“Me too.”
“I can’t—I can’t do all of the things for myself.”
My shoulders tighten so hard and fast that I feel it at the base of my neck.
I know that feeling. Getting sick on the ship, realizing my entire life would change if I decided to keep the baby, knowing I’d be dependent on other people to help me getsettled after years of being out in the world, taking care of myself, when I was going back without my best friend—it was a lot.
But the Abby Nora situation taught me that I don’t need to let other people take advantage of me either.
And that’s what I’m slowly realizing the woman that I thought was my best friend has been doing for the past few years.
Letting me buy half the wine for her wedding since I could get excellent bottles at a good price in Europe. Hosting her bachelorette party on my ship. Taking her side every time she had a disagreement with someone, when I’m now wondering how much of those disagreements were her fault, but I was only getting her side of the story.
I force my shoulders to relax and look Holt directly in the eye. “While I’m sympathetic to your situation, I refuse to be a punching bag for your bad mood.”
He winces. “I’m not trying?—”
“You’re not?”
The second wince gives him away.
Dammit.
I do want to stay.
But not with Mr. Anger Management Issues.
“I can pay you,” he says. “For cooking. Light chores. Driving me a few places.”
“It’s not about money.”
“Please.”
He’s leaning in the doorway, and if I can read people at all, I’d say he needs his next dose of pain medication and is pretending he doesn’t.
Is that a man thing or an athlete thing?
Doesn’t matter.
“If you were me, would you want to stay here?” I ask him again.
His square jaw shifts back and forth while his cheek twitches and his bottom lip plumps out.
The man’s pouting.
He knows there’s one right answer, and he doesn’t want to give it to me.
And my potatoes aren’t settling as well as they usually do.
Likely not the potatoes.
It’s likely the man standing between me and—dammit.
Between me and Naked Tuesdays and letting my parents have more control over my life than they’re already getting with me taking a job at the Pounders.
Maybe Miranda knows someone who needs a temporary roommate.
“I can be…” He studies the ceiling, then pinches the bridge of his nose. “I can be more tolerable.”
