Free Jaine Austen 8 - Killer Cruise by Laura Levine

all.”
    Was I nuts? The only water sport I enjoyed on a regular basis was soaking in the tub.
    “Really? Somehow I didn’t think you were the type.”
    “Oh, but I am,” I said, digging myself in even deeper. “I’m a real water nut.”
    Would somebody please shut me up?
    And it looked like Robbie was about to do exactly that. Because just then he reached out and ran his finger along my cheek. I felt a jolt of excitement I hadn’t felt in many a moon.
    Much to my delight, he leaned in to kiss me. With any luck I would not be doing any talking for the next twenty minutes or so. Our lips were just about to meet when I heard:
    “Hey, Jaine! I’ve been looking all over for you.”
    Phooey. It was Anton, hustling over to us.
    “Look what I made you, babe!”
    He held out a plate, and there in the center was a bright red jiggly blob.
    “It’s a rose carved out of Jell-O!”
    “How nice,” I managed to say.
    “A precious flower for my precious flower.”
    Oh, puke.
    “Hey, babe,” he said, wedging his way between me and Robbie, “did I ever tell you about the time I carved the Eiffel Tower out of egg salad? Man, that was some tough job. I mean, you’ve got to get the egg salad really cold and not use too much mayo; otherwise it’s too runny.”
    He proceeded to spend the next fifteen minutes giving a blow-by-blow description of the construction of his egg salad Eiffel Tower, his back to Robbie the entire time.
    “What a fascinating story,” Robbie said when he finally wound down.
    “That’s nothing. Wanna hear about the time I carved Moses out of chopped liver?”
    “Some other time, Anton,” I said. “I think I’ll turn in now.”
    “Me too,” Robbie chimed in.
    With that, he grabbed my elbow and hustled me inside the ship, where we sprinted along the corridors, certain that Anton would soon be hot on our heels.
    “In here,” Robbie said, pulling me into the ship’s game room, a wood-paneled enclave whose shelves were lined with board games and video rentals. Over at one of the tables, a bunch of kids were playing Uno.
    We cowered in a corner, and seconds later we saw Anton rushing by.
    “That guy is a human bloodhound,” Robbie sighed.
    So there we were in the game room, me holding a Jell-O rose, the kids at the table shrieking “Uno!” at the top of their lungs. No moonlight. No twinkling stars. No balmy breezes. The spell had definitely been broken.
    “You know,” Robbie said, “I think I really will turn in. I’m sort of tired.”
    “Me too,” I lied.
    What did I tell you? Dumped again.

    I was dying to make a pit stop at the buffet, but I couldn’t risk running into Anton. So I trudged back down to the Dungeon Deck with nothing more exciting to snack on than a Jell-O rose. Which I wasn’t about to eat. Not after Anton had touched it.
    Back in my cabin, Prozac sniffed at Anton’s artwork disdainfully.
    This is your idea of a midnight snack?
    For once we were on the same wavelength.
    With a weary sigh I got in my jammies and plopped into bed.
    It was then that I noticed that Samoa had not brought me the pillow I’d requested. Most annoying. There were, after all, two beds in the cabin. There had to be another pillow for the second bed.
    I made a mental note to have a stern talk with my steward-cum-novelist in the morning.
    In the meanwhile, Prozac was perched on our one and only lumpy specimen. After copious pleading and belly rubbing I finally convinced her to relinquish her throne and lie on my tummy. Then I turned on the TV—believe it or not, my cabin actually had one—and zapped around until I found Sleepless in Seattle on the ship’s movie channel.
    Prozac and I spent the next hour and a half watching Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks fall in love. Rather, I watched. Prozac was snoring five minutes after the opening credits. I don’t think she likes Meg Ryan. She doesn’t like anybody as cute as she is.
    Afterward I sat through a highly educational spiel on the many fun and exciting