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“If you fall overboard, I’ll rescue you. I’m quite skilled at mouth-to-mouth,” he says softly.
I move my hand out from under his and jerk my elbow back and into his stomach. Which is pretty much like slamming my elbow into a brick wall and completely pointless. All it does is make him laugh against the side of my face, and there go those damn goose bumps again.
“You don’t want to stay with Cindy or Belle. Believe me, I know you.”
“I assure you, you do not,” I argue.
I mean, he knew how to get my mind off of being kicked out of my home and leaving all my things behind by pissing me off, but whatever. That means nothing. It was a lucky guess on his part.
He moves in even closer, resting both of his hands against the door of the vehicle on either side of me, caging me in.
“I know that even though you joke about how annoying it is, you’re happy that Cindy is moving in with PJ. You’re happy she found someone who adores her, and you’d never want to burden her by moving in with them when they’re starting their new life together,” Eric explains. “And even though you roll your eyes and pretend to dry heave whenever Belle and Vincent get all touchy-feely, you want them to make it, and you know staying with them would put a major cramp in their new relationship.”
He finally stops talking, and I close my eyes and drop my head, even though I want to turn around and tell him to go fuck himself and laugh in his face that he got me all wrong. I can’t do any of that because damn it, he got me all right. Every single word he said is exactly why I got in his car earlier without putting up a fight. I don’t know why, and I don’t know how, but he does know me. And this is not good. This is not good at all.
I. Am. Fucked.
“I’m not living with you on a boat. I don’t care if it is the size of Buckingham Palace,” I say as I lift my head and shove back against him to get him to move. He takes a few steps back, and I turn around, masking my emotions with an I don’t give a shit what you say look.
“Actually, those are one-hundred foot yachts, and while a good size for yachts, Buckingham Palace is over eight hundred thousand square feet.”
“Everybody likes a piece of ass, nobody likes a smart ass,” I mutter.
“Speaking of piece of ass . . .”
“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence,” I warn him, ignoring the amused smile he gives me and telling the butterflies in my stomach to fuck off and die.
“There are two yachts, Ariel. One for me, and one for you. As much as I would love to cohabitate with you, I think we should wait until you’re madly in love with me first. That way I’ll be able to sleep better at night and not have to worry about you slitting my throat.”
He is making it really easy to remember he’s an asshole.
“Cindy, Belle, Me. Fuck, Marry, Kill. Go,” I order.
“Uh, what?” he asks.
“Answer the question correctly and I’ll get on that stupid tin can on water.”
“I thought we weren’t allowed to talk about pieces of ass?”
“Just shut up and answer the question. The Flounders are getting heavy, and I need to unpack my stuff and feed them,” I say with an eye roll.
Eric immediately leans towards me and scoops the tank right out of my arms before I can protest.
“You.”
The one word out of his mouth makes me look at him in confusion this time.
“I would absolutely fuck you, I would be honored to marry you, and sure, I could kill you. But you know—only a fun, role-play kind of way, not in a murder-y kind of way,” he responds.
It takes me a minute to come up with a response, since him saying “I would absolutely fuck you” has currently taken out a billboard in my brain with bright, neon, flashing lights.
“That’s not how it works. You can’t just say one person for each thing.”
“Then I guess you should have made the rules clearer, princess. My decision is final. Let’s go.”
With that, he turns and starts walking down the docks, my eyes trailing down to his ass in those jeans as he goes.
Damn it.
Chapter 6: Love Thy Neighbor
“ARE YOU UNARMED?”
I roll my eyes when Cindy’s voice shouts down into the cabin of the yacht from the top of the stairs.
“Yes, you asshole!” I shout back, watching her gingerly step down into the opening, taking the stairs slowly, stopping halfway, Belle right behind her, bending down on the steep stairs and looking over Cindy’s shoulder at me.
“Are you lying?” Belle asks timidly, her eyes darting around the living room part of the cabin, which is twice the size of the living room in my house.
