Yeah, maybe I’m an idiot for being here instead of Rome. Maybe I’m gambling my entire rookie season and potential career for a girl who pulls away from kissing me, but I’m not breaking any rules, and I’ll just work my ass off when I get there in two weeks.
This time with Honey won’t come again, and I need to take the opportunity to at least try.
I head back inside, leaving the balcony door open so I can fall asleep to the sound of the ocean.
Tomorrow, I won’t push. I’ll let her come to me, because she will. I know she will, and when she does, I’m going to make it damn hard for her to walk away.
The ocean crashes against the ship, endless and indifferent as sunlight scatters across the waves like nothing in the world has ever been broken.
It’s almost insulting.
Out here, everything keeps moving. The tide rises, the wind shifts, the sun burns bright like it hasn’t witnessed me making a complete mess of my life.
The ocean doesn’t care about my problems.
It most certainly doesn’t care that I almost kissed Zach last night and then fled into my cabin like the coward I am.
You’re dangling yourself in front of him.
I shake my head, pushing away Olivia’s words, annoyed that she might be right. I can’t seem to change the way I act when he’s around, but it’s not my fault he’s here. Actually, that’s a good point. If anything, he’s the one dangling himself in front ofme. He knows I love him and he’s just patiently waiting for me to choose him, never giving me a moment of peace.
It would be easier if he didn’t look at me like I’m the answer to every question he’s ever asked, but Zach has never made leaving easy. He just stands there, loving me through it, waiting for me to get tired of running and accept that home has been standing in front of me the whole time.
As if I don’t already know that.
That’s the part that frustrates me the most. I’m supposed to be here figuring out who Honey Sanderson is. Not falling backward into the version of myself that only exists when Zach Evans is in the room.
The goal is mental clarity. Purpose. To develop some kind of internal compass that doesn't swing immediately north every time Zach so much as growls my name in a way that he knows makes me feel hot.
I pull my robe tighter and take a long sip of coffee, letting the warmth of it settle in my chest.
The sea air is thick and sweet out here, and as I take a deep breath of it, I can feel it work its way into my lungs, through my bloodstream. The feeling is nothing like Hope, or Atlanta. It’s freeing and almost makes me believe that I’ll finally have enough space to think.
When I open my eyes, I reach for my phone, wanting to talk to only one person.
Honey:Good morning. How's the baby? How's Mike? How's your guilty conscience?
The reply comes back almost instantly, which means she was waiting for it.
Olivia:Good, fine, and nonexistent because I stand by what I did. Good morning, by the way. How are you? How's the ship? How's Zach?
Honey:You don't get to ask about Zach.
Olivia:Oh, come on! I technically paid for him to be there, so I have a vested interest.
Honey:The ship is beautiful. I'm having coffee on the balcony, breathing in the ocean air. I'm fine.
Olivia:That's three sentences and none of them answer my actual question.
“Because I don’t want to answer it,” I say out loud even though there is no one around to hear me. Shaking my head, I type out a response.
Honey:We had dinner. It was fine. He was... him. I'm going to focus on the reason I came here and stop letting this become a distraction.
Olivia:Okay, I support that, but I’m just saying figuring out what’s going on between you and Zach might, just might, make it easier for you to heal.
I stare at her message.
Heal?
