“Who am I going to have an affair with when you’ve already cornered every single man on the ship?” I ask.
“Not true. I saw you flirting with Felix last night.”
I admit it, I was flirting. That kind of energy hasn’t bubbled up in me in months. It felt good.
Especially because, if I’m not mistaken, he was flirting back.
This does nothing to increase my desire to wake up for pool aerobics.
But I know Lauren’s not going to relent, so I drag myself out of bed and onto the balcony to sit in the sun with my coffee while she changes. The bright light and stunning view of the ocean wake me up.
Cruises do have their upside.
Lauren sticks her head out the door. She’s wearing a white string bikini with bottoms that barely cover her spray-tanned ass.
“You’re wearing that to work out?” I ask.
“The point is to see and be seen, my dear innocent. Can’t do that in a Speedo. Unless you’re a man of course. With a nice package.”
I don’t have the energy to talk about men’s packages before lunch, so I refrain from commenting. I go inside and pull a black-and-white, polka-dot one-piece from my bag. It’s got a retro vibe and a ruched waist that flatters my figure. It’s not exactly sportswear, but it’s more appropriate than my other option—a crimson bikini that hoists up my boobs in such an aerodynamic way it borders on the obscene. I do not wear two-pieces—since puberty, I’ve had the kind of breasts that precede you in a room and give you back problems. Lauren, who is flat-chested, is obsessed with them and often sneaks up on me and pokes them when I’m not looking. It is she, in case you did not predict this, who sourced and purchased the bikini.
“You’re wearingthatone?” she pouts when I emerge from the bathroom.
“Yes. If I try to exercise in the other one I’ll drown.”
“Good. Then some handsome man will try to save you.”
“And his elderly back will go out and we’llbothdrown.”
“Come on, Miss Priss. We’ll be late.”
The Lido Deck is not nearly as deserted as I would have imagined at eight a.m. To Lauren’s delight, the group of four gentlemen we saw checking in are stationed near the pool, finishing breakfast. She waves at them—she made sure to introduce herself at the champagne reception yesterday—and you can almost feel the effort it takes them not to gawk at her body as they wave back. (I will spare you a description of Lauren’s physique. Let’s just say Peloton and Tracy Anderson have both done brand collaborations.)
She goes straight over to them and hands the tallest one her phone. “Todd! Hi! Would you mind taking a picture of us?”
I glare at her. She knows I hate being photographed. Especially in a bathing suit. Especially by a stranger.
“It would be my pleasure,” he says, looking delighted at this opportunity to stare at a gorgeous woman in a string bikini.
And me, I guess.
“Thank you so much. We want to document every minute of our trip. We’re havingsomuch fun, aren’t you?”
“Time of my life,” Todd says. “And it’s only day two.”
Yep. Eight to go.
Have fun, I remind myself.Free. Vacation.
Lauren throws her arm around me.
“Smile, girls,” Todd says.
Lauren flirts with the camera—and therefore Todd—and I try not to roll my eyes. My only consolation is that I have made Lauren solemnly swear never to post photos of me on the internet.
I hate social media, and I refuse to be B-roll.
“I took a selection,” Todd says. “You look great.”
