"Don't you read the news, Winter? Do you know what kind of diseases are on cruise ships? They're like floating viruses, breeding grounds for any sickness you could imagine. My goodness, if they don't kill you with communicable diseases transmitted from person to person, the food will get you. I shudder to think how many forms of hepatitis could be contracted on this thing. Don't even get me started on restaurants at each port. You never know...

Winter rolled her eyes behind Anna's designer–suit–clad back and mimicked her talking. Her friend hadn't shut up about the cruise since she'd won it on the game show. Looking at the giant ship at port, along the Texas coastline, she didn't see Anna's floating virus. She saw a portal to fun. The blue ocean and warm, salty air beckoned them out to sea. Though they would sail around the Caribbean, the ship schedule didn't show them docking at any island ports—or so Anna said as Winter didn't live her life by adhering to schedules. Instead they would be trapped, adrift in paradise with nothing but the waves and, if her tea–leaf reading held true, scores of single, hot men. Could anything be more romantic?

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 complimentary 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."

* * * * *

Christian sighed, leaning forward as he peered into the suite's oval bathroom mirror. Combing his long brown hair back from his face, he pulled it into a neat ponytail at the nape of his neck. Not a hair was out of place when he finished. He had personal grooming down to a science.

He wore nothing but a towel wrapped neatly around his firm waist. His bare feet absently tapped on the floor as Andre started on his next '80s tune. His twin really wasn't a bad singer, if he'd just stop butchering the lyrics.

Suddenly the shower turned off and Andre hopped out, glistening wet as he strummed an air guitar and flicked his tongue in and out. Christian's brow rose as he tried not to watch Andre's one–man show. Though the event was oddly like a car crash—as much as one didn't want to look at it, the compulsion to do so trumped all restraints.

Andre didn't even seem to notice he had an audience, that or he just didn't care. Still humming softly, he grabbed a towel off the wall and haphazardly dried his hair then his body, not caring that he missed a few spots.

"Hey, let me get in here," Andre said, dropping his damp towel on the floor and reaching toward the neatly organized sink. He knocked down a bottle of cologne while grabbing the mousse. Squirting some hair product on his hand, he continued humming as he dropped the can in the sink. As Andre moussed his hair, combing the messy length only with his fingers, Christian picked up the fallen bottles. "Oh yeah, thanks, I need that."

"You have a bathroom in your own cabin."

"Oh, I know. But I sort of forgot to bring my toiletry bag. I don't have anything but my toothbrush next door. Well, that and my clothes of course."

"I gave you a list of what to pack."

"Yeah, and when I was out the other night, I ran into this foxy gal and needed something to give her my number with." Andre smiled. "It worked great, thanks."

Christian didn't dignify the comment with a response. He sighed as Andre grabbed his cologne and put it on, not bothering to recap it when he was done. Picking up after Andre as his brother strode from the bathroom naked he mumbled, "Just like home."

Andre ignored his grumbling brother and headed to his cabin in order to dress. Christian spent too much time being perfect. Andre was just the opposite. He liked music, movies, making an artistic mess and a well–written novel, especially the ones that had loads of steamy sex poured on each page. Who wanted to have an intellectual conversation when you could lie on your back and just let your mind drift aimlessly? Or watch the latest hottie ride you as her tits bounced in your face.

Ah, this is the life...or at least it was, for soon I'll be a married man.