Having gone through the long check in process, they finally heard their group number called for loading. Their luggage had been checked in at the curb in front of the three-story cruise line building and was being delivered to their staterooms. The line paused as photographer insisted on setting up group photos before letting the guests onto the ship.
Hearing Anna’s loud, grumpy sigh, Winter said, “Everything happens for a reason. Why not have a little faith in the master plan? Maybe this cruise is your destiny.”
“No,” Anna said, matter-of-factly. “My date with destiny was a brand-new black SUV with brown leather interior and all the add-on features. Oh, and the complementary Jet Ski to pull behind it. Not some floating deathtrap and a week of debauchery.”
“You’re planning on debau—on getting laid?” Winter arched a brow, hopeful her friend was finally ready to take a walk on the wild side of life. “By something that’s not mechanical or requires batteries? Maybe you’re right,” she reached for Anna’s forehead, “maybe you already contracted something.”
Anna merely glared, not saying a word. Winter was unfazed. She hoped Anna got laid, and good. Maybe it would lighten her up. Maybe if some guy did her so hard she could barely walk, her mind would shut off and for once she’d not think, just act.
“Who is this mysterious ‘man’ who you’re always blaming for ruining the world?” Anna asked sarcastically.
“Mr. Peterson, down the street.” Winter chuckled, getting way too much enjoyment out of razzing her longtime friend.
“Please, he’s like eighty years old and is as harmless as they come.” Anna rolled her eyes.
“Yeah, harmless, sure he is. I swear that harmless old man pinched my ass at the Christmas party last year. I’m not sure, because he forgot his teeth and his pronunciation was off, but I think he propositioned me. Either that or he once had pigs that wanted to wallow in the muck.”
“I’m not listening to this again. Besides, last Christmas didn’t you change your name to Moonchild? So, if what you say is true, Mr. Peterson pinched Moonchild’s ass, not yours.”
Winter widened her eyes in jest. “No, it was Rainbow. Moonchild was the name I selected the year before. Come on, Anna, is it really that hard to keep track of these things? I remember your list of neuroses, the very least you could do is keep track of my name changes.”
“I do my best, Dances with Field Mice.”
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