by Sophia Henry
Chapter 11
Later that night, I allowed myself a few minutes to bask in the calming sound of Pasha’s deep, even breaths before I removed his arm from my waist and inched out of the bed slowly, so I wouldn’t wake him.
If my ultimate goal was living the most adventurous and fun life I could, my emphasis had to be on the “living” part. I refused to veer from my very specific health routine—even on vacation. I could play off the enzymes I had to take with every meal as some kind of digestion aid because that’s what they were, but I didn’t feel like explaining the rest of my regimen to a weeklong boyfriend.
I hated to leave, though, because I felt so safe and comfortable in Pasha’s arms. Sure, the attraction had been purely physical at first, but after talking with him and being around him, I felt like we’d known each other for years. Making friends and having conversations has never been a problem for me, but something about Pasha made me want to spill all my secrets. He might have been intrigued by the sadness I was hiding, but I was interested in the thrum of kindness hidden by his cocky demeanor.
I searched his cabin for any items I’d brought with me that I hadn’t tucked into my beach bag. Though still small, his room put my interior shoebox to shame. He had an ocean view and space to move—or at least space to screw me against a wall. Maybe I’d have more space if I hadn’t used one of the two twin beds in my room as a suitcase rack.
After I shoved my swimsuit and sarong in my bag, I slipped on the shorts and tank top I’d worn the day before. I’d almost finished when Pasha began moving. I held my breath and stood as still as a statue while he turned onto his back from his previous position on his side.
When he stilled again, I tiptoed toward the door.
“You’re very good at leaving quietly.” His voice seemed to thunder in the silent room.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Pasha sat up. A rectangle of light bounced on his bare chest as moonlight streamed through the window. “You can stay.”
“I have things to do.”
I have things to do. I sounded like a freaking gambling addict sneaking out to the twenty-four-hour casino.
“You need help?” He squinted, tilting his head to the side as if trying to make out my reaction in the dark. His mouth wasn’t curved in the sexy, seductive smile he normally flashed me.
The concern in his face, mirrored by the rigidity in his entire body, made me want to rip my heart in half and give him one side. But I couldn’t explain why I had to leave, because I was already looking forward to sharing another exciting experience with him at our next destination and didn’t want to scare him off.
“I’m okay.”
“Are you?”
Why couldn’t he treat me like a real fake boyfriend would and let me walk out?
“I thought you’d be relieved that I left on my own instead of making you do the awkward morning wake-up thing.”
I knew the reality of my future. I thought I was doing guys a solid by not allowing them to get too close. I had the power to make the most of my years on earth. It didn’t make sense to bring someone else in just to lose me. I’d rather sacrifice my own happiness than someone else’s.
So what the hell was I doing with Pasha? Leading him on. Letting him in. Sharing secrets.
“Sex in the morning is not awkward,” he said.
His answer caught me off guard. He wanted to see me again? This wasn’t a one-night fling?
“I have a—” How do I explain chest wall oscillation therapy at two in the morning? “I’m kind of a health freak. I have this weird routine I need to stick to.”
“Men believe this?” he asked.
“Believe what?”
“When a hot girl sneaks out in the middle of the night. They believe it’s because you are a health nut?”
“No one’s ever woken up.” It wasn’t a lie. I’d never snuck out on a guy before. I’d never stayed at a guy’s place before. All of my previous dates had had specific end times.
Pasha tossed the covers off and got out of bed. He moved toward me totally naked like it was no big deal. “I am a health nut, too. Wanna go for a run?”
“It’s not that kind of health thing.” I lifted my hand, which had been resting on the doorknob, and rubbed the snarled hair at the back of my head, wondering if I should be flattered or scared by his concern.
“Did you take your drugs?” he asked.
“Excuse me?” I tightened the grip on my bag.
“You took drugs at lunch. And you’re acting sneaky in the middle of the night.”
“They weren’t illegal drugs.” I lifted my chin, indignant at his accusation. “And I can leave if I want.”
He lifted one hand to my face and brushed the other through my hair. “Yes, you can. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
I couldn’t help the embarrassment that made my cheeks burn. I’d never hung out with a guy who walked around naked. Pasha’s body was magnificent in its nakedness, but still.
“What makes you think I’m not?” I asked. A fake boyfriend shouldn’t be concerned. He should roll over and let me sneak out of his room with a shred of dignity.
He placed his hands on each side of my jaw and tilted my face to his. “There is something.”
I sighed. “Hang around me long enough and you’ll find out.”
“That is my plan,” Pasha said. Then he pressed a soft kiss on my lips.
My fake boyfriend’s legitimate concern hit me like Cupid’s arrow through the heart.
“Go back to sleep. I’m fine. I don’t take illegal drugs. I like to wake up in my own bed.” I kissed his cheek.
“Health nut thing?” he said, clearly humoring me.
“Yes.”
I lowered my eyes to his bare chest. Pasha had an athlete’s physique, built and ripped without being massive. More like a soccer player than a football player. His arms were jacked and covered with ink. A huge tiger tattoo shaded with bright, bold colors began on his right shoulder, wrapped around his entire biceps, and spanned all the way to his elbow. Below that, his forearm held more vibrant artwork. A candle with an extinguished flame caught my eye. Smoke billowed from the wick and morphed into intricate black numerals just above his wrist—a date.
“If I ask about these health things, will you tell me the truth?” Pasha whispered.
I slid my palm over the gorgeous artwork across his forearm before stopping on the numbers. “Yes.” I brushed my fingertips over the date.
“Go to your bed. I’ll see you soon.”
Without another word, I slipped out the door. My heart thrashed against my chest as I shuffled to the elevator. I rubbed my face with both hands and took a few deep breaths. I’d averted the immediate crisis at hand, but I didn’t want to think about how close he was getting. Pasha had me breaking all my self-imposed rules.
Chapter 12
DAY 3
Trapped.
Trapped in Pasha’s arms. Trapped in these growing feelings for him. Trapped in a lie.
My alarm went off, jolting me out of another anxious dream. My heart betrayed my head when I glanced down, hoping to find his body in bed next to me. I bit back disappointment, rubbing my eyes, and the harsh realization set in. Just me in the tiny twin bed in my own cabin. Alone.
Suddenly I was hit by the reality of everything I had to do before getting off the boat when it docked at our day’s destination at seven that morning.
I’d gotten back to my room after two, then tossed and turned for three hours, fretting over how to behave around a phony boyfriend I might be falling for, until the alarm sounded at five. I woke up restless and exhausted, but I still had to fit in a twenty-minute compression session, my morning run, and breakfast.
In a sleepy haze, I leaned over and blindly searched my beach bag for my inhaler. Once I’d found that, I stumbled out of bed and unlocked the door, on the off chance that Lena and Sia came by while I was hooked up to my compressor.
My thoughts wandered to
Pasha as I began my treatment. I hadn’t been able to think of anything or anyone else since I met him. I’d gone into this cruise feeling trapped because my parents wouldn’t let up on pushing me toward Spiros. Trapped because I felt overwhelmed after starting a new job with responsibilities I hadn’t even scratched the surface of before I left.
But Pasha had trapped me in a totally different way. He consumed every conscious thought—awake and asleep. With him, I’d all but forgotten about my stifling fear of being stuck on a boat in a large body of water. And I hadn’t thought about the increased pressure my parents were putting on me to be with Spiros. All I could think about was how amazing it felt to have a sweet, adventurous, sexy man who was full of surprises and wanted to be with me even after he’d seen my scar.
Oh, shit. He’d seen my scar. He’d touched them as he ran his hands along my bony rib cage and sunken stomach. A guy as fit and buff as he was couldn’t possibly think I was attractive after seeing that. He’d think I was sick.
I punched my index finger onto the compressor’s power button, taking out my anger on the poor machine. Time to stop wallowing. If he didn’t want to hang out with me anymore, he didn’t. There were a ton of guys on this cruise. Meeting them was the point anyway.
Ten minutes into my session, I heard a loud knock on my door.
“Cooooommmmme iiiiiinnnnnn,” I called, having some fun with the help of the vest shaking my chest. And, I hoped, freaking Sia out at the same time. It’s the little things that amuse me.
The door opened and Pasha’s head poked through. “You okay?” He slipped into the room and closed the door behind him.
“What? Yes!” Fumbling, I reached over to flip off the compressor, all while trying to unhook the latches at my stomach and chest. In my haste, I began coughing, as a good girl using her vest should be doing, because that’s the whole purpose. But I didn’t want to hack up disgusting mucus with Pasha standing there staring at me like—
Like nothing. Nothing in his expression showed surprise or repulsion or…anything.
After one particularly disgusting but productive hack, I leaned over and spat into the garbage can at my feet.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. The heat of embarrassment swept through me, warming my cheeks.
“We’re running today, yes?”
I looked at the clock on the nightstand next to my bed: 5:17 a.m.
Nightmare? Dream? Awake? Asleep? What kind of warped universe had me trapped?
I should have realized that neither Lena nor Sia would ever be up this early, even if we planned to be off the ship by seven.
Since Pasha still didn’t look fazed, I nodded to my machine. “I have ten minutes left.”
“Cool.” He bent at his waist and reached toward his toes, bouncing slightly as he stretched.
Pasha might not be affected, but I sure was. Not only by him walking in on the part of my health routine I wanted to keep hidden, but also by the horror of my current appearance. Hair tangled and twisted from hopping straight into bed after showering with him and a night of fitful sleep. Still dressed in my usual PJs, a hot pink tank top, and black boy-short underwear—though my tank top wasn’t visible with my vest strapped on.
To add to the horror of the embarrassing situation, Pasha walked over to the bed and stopped directly in front of my oscillator. His eyes darted around, as if trying to figure out how it worked or what it did.
Here we go. Question time: “What is that? What’s wrong with you? Shouldn’t you disclose the fact that you’re a sick freak before you screw a guy?” I’m not a sick freak, but I’m sure it looks that way to someone unfamiliar with my oscillation treatments.
Instead of looking at him and facing the reality that the relationship hoax had come to an end, I lowered my eyes, inspecting my sparkly pink manicure as I fumbled to refasten the straps of my vest. No reason to stop my treatment now that I’d been outed.
The mattress dipped when Pasha took a seat next to me. I looked at him out of the corners of wide eyes as he laced his fingers with mine and set our joined hands on his upper thigh. The vibration and noise weren’t scary for me, like they might have been for a child, but his grasp comforted me all the same.
And there are no words to explain the comfort of acceptance.
Ten minutes later, I stopped the machine and spat into the trash can. I unstrapped my vest and placed it over my compressor.
“Run. Shower. Breakfast?” Pasha asked.
I nodded, still in shock that he could see me as anything other than a sick girl with a crazy shaking vest. I stood up to change into my running clothes but paused before walking into the bathroom, because even if he didn’t have any questions, I did.
“You don’t want to know about any of it? The machine? The medicine?” My pulse raced waiting for his response.
“Yes, I want to know. But I’ll wait until you are ready to tell me.”
“Okay,” I said, exhaling a breath of relief.
“I am better at spitting than you,” he said with a straight face, as if that were an obvious way to transition the conversation.
“Really?” I asked, both disgusted and indignant. “Because twenty-two years of spitting out junk kinda puts me in the professional rankings.”
“I’ll show you after our run.”
“You’re gross.”
One of Pasha’s eyebrows lifted as his gaze flicked to the compressor, then back to me. A silent reminder that I was the gross one.
“These look nice.” Pasha reached out and grazed the black Lycra hugging my backside. His roving thumb skimmed the inside of my thigh and dipped under the bottom hem of the fabric. His touch sent shivers through me. “They’d look nicer on the floor.”
I hooked my thumbs inside the waistband at my hips and took a breath before lowering my underwear. Though he’d already seen my scar, getting naked in front of him still made me slightly self-conscious.
I’d never have described myself as sex-crazed before I met Pasha. I usually kept my dating life easy and casual, with the exception of one guy whom I dated for about a month during freshman year of college. Though I’d had to explain a little bit about my life, I never went into a ton of detail, or let him see any of the maintenance—kind of like a woman who puts on makeup before her husband gets out of bed so he never sees her without. I’d kept my disorder a secret from guys. It was easy because I’d never been with someone who wanted to screw 24/7. It was fun and exhausting.
Thankfully my cruise-ship boyfriend was all about being adventurous. He didn’t seem skeeved out at all.
Was it a cultural difference? Were American guys that superficial? Okay, that’s a really horrible generalization of an entire country of men. Maybe it was just the guys I’d dated. Then again, after Evan I’d never given anyone the chance to accept everything that goes with being with me.
No one needs the stress of getting serious with a dying girl.
Chapter 13
DAY 3
ST. LUCIA
“Zip line,” Pasha said.
“Excuse me?”
“That’s what we’re doing today. Zip line.”
I’d been zip-lining on multiple occasions, so the thought of doing it again didn’t scare me. And, hell, we’d already jumped off a cliff into a random body of water I knew nothing about, so doing something that involved being harnessed and strapped seemed like child’s play at this point.
We signed up for the full tour, which consisted of twelve runs, all starting at different heights. After we completed a training program, a short, bumpy bus ride took us and the other zip-liners, mostly people in their retirement years, to the initial location. We’d walk to the rest.
Not to sound too cocky, but the combination of mostly older people on the tour and getting through the first run easily had me feeling fairly confident about my zip-lining skills.
“Completely safe, right?” I asked the instructor as he buckled me into the harness before the second run. It felt surprisingly comf
ortable, like the bucket seat a toddler uses on a swing set was attached to a line hundreds of feet above the ground.
“Completely.” He tugged a few cords to check the connection and patted my back. “Just watch out for trees.”
“Zip-line instructors shouldn’t be allowed to have a sense of humor,” I muttered, grabbing the metal bar above my head with both hands.
Evidently, any previous zip-line experience I’d had, including the first run, had only been on baby lines. Because when I made the mistake of looking down into the lush green forests of tangled trees below, I almost lost my breakfast. My stomach dropped. My heartbeat spiked. I removed one hand from the bar and placed my palm on my forehead. Warm, clammy skin greeted me.
“Do you have water?” I asked. “I think I need water. Really cold water.”
“We have no water. Take a deep breath. You will be fine,” the instructor assured me.
Next to me on the deck, a creaky laugh mixed with a deep guttural one, and I knew instantly Pasha had charmed another zip-liner. A pang of silly jealousy hit me, not because I thought he’d run away with the cute old lady, but because I wanted him to pay attention to me and my fear. Maybe grab my hand the way he had when he sat next to me during my treatment.
But before I could ask, the instructor pulled a cord and released me into the air thirteen hundred feet above ground.
The initial drop wasn’t as bad as I’d imagined it would be, and as I sailed along, the ride got better and better. And it got fucking fantastic when I glimpsed the ocean and the beach over the tree line. The sight was nothing short of magnificent. Despite my fears and worries, an intense warmth rushed over me.
My shortened life span always sat in the back of my mind, like a batter on deck in a baseball game. That was why participating in as many adrenaline-inducing situations as possible has always been a personal goal throughout my life.
I needed to figure out why Pasha did it, though. Wasn’t flying a plane for a living, and the corresponding fear that goes with air travel, enough of a rush for him?
Then again, he chose to be a pilot, so the thought of the plane crashing to the ground in an explosion of fiery flames might not even run through his mind.