Chapter 3: Doppelbanger: Chapter 3

AHHH. THIS IS the life. I don’t know why Spencer was going on and on about vacation with kids not being relaxing. That bitch just isn’t taking the right vacations. Auntie Gina is gonna have to show her how it’s done.

“Thank you, Philip.” I smile sweetly at the little Cuban guy who keeps bringing me fresh drinks. The staff on this ship take customer service to a whole other level. Before I even realize I need something, someone is already taking care of it.

I do find it odd, however, that their nationalities are etched above the names on their badges, and can’t help but think of the discrimination lawsuits that would bring on in America. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I’ve seen a single American employee. I couldn’t begin to imagine having to serve other people for a living, but everyone here is so accommodating. They really seem to enjoy their jobs, so it’s probably for the best.

“See you in a few minutes, Phil!” I call after him as he heads off in the direction of the bar. Then, I grab my phone and flip the camera to selfie mode.

With my free hand I fluff up the blonde hair at the crown of my head to give it more volume. Then I adjust the girls in my hot pink bikini top, grab my daiquiri from the little side table, flash my pearly whites, and .

Morning bestie! How are you and my baby girls feeling? Y’all blow that joint yet?

: Hey hooker. Not yet. They said maybe tomorrow.

Her reply is almost instant. She must be bored out of her mind, so I attach the selfie to my response in an attempt to make her feel worse about her situation. I’m a good friend like that.

That’s a shame. Really wish you could be here relaxing with me.

Are you slutting it up with my kids, Gina?

Built in babysitters, biotch! We spent a few hours together at the pool, had lunch, then I shipped their asses off to the kid rooms ’til dinner.

Just don’t get too drunk, and make sure they don’t like get too close to the edge of the boat. How’s Savage? Is he seasick? Does he love it?

Calm your tits, woman. We’re fine. Everyone is fine. They’re loving it! Go enjoy those babies. I’m gonna catch a little sun. Love you, bestie.

Just as I go to set my phone down it dings.

, I think as I bring the phone back to my face.

Aaaand I was wrong. It’s Brent. Stage five clinger.

Hey doll face. Wanna come over to my place? Netflix and chill?

My eyes roll up into the back of my head.

Gross.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m used to the millennial lingo and the overall douchiness that goes along with dating younger guys, but Brent just…he doesn’t know when to quit.

I’m on vacation with my godsons. Sorry.

Awe, bummer. Another time then? When do you get back?

Yeah. I don’t think that’s gonna happen, Brent. A one-night stand with me consists literally of one night.

All right well…you have a great vacation and maybe we can get together when you get back?

It’s not often I can’t shake a guy. I’ve pretty much narrowed my selection process down to a science, and Brent fits the bill perfectly. Early to mid-twenties, check. Gym junkie, check—I’ve found men obsessed with working out don’t have much time for anything else, making them ideal for me. College student, check. Manwhore, check.

And then there are my own personal preferences: dark hair, tanned skin, eyes the color of whiskey…So, I’m a bit of a . An image of William Levy floats across the backs of my eyelids, and I press my thighs together. Something about that man in those telenovelas just does it for me. I’d add the ability to dirty talk in Español to my list if I didn’t live in one of the least diverse towns in America.

My skin heats beneath the sun’s rays, and I’m finally beginning to doze off when I feel a finger tapping my shoulder. Pushing my sunglasses up, I have to squint to make out Landon’s face.

With a quick glance down at my phone, I realize it’s only two-thirty. “Miss me already, Lan?”

“Uhh,” he mumbles. The shakiness of his voice has me bolting straight up to a sitting position.

Before I even get the chance to ask him what’s going on, I hear a throat clear, pulling my attention to the man and young girl who are standing behind him.

“Can I help you?” My adrenaline starts pumping, going into defense mode as I return his stare.

“Son,” he says, addressing Landon instead of me, “I asked you to take me to your parents, not your sister. I haven’t got time for this.” His crystal blue eyes narrow.

“Sir, she is my…uh—”

“Excuse me,” I interject, cutting him off, “Landon is my nephew, and I’m the one responsible for him this week, so if you need to speak to his parent, ’fraid I’m it.”

A slight blush creeps across the man’s stony face. His features are hard, his jaw ticking. “I just caught your nephew kissing my daughter on the main deck.”

My hands curl at my sides as I draw in a deep breath, resisting the urge to squeal. “Like with tongue?” I blurt out, slapping a hand over my mouth. I can hardly contain my excitement.

My boy is growing up…

Landon hangs his head in embarrassment as the angry man with the bluest eyes and most amazing blond hair I’ve ever seen begins breathing so hard I practically expect fire to shoot out from his flared nostrils. “I’m pretty sure tongues were involved,” he answers with a curt nod. His arms cross on his chest as he awaits my response.

“Way to go Landon!” I shout, wrapping my bony arms around him in a bear hug and rocking from side to side. “We should celebrate! You just had your first kiss…That your first one right?”

“Aunt Gina…” he mutters beneath his breath. His eyes gesturing to the grumbly man behind him.

“Celebrating is not exactly what I had in mind.” The girl’s father gives her a stern look when a giggle, despite her best efforts to hold it in, escapes her pressed lips.

Giving the flustered little redhead a wink, I rise to my feet, putting myself on more even ground, although he still stands at least a foot taller than my five-foot frame. “And just what did you have in mind Mr….?” I trail off, waiting for him to find his manners and actually introduce himself.

His hand reaches out for mine. “Jeffrey Ryan, CEO of Ryan Drilling.”

Sucking in my cheeks, I try really hard not to laugh at how proud he is of his title. Well, I’m just as proud of my own. “Gina Bourque,” I return, giving his hand a shake. “Sex therapist.”