“I see. So what does the Bahamas have to do with this nameless woman?”

“Her name is Cosy, and she’s interning on a cruise ship. Their next stop is Nassau.”

“Did you say Cosy?”

“Yes.”

“As in cozy by the fire, or tea cozy?”

“Either, but with the British spelling, so an s instead of a z.” I wonder what a pain in the ass it’s been for her to explain that every time she introduces herself.

My father clears his throat. “Well, that’s an interesting name.”

“She’s an interesting woman.”

“She must be if you’re willing to fly across the country to see her.”

“I’m in love with her.”

Silence follows that declaration. Several tense seconds pass before my father speaks again. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I hope you don’t take offense, but exactly what kind of internship is Cosy involved in on this cruise ship?”

“Event management and planning.”

“So, she’s not a stripper?” He sounds both relieved and surprised.

“Jesus. No, Dad, she’s not a stripper.”

“Has she ever been a stripper?”

“No.”

“Are her parents hippies?”

“Seriously, Dad?”

“Cosy’s an usual name, son.”

“So are Griffin and Bancroft and Lexington.”

I can hear his pen rapping on his desk. “This is true. Okay, well, I guess you better get your ass in gear and get the girl back.”

“That’s the plan.”

“And you’ll have to bring her to New York so we can meet her.”

“If I get her back, I will, but you can’t ask her if her parents are hippies.”Chapter Twenty-One: Walk the PlankCosy

The last thing I want to do is wander around a tropical beach and watch happy couples being happy. FYI, that’s what cruise ships are full of. And single, horny assholes. Including the guys I work with. They’re like dogs sniffing for someone to bone. And they can smell heartbreak from a mile away.

I’ve been hit on more during this internship than I have the entire rest of my life. And I get hit on a fair bit. Especially since I work at an adult toy store. I almost miss the Eugenes of this world. So harmless and predictable, as opposed to the dickbags with pregnant ex-fiancées. Not that I’m cynical now or anything.

After a month on this ship, I should’ve at least made an attempt at a meaningless hookup. And I have. Well, I made a weak attempt. Once. The guy looked a little like Griffin, except less hot, and not as built, and nowhere near as pretty. But if I drank enough shots and squinted hard, he sort of looked like him.

But he smelled wrong and felt wrong, and I cried all over him. Needless to say, tears are not the best aphrodisiac.

I hand my identification to the security guard who looks me over and smirks. I smooth my hands down the front of my shirt, which means I grope my own boobs on the way down, but there’s a purpose for it.

My shirt is black with pink sequins that spell out SASSY AF. This is my day off, and without my uniform, no one recognizes me. Security guy hands me back my card, and I pocket it.

Earl waits for me. He’s actually a decent guy, despite his name. I feel like it belongs to a guy three times his age who wears plaid shirts and has a bad cigar habit. But Earl wears thick, black-framed glasses and has zero interest in me, which is why he’s my best friend on this ship.

Like me, he’s dealing with the aftermath of heartbreak. Except his was a six-day tryst with one of the rich assholes on the boat. Still, he has a case of the sads over the loss of awesome dick, and I can at least relate.

I focus on my feet as we walk down the gangplank. The smell of salt water and fresh air are a balm to my broken heart and soul. Earl was right to drag me off the ship today.

“Oh my God.” He grabs onto my arm dramatically and does the hand-to-head swoon thing. “Check out the super sexy at four o’clock. I wish he weren’t straight.”

I look where he’s pointing and nearly fall flat on my ass. “Oh, fuck no.” I try to do an about-face and go back up the plank, but there are people behind me and Earl’s arm is linked with mine. Also you can’t go back in the same way you come out of the ship.

Earl drags me forward, and my first thought is that I’ve lost my mind without even realizing it. Or someone put a hallucinogen in my coffee this morning. I swear on my childhood collection of Beanie Boos that Griffin is standing at the end of the plank. But that’s not possible. He’s in New York with his preggers ex-fiancée who might be his actual fiancée again by now. And that means I may need to get some professional help.