Four strangers from different walks of life meet on a cruise and spend an unforgettable week together. All of them on their own self-discovering journeys, and onboard for different reasons.
Texan heiress and ballet prodigy, Brooklyn Brankovich, lon...
"Brooklyn," I groaned loudly and impatiently, "there's no one at work to impress!" I checked the time on my watch. Brooklyn needed to ride with me to work because her fancy ass Porsche was in the shop - needed brakes and tires. You'd think her rich ass would be on top of that, but she drives crazy, so I'm just surprised she hasn't crashed it, yet.
"Stop," she whined, trudging out of the bathroom. She held her stomach and fell onto her bed. "Everything hurts! Can't we just stay here instead, cuddles?"
I swallowed the Cognac I helped myself to, found on the bar cart, and put my short glass on top of her dresser.
She reached for me to join her and I pressed my knee into the mattress and kissed her neck.
"We can do more than cuddle," I growled in her ear. She sucked her teeth and rolled onto her stomach.
"No we can't," her voice was muffled in the blanket, "Um, because, I'm on my period."
"So? A period doesn't stop anything but a sentence," I said and she laughed, wrapping me in her arms.
"I'm not really on my period," Brooklyn sighed, playing with my eyelashes. "I just said that to see if you'd still want anything to do with me."
I pulled away and asked, "What does that mean?"
She pushed me off of her body and sat up, gulping hard. "I don't want to talk about it."
My eyes rolled in annoyance. Here she goes, I thought in my head. Bringing something up and then not talking about it. It's probably stupid anyway, just her paranoia talking again, or something.
"No, tell me," I insisted, tracing my finger down her spine.
Brooklyn looked over her shoulder and got ready to say something but the alarm on her phone went off, letting us know to leave for work.
"Come on," she sighed, tossing the bag over her shoulder.
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We were only a few minutes away from The Playroom. It was late but I was prepared for a good night since I was back on Zane's good side after weeks on thin ice.
Brooklyn rapped along to the song playing, using her hands to put up signs she knew nothing about, and making animated faces that we both laughed at. I let her control the bluetooth while I drove so I had no say in the iffy song selections.
I deeply sighed and switched my grip on the wheel. "Brooklyn, if I hear another Megan Thee Stallion song-"
She cut me off, smacking her lips, and paused the music. "Well I'm not listening to anymore fucking 'fuck bitches, get money' music! That's all you play," she argued, mocking the general lyrics of what I mostly listen to.
