I stare at his butt as he walks away—it’s a good one, objectively speaking. The thought pulls a rogue giggle from my chest, and he returns with a warm towel, lips tipped up in a satisfied grin. My throat constricts as he cleans me up, wiping the cloth along my skin.
I search for my scattered clothing, torn between saying goodbye and slipping out the door before he can kick me out. Jett reappears with a t-shirt in his hands and a pair of shorts slung low on his hips.
“Where are you going?”
“Back to my room,” I say, bending to dig my bra out from beneath the nightstand.
We’ve fooled around, and now it’s time for me to go. I know how the dance often goes, and I could use the space to deconstruct what happened and why I’m twisted and mushy about it.
I’m captured by the hips and pulled into his chest, his arms wrapped around my shoulders.
“I can still taste you on my tongue, Sofía. I think we can share the same bed without spontaneously combusting,” he says, a smug grin tugging against his lips. “Put this on.” When I makeno move to take the shirt, he says, “Or you can sleep naked. That’s fine, too.”
One-upped, I slip the shirt over my head. It smells like him.
Jett leaps into the bed. “Come here.”
There’s a raspiness to the demand that gets me to drop my clothes and crawl into bed beside him, leaving a sliver of space, which he demolishes, his arm wrapped around my waist and his warmth seeping into me.
“You don’t have to leave after, not if you want to stay.” He brushes his fingers up and down my bicep in a soothing motion. “I want you to stay,” he says finally.
“This is only while we’re in Australia,” I tell him, mostly to remind myself this has an end date, and I would do well to remember that.
His fingers falter before resuming their motion. “Then I plan to make the most of it,” he declares.
The words are more a challenge than agreement, but he says nothing more, his gentle touch lulling me into a state of tired bliss.
It could be so easy with him.
It’s the last thought on my mind before I fall into a deep slumber.
Chapter 22
jett
Three loud, obnoxious bangs rouse me from a peaceful dream.
A heavy weight hangs over my chest, and memories of last night fly through my mind.
“The fish wait for no one, Jett,” Mateo yells, disrupting the slumber of the woman wrapped around me.
I have the urge to tell him to fuck off, that I’m happy where I am, but Doug is waiting for me, and we need to spend all fourdives today filming content for the docuseries. As gently as I can, I try to peel her off my side, but Sofía groans, burrowing deeper into my chest.
“Gotta be quiet,” I murmur, “or else the whole boat will know whose bed you’re in.”
I’d happily scream it from the top deck, tell every person on the vessel that I have Sofía in my bed, but I don’t think she’d enjoy that type of declaration. This is hers to control. Her lead. Her pace.
A sleepy, unamused eye cracks open. She blinks, and the fog clears, the wheels in her mind turning as she realizes where she is. I hold my breath, waiting for the disappointment or embarrassment to flash across her face, but she closes her eyes and flops against my chest.
Mateo knocks again, and she grumbles, “Tell him to be quiet.”
“I’m coming,” I yell, and she smacks my chest, the words turning into laughter. “I’ll be back in an hour. Will you be here?”
“Do you want me to be here?” she counters, sitting up.
She’s beautiful like this—mussed and sleepy. A bit unkempt. She’s gorgeous when she’s put together, but I think I like this version more, one I don’t think many people witness. She tucks a rogue strand of messy brown hair behind her ear. My t-shirt hangs off her shoulder, and I have to wrestle the urge to climb back into bed with her.
I’ve never hated work more in my life.
