He has the audacity to smile. That devastating, cocky smile that makes me want to simultaneously kiss him and shove him overboard.
He shrugs. “Wanted to get away before preseason starts. Thought a two-week cruise to the Bahamas would be nice.”
“You cannot be serious right now.” I nearly throw the towel back at him, only stopping because I don’t want him to smell the contents of my stomach. “Don’t you dare act like this is a coincidence.”
His smile grows as his brows pull together in awkwardness. “You’re right, it’s not a coincidence.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s fate.”
“Oh, my God.” I cross my arms and roll my eyes. “This is not fate. This is you stalking me.” I push past him even though I still feel queasy and there’s a very real possibility I could throw up on the deck. I don’t care. I need to get away from him. I need space. I need—
“Honey.” His voice follows me as I weave through the crowd of passengers. When I feel his hand brush against my arm, I pull away and quicken my pace. I have no idea where I’m going.I haven’t explored the ship yet, but the farther away I get from him, the better.
I find a door to the rooms and check my key card, room 216, before heading straight for it. Zach doesn’t stop following me. Annoyingly, he’s so fucking big that his long strides eat up the distance I’m trying to put between us.
“Honey, wait.” His hand catches my elbow, which stops me completely. “I’m sorry,” he says from behind.
I yank my arm away and spin to face him. “If you'rethatsorry, why are you still following me?”
He’s quiet for a second as he raises a hand and scratches the back of his head.
Knew it.
He’s trying to think up an excuse.
“I’m not.” His voice goes up a couple of octaves, leaving him highly unconvincing.
I raise a brow, but before I can say anything back, my stomach rolls again.
“Oh no.”
I lurch forward, hold on to the wall, and brace myself.
Please don’t throw up. Please don’t throw up.
My stomach contracts a few times, only settling after a few minutes have passed.
With my eyes closed, I wipe my mouth with the back of my arm and say, “Please remove your hand from my back, Zach.”
He does. I even hear him take a few tentative steps away.
When I can, I pull myself up and turn to look at him.
“I’m going to head to my room now.” I stand close to the door but think better of it. If Zach knows where I am, there’s no hope of escaping him. I take a step to the side and lean back against a different door.
He lets out an awkward laugh. “I’m, uh, heading to mine too.” He points to the door I’m leaning on. “This is my room. 217.”
My blood runs cold as I look at the plaque on the wall, confirming what I already know.
“Oh, for fuck's sake.” I fumble in my shorts pocket for my room card, my hands shaking from the motion sickness or from rage. Maybe it’s the fact that Zach ishere. I don't know anymore.
I finally get the door open and stumble inside, slamming it shut behind me before he can follow.
“I'm sorry, Honeycomb.” His voice is muffled against the wood, and I can imagine the look on his face right now. He's not sorry. He planned this. Someone told him that I was going to be here.
My stomach lurches again, and I make a beeline for the bathroom, barely making it before I'm sick again.
