pulled on a T-shirt and workout leggings and threw her hair into a messy bun. She tied a Nike hoodie around her waist in case it was windy and, as an afterthought, took some headphones. Grabbing a bottle of Evian from the basket on her desk and the backpack with the DVD player Todd had given her, she headed for the stairs. It was perfect: she’d be able to find Jake and save him the embarrassment of getting caught passed out on a couch somewhere, and after she’d sent him back to the cabin, she could enjoy the peace and quiet of watching the sun rise over the Mediterranean. Afterward she could fit in a workout with the onboard trainer, watch some tape, and still have time for a quick breakfast before she was expected on the helipad tennis court for her scheduled hit-around.
The uppermost deck was like a perch, with a sunken hot tub overlooking the boat’s bow. It was dark and deserted, as was the area just below it. The captain and one of his mates stuck their heads out from the lit bridge to inquire if she needed anything, but she merely waved and walked back toward the stern. The aft deck that held the tennis court was empty, and so was the one below it. Was it possible everyone was still partying? It seemed unlikely, but who could predict what a jam session with U2 aboard a luxury yacht looked like? For all she knew, the entire lot could be engaged in some drug-fueled orgy, far away from the paparazzi. She picked up the pace. She berated herself for being such a loser, but at least Todd would be happy.
When Charlie reached the screening room, she saw that all twenty leather armchairs and ottomans had been stored in orderly rows and the band’s instrument cases were neatly stacked in a corner. She stood in the dark and silence and tried not to worry: Jake was a big boy, and besides, what really could have happened? For all she knew, he could have made his way back to the cabin at some point in the last twenty minutes she’d been roaming the boat. She’d decided that was the likeliest scenario and started back upstairs when she heard a noise. As she moved to the back of the screening room, it became a loud, steady snore.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness once she opened the door, and to realize that she was in the projector room with a panel of electronics elaborate enough to rival an air traffic control tower. A classic director’s chair stood in front of the panel, and a three-seater leather couch sat against the back wall. The room was no more spacious than a small bedroom, but it featured a half dozen framed movie posters on the wall (no doubt original) and a built-in cabinet that contained hundreds of DVDs. Charlie was so fascinated by the obsessive DVD filing system that she almost forgot why she was there until a particularly loud snort brought back her attention. By then her eyes had fully adjusted, but she still didn’t believe what she saw when she squinted toward the couch: Jake, lying on his back with his mouth open, his steady breathing rattled by snores. Not alone. Curled up right alongside him, with his head tucked into Jake’s neck, was Benjy. Natalya’s Benjy. Both men were dressed from the waist down, but their shirtless embrace left little doubt of the extent of their familiarity.
Charlie froze. Should she turn and leave as quietly as possible and confront Jake about it later, in private? That left the distinct possibility that someone else would find them first. Should she shake them awake and tell them to go back to their rooms before the others awoke? Jake would be embarrassed, no doubt, but Benjy would be mortified. He was one of the most famous quarterbacks in the NFL, someone who practically earned a living capitalizing on his alpha-male straightness. He was portrayed as an aggressive, testosterone-fueled womanizer who moved from model to singer to actress with exactly the ease and frequency one might expect of a successful, good-looking athlete. Like Marco, she thought before she could stop herself.
‘Charlie!’ Jake’s voice was urgent.
He must have sensed someone else in the room and awakened, his face registering an expression Charlie didn’t recognize. Embarrassment? Or was that relief?
‘What are you doing?’ she hissed, carefully calibrating her whisper so as not to wake Benjy.
‘What does it look like I’m doing?’ Jake said. He hadn’t moved a muscle, but Benjy stirred.
They both remained motionless until Benjy settled again and his breathing became steady.
‘We’re going to be at shore soon, Jake. You have got to get out of here. Get him out of here.’
‘Well, this feels worse than if he’d just treated me like an adult in the first place.’
It was Jake’s turn to say nothing. He didn’t have to: Charlie knew exactly what he was thinking.
She stood up. ‘I’m beat. Still not used to the time change. I’m going to turn in.’
Jake held out a hand and Charlie helped pull him up. ‘Sure you are,’ he said with a wicked grin.
‘What? You think there’s room in Marco’s bed tonight? You don’t have to worry about that. Judging from dinner, his cabin is going to look like a deli counter: Take a number and get in line.’
‘Lovely,’ Jake said, laughing. ‘You taking a number?’
‘Good night, Jake …’
‘You’re seriously missing the jam session? It’s U2, Charlie.’
‘I’m on probation, remember? Todd probably has the yacht on a live feed. Besides, they’re doing a real concert for everyone tomorrow night. And I’m tired. I’ll be asleep when you come in, so be quiet, okay?’ She kissed his cheek and waved to Dan on her way to the staircase that would lead to her cabin. As she walked by, she thought she could sense Marco watching her, but when she glanced back he was smiling at a woman draped on his shoulder. As she changed into a nightshirt and brushed her teeth and washed her face, she must have checked her phone a hundred times, but there was nothing. Radio silence from the hot Spaniard. She was more surprised at the depth of her disappointment than anything else.
Charlie didn’t remember falling asleep, but when she awakened, the cabin was pitch-black. The yacht’s motor hummed from somewhere belowdecks as the boat rocked gently. Her phone read 4:58 a.m. She knew from the printed card next to her bed that sunrise would occur around 5:30 a.m. and that they were due to anchor in Capri a half hour later. It was immediately obvious she wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep, so she stretched for a bit and made her way to the bathroom. It was only then she noticed that Jake’s bed was still untouched.
Charlie pulled on a T-shirt and workout leggings and threw her hair into a messy bun. She tied a Nike hoodie around her waist in case it was windy and, as an afterthought, took some headphones. Grabbing a bottle of Evian from the basket on her desk and the backpack with the DVD player Todd had given her, she headed for the stairs. It was perfect: she’d be able to find Jake and save him the embarrassment of getting caught passed out on a couch somewhere, and after she’d sent him back to the cabin, she could enjoy the peace and quiet of watching the sun rise over the Mediterranean. Afterward she could fit in a workout with the onboard trainer, watch some tape, and still have time for a quick breakfast before she was expected on the helipad tennis court for her scheduled hit-around.
The uppermost deck was like a perch, with a sunken hot tub overlooking the boat’s bow. It was dark and deserted, as was the area just below it. The captain and one of his mates stuck their heads out from the lit bridge to inquire if she needed anything, but she merely waved and walked back toward the stern. The aft deck that held the tennis court was empty, and so was the one below it. Was it possible everyone was still partying? It seemed unlikely, but who could predict what a jam session with U2 aboard a luxury yacht looked like? For all she knew, the entire lot could be engaged in some drug-fueled orgy, far away from the paparazzi. She picked up the pace. She berated herself for being such a loser, but at least Todd would be happy.
When Charlie reached the screening room, she saw that all twenty leather armchairs and ottomans had been stored in orderly rows and the band’s instrument cases were neatly stacked in a corner. She stood in the dark and silence and tried not to worry: Jake was a big boy, and besides, what really could have happened? For all she knew, he could have made his way back to the cabin at some point in the last twenty minutes she’d been roaming the boat. She’d decided that was the likeliest scenario and started back upstairs when she heard a noise. As she moved to the back of the screening room, it became a loud, steady snore.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness once she opened the door, and to realize that she was in the projector room with a panel of electronics elaborate enough to rival an air traffic control tower. A classic director’s chair stood in front of the panel, and a three-seater leather couch sat against the back wall. The room was no more spacious than a small bedroom, but it featured a half dozen framed movie posters on the wall (no doubt original) and a built-in cabinet that contained hundreds of DVDs. Charlie was so fascinated by the obsessive DVD filing system that she almost forgot why she was there until a particularly loud snort brought back her attention. By then her eyes had fully adjusted, but she still didn’t believe what she saw when she squinted toward the couch: Jake, lying on his back with his mouth open, his steady breathing rattled by snores. Not alone. Curled up right alongside him, with his head tucked into Jake’s neck, was Benjy. Natalya’s Benjy. Both men were dressed from the waist down, but their shirtless embrace left little doubt of the extent of their familiarity.
Charlie froze. Should she turn and leave as quietly as possible and confront Jake about it later, in private? That left the distinct possibility that someone else would find them first. Should she shake them awake and tell them to go back to their rooms before the others awoke? Jake would be embarrassed, no doubt, but Benjy would be mortified. He was one of the most famous quarterbacks in the NFL, someone who practically earned a living capitalizing on his alpha-male straightness. He was portrayed as an aggressive, testosterone-fueled womanizer who moved from model to singer to actress with exactly the ease and frequency one might expect of a successful, good-looking athlete. Like Marco, she thought before she could stop herself.
‘Charlie!’ Jake’s voice was urgent.
He must have sensed someone else in the room and awakened, his face registering an expression Charlie didn’t recognize. Embarrassment? Or was that relief?
‘What are you doing?’ she hissed, carefully calibrating her whisper so as not to wake Benjy.
‘What does it look like I’m doing?’ Jake said. He hadn’t moved a muscle, but Benjy stirred.
They both remained motionless until Benjy settled again and his breathing became steady.
‘We’re going to be at shore soon, Jake. You have got to get out of here. Get him out of here.’
