Banner by HunterMay18.
---
Chapter 19: Puns
"I have a proposition for you."
"And what's that?" I asked.
"Go on a date with me."
Ian's date ideas were usually off the wall and over the top. The possibility of danger was pretty much absolute with him. But then again, they were exciting life experiences I'd never get with Tyler or Luke.
"Do you even know what a proposition is?"
"Yeah, sure. Hold on a sec." He pulled out his smartphone and began furiously tapping the screen.
"Uh, Ian—"
"Something offered for consideration or acceptance." He looked extremely proud. "That's what it means."
I couldn't help but smile. "Ian, I know what it means."
"Then why'd you ask?"
I shook my head. "Never mind, it's not important now."
"So do you accept my date offer?"
I gave him a 'no duh' look. "When haven't I?"
"Good point. No one's rejected me."
I rolled my eyes. I was getting used to his inflated ego. "You know what I'm starting to miss?"
"What?"
"Your pickup lines," I admitted. Wow, never thought I'd say that in a million years.
He grinned wickedly—a face the devil would be proud of. "I guess I haven't been using them as often. "Hm, okay. There are a lot of fish in the sea, but you're the only one I'd like to mount."
"How do you come up with these? Do you just surf the internet for bad pickup lines?"
He shrugged. "It's a talent, babe."
"So do I get to know the location of our date?"
"Kitten, I don't even know."
I raised an eyebrow. "You don't know?"
"Well, I know what we're going to do. I just can't tell you the exact location of it."
I placed a hand on my hip. "Well? What are we doing?"
"I hope you don't get seasick easily."
Okay, we were going to be on water. That eliminated the possibilities on land and sky. "Because...?" I prompted eagerly, wanting to know what we were going to be doing.
"My parents are letting me borrow their yacht!"
That wasn't much of a surprise. There wasn't much that Ian didn't have. The big shocker was that he didn't have one of his own. "You don't have your own yacht?"
"Nah, I don't go on the water much."
"You're not going to be driving or controlling or whatever you call it the boat, are you?"
He shook his head. "And be responsible if it crashed? No thank you. Not that it will crash, because it won't."
"Oh thank goodness," I sighed in relief.
"Why the 'oh thank goodness?'" he cried in a high-pitched voice, pretending to be me.
"First off, I don't sound like that. At all. And second, if you drive a boat anything like you drive a car, you better have good insurance."
He flashed his straight, pearly teeth. No doubt that he had braces, or some other form of dental work done. There was no way that a normal person's teeth were that good. "I do have good insurance. In fact, I have amazing insurance."
"It's sad when you have brag about how awesome your insurance is," I said in a low voice, shaking my head in mock disappointment.
"I don't have to. I just choose to. Oh, and heads up, the date's in like two hours."
"I have two hours to get ready!?" I asked, my voice getting louder.
"Would you relax? It'll take you like twenty minutes to get dressed. After that we can go get lunch."
It was Sunday, and Ian randomly decided to show up, assuming that I didn't have any plans. I didn't, but it still would've been nice to have some notice. I let Dad answer the door, much to his protests. As revenge, he let Ian in, pointing him to my exact location: sitting on a stool in the kitchen.
I just wish I would've worn something nicer to bed last night. Not like silk pajamas or anything fancy like that (heaven forbid a negligee), but something more presentable than my stain-filled t-shirt. And the worst part was that the original coloring's stark white, so all the stains stuck out like a sore thumb that's been slammed in a door several times then poked repeatedly with a sharp toothpick.
I'm sure Ian noticed it, but he didn't show a glimpse of what he was thinking. Other than the fact that he wanted to get in my pants, which were also filled with stains, but not as much, because that was a given.
"But I just had breakfast!"
"I like my women curvy. So hop on it, kitten!"
"Kittens don't hop, Ian."
"Sure they do!"
"I'm done with this conversation. I'll be right back," I said, abandoning my barely-untouched cereal bowl and running upstairs.
I didn't realize that people still went out on water in November, but I guess you can do whatever you want if you're rich.
After brushing the gnarls out of my curly, brown hair, I pulled it back into a simple ponytail with a navy blue scrunchie. I kind of just threw my outfit together, feeling too lazy to actually try and look good. Although in my lethargic state, I'd say I did a pretty decent job picking clothes that actually matched; a pair of jeans, a fitted, white tee, and a dark blue scarf. I wore a bikini, but not scantily clad, underneath.
Knowing Ian, he would trick me into going swimming in the cold water. Okay, not trick, but more like challenging my pride and ego. It was basically the same thing.
***
I've never actually seen a yacht before. I always associated yachts with snobby, rich people and the color yellow. The only reason I did was because I read The Yellow Yacht back in the fourth grade.
But here was the Jameson's yacht, their white yacht, floating gloriously before me. My first reaction to it was to just stand there, holding Ian's hand, and gape. He seemed used to people's reactions to his fine things, so he stood their quietly, looking at me amusedly.
"It looks like a smooshed cake," I mused.
He raised an eyebrow. "A smooshed cake?"
I nodded. "It has levels, like tiers on a cake. But the boat is long. Cake's aren't usually long."
He chortled. "You have such an odd way of thinking, kitten. So, you ready to get onboard the SS Ian?"
"SS Ian? Isn't this your parent's boat?"
"It's mine for today, so I'm renaming it."
"Whatever floats your boat." Realizing I had just made a pun, I simpered and added, "No pun intended."
"I think you did that on purpose?"
"Why would I do it on purpose?"
"To impress me with your cleverness, why else?"
I burst out laughing. "Sure, I did. So is it working?"
"Meh."
"Okay, so what does impress you?"
"The Eiffel Tower, the architecture is simply ravishing."
I smacked him lightly. "About me, you idiot."
"Oh, right. Well..." he started, helping me onto the boat. "You're really light, so that's good on my back and it makes me feel like a manly man. You're easy on the eyes. Uh..."
"Enough with the physical attributes."
"You're sweet, nice, kind..."
"Now you're just using adjectives." I wasn't really fishing for compliments, I was just curious if he liked me for anything else other than my virginity.
"I don't know, kitten. It's just your aura. It's nice to be around."
The boat jolted forward. I yelped and grabbed onto Ian to steady myself. "Why didn't you tell me that we were leaving?"
"I thought it was assumed. So, do you want a tour?"
He showed me the upper levels first since we were already up there. The bottom level was filled with outdoor chaises. They weren't tacky looking like other ones I've seen. They just boosted the Jameson name. Each opening overlooked the vast ocean. There was a ladder hanging off the side, giving the option to someone if they wanted to swim, when the boat was stopped, of course.
He led me up the stairs to a higher level. There was a "disco" room, which was basically a big dance floor. It was complete with a stocked bar. The only reason the bartender was there was because he was given specific instructions to guard it and not let us underaged kids have alcohol—his words, not mine.
Ian led me to the very top. It wasn't as spacious as the rest of the ship, but in my opinion, it was one of the prettiest. The only reason it seemed small is because there was a lot of regal furniture crammed into one room. I was going to go off on a limb and say that this was where Ian's parents hosted dinner parties or galas or whatever when they were on the sea.
It had sort of a mauve coloring to it. The wallpaper was ornate and the carpeting was extremely soft. The tables were a dark cherry wood and the chairs and stuff like that were covered in like a silk. It reminded me of something the queen would have. Even in my fanciest clothes I would've felt out of place, and here I was, in jeans; not even my nicest jeans.
The last level that wasn't above deck that he showed me was their state-of-the-art kitchen. Ian told me that his mom decorated the entire ship, feeling that her husband needed help because he would've made it extremely modern and cold. Mrs. Jameson didn't hold anything back when she was decorating.
It was filled with top-of-the-line equipment. It was fully stocked with the finest and freshest ingredients. Ian said that there was usually a team of chefs onboard, but since it was just me, Ian, and the minimal crew he didn't hire one.
He slipped on an apron and tossed one to me. I caught it easily. I narrowed my eyes, and asked, "Ian? What are we doing?"
"We're making lunch. What else would we be doing?"
I looked at him, impressed. "Ian Jameson is making his own lunch? Wait, it's not instant ramen, is it? That doesn't count."
"No, it's not instant ramen. I'm not totally helpless. Besides, I thought it'd be fun."
I tied the strings together and walked over and leaned on the stainless steel counter across from him. "Okay, so do we get chef hats?"
"Like those tall, white hats?"
I nodded. "Yeah, those."
"We might have some," he said slyly, walking over to a cabinet and pulling out two of the requested headwear. He placed it on my head. "Making wishes come true since 1994."
"Weren't you born in 1994?"
"Yup, starting with my dear parents who wanted a sweet, little boy."
"You must've been a disappointment," I joked.
"Hardly," he scoffed. "So shall we get to cooking?"
"Sure, what are we having?"
"Depends, what do you want?"
I thought for a second. I figured since Ian had no experience cooking and I was no good in the kitchen, it would be safe to start out with something simple. "Grilled cheese."
"No problemo. Your wish is my command." He winked, getting out all the things we needed for it.
I did most of the cooking this time, not trusting Ian with making my food. I didn't want Mrs. Jameson's hard work to burn down. Although fire on water seemed interesting, I didn't want to try my experiment out on something that cost more than my house.
Ian mostly hovered, throwing his input in every now and then. "I like your take-charge attitude in the kitchen, kitten. It's very alluring."
"Shut up, Ian," I laughed, flipping over the last of the sandwiches.
He eyed my first batch, the burned ones. "I'm sure that they're edible. But even if they're not, I'll eat them anyway, just because you made them."
"Your cheesiness is noted."
"I see what you did there!"
I furrowed my eyebrows. "What are you—oh."
"Are you sure you're not making up puns on purpose?"
"I swear I'm not! They just kind of come out..."
"Sure they do." I could sense the sarcasm and reluctantly in his voice.
"They do!"
"Mhm, I believe you."
"No, you don't," I grumbled, sliding the last of the browned sandwiches onto a plate.
Ian grinned innocently and carried the stack of sandwiches out. I took off my apron and hat, placing them on a counter, and followed him. Since he was really cooking, he took his off awhile ago.
I pushed the doors open and felt a blast of chilly wind hit me. It felt colder now that I was just in the toasty warm kitchen. I forgot that instead of a wall, only a railing separated me from falling and drowning. Well, I guess that could happen with a railing, but it gave me more security.
Ian led us to the place with the chaises. He set the plate on the floor and patted the spot across from him. I faked a gasp. "Ian's eating on a floor?"
"Ha ha, come sit, will you?"
I obliged happily, ripping out a sandwich from the middle. I munched on it happily, enjoying the delectable crunch and the gooey cheese.
"Did...did you just take that out of the middle of the pile?" he asked incredulously, his eyebrows creased together into a line.
"Yes, what's it to you?"
He shook his head, and hummed, "Nothing."
We finished eating the mediocre food I made and returned the plate to the kitchen, where Ian insisted that I prolong washing the single dish. I was confused at first, but soon discovered his real motive.
"Eat soap, kitten!"
I turned around, just finishing putting the dish on the drying rack. I dropped the wiry, silver sponge I was holding as soon as I saw the stream of green dish soap fly out of the bottle and at me. Before I could move out of the way, it left its mark right above my belly button. He better hope that dish soap washes out. Of course it would wash out, it was soap. But then again, it was made for dishes...
"Ian!" I screamed, lunging at him with the sponge I had previously dropped.
He held his hands up. "Whoa, don't even get near me with that filthy thing. This is a cashmere sweater. Do you realize how expensive that is?"
I smiled coyly. "But you can easily replace it, can't you?"
"Not the point!"
"You started it by squirting soap at me!"
"It was a harmless prank."
"So you can dish it out, but you can't take it?"
He chuckled. "Okay, you have to be planning this. Dish it out? Dish soap. You are a clever genius, kitten."
While he temporarily forgot about our little war, I threw the sponge at him. It landed on top of his dark hair. He opened his mouth to speak, but shut it. He calmly reached up and held it in his hands, tossing it gently from one to another. I stifled a giggle as a white bubble popped.
"You got it in my hair."
I nodded. "That I did."
"In my beautiful, beautiful hair."
"Yup."
"There's dish soap in my hair."
"There's some on my shirt, too."
"I'll get you back for this, kitten."
"Now?"
"Nope. I'm going to wait until you least expect it."
"But I'll always be expecting it."
"Not unless you forget."
"You're mean."
"And don't you forget it."
Suddenly a voice boomed from overhead. "Excuse me lady and Ian, this is your captain speaking. A storm's brewing. Please relocate yourself to the cabins underneath the deck. Thank you."
Ian grabbed my hand and led me downstairs. It was definitely windier and the sky was greyer than the last time I came out. The hallways were narrow and decorated with frames of family photos. I saw one of little Ian, who was showing off his non-existent muscles. So he was a diva even back then.
He pushed me into one of the rooms. Luckily, there was a bed there, so my fall was quite cushiony. The room was small, about the size of my bathroom. There was a twin bed pushed against one wall, a little picture hanging on the wall opposite of me, and a tiny porthole.
Ian pulled the doors open to a closet, pulled out two orange lifejackets, and flung one at me. "Put it on," he instructed.
"O-kay." Why was he so paranoid? It was just a little storm. It's not like we were going to die or anything. "Does it really matter if we wear it?"
"Yes," he said harshly. The storm was making his attitude do a complete 180. I never really understood why the saying was '360.' That's a full circle.
"Why? Are you some passionate sailor-wannabe? Is there a code you have to follow?"
He sighed and sat down next to me on the bed. "My great grandfather was an avid sailor. He loved boats, way more than the average person. He got the chance to captain or sail a ship or something like that, so he took the chance. My great grandmother supported him. The boat sprung a leak or something, and it went down. All the passengers made it off."
"Except for him?" I guessed, softly grabbing his head.
"Except for him," he murmured. His eyes resembled the storm outside; grey and gloomy.
"Did you ever get to meet him?"
"Maybe when I was a baby, but it's not like I can remember back that far."
"I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault."
There was a long silence. It was as comfortable as it could get with Ian's tale of woe out there. I wanted to do something to comfort him, but I wasn't sure what to do or say in these kinds of situations.
"I'm sorry. This was supposed to be a fun date," he apologized, looking up at me.
I smiled weakly. "I did have fun," I genuinely said.
"I just..."
"It's okay, Ian. We don't have to talk about it."
"Thanks, Charlotte."
"What?" I teased. "No 'kitten?'"
He smiled, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I like you. Kitten."
I laughed and scooch closer to him, resting my head on his right shoulder. It's broad enough for my head to fit, but not wide enough for him to be a football player. "You know what, Ian?"
"What?"
"You're starting to grow on me."
"I'm going to take that as a compliment."
"Don't worry, it is."
"So I take that you like me, as well?"
I bounced my head thoughtfully. "Yeah, I do like you, Ian."
I wanted to believe that I had only said that for the game, but the God honest truth was that I really did like him, which was kind of surreal. I never pictured myself liking Ian Jameson, cocky rich boy. But here I was, on a date with him, finding that I actually had feelings for him.