“I’d say that suits someone who thinks she’s the paragon of all things just in this world, listening to only one side of a story and casting judgment on who’s right and who’s the devil.” Okay, so now I’m just being a jerk, but at this point, I don’t care. “Or should I call you Captain Jumps to Conclusions, based on you accusing me of trying to get you into bed just now?”
“Captain Jumps to Conclusions? Do you even hear yourself? That’s quite possiblythe mostridiculous thing anyone has ever said in the history of speaking!”
“Captain Accusations, then?” I ask calmly.
“You are the most rude, most arrogant, entitled man I’ve ever met!” she shouts, moving towards me until she’s so close she has to tilt her head back to look up at me. “You should be called Captain Thinks His Shit Doesn’t Stink!”
I scoff, leaning closer to her. “It’s not so easy, is it? Coming up with sarcastic super-hero names when you’re angry.”
“No, it’s not!” she yells.
“Exactly! So don’t make fun of my attempt,” I yell back, too angry to laugh at the level of insanity we’ve reached.
I stare down at her face, only inches from mine. She’s still shivering, and even though I’m furious, I want to wrap my arms around her and warm her up. Or kiss her hard on the mouth. Or both.
There’s a shift in the energy between us, and her eyes flick to my lips. Then she shakes her head. “I hate you! I really, really hate you.”
“Not as much as I hate you,” I say, even though I only sort of hate her.
“Oh, really? Because if the only two men left on earth were you and Hitler, I’d sleep with Hitler!”
“News flash! Nobody’s asking to sleep with you.”
“Good!” She glares at me, then barks, “I’m going to take a shower now!”
“Don’t worry about locking the door. I promise I won’t sneak in and try to seduce you.”
“I’m sure you won’t, since I’m so dowdy and all.”
“Oh, that’s not why. It’s because you’re a total harpy.”
Tears of rage spring to her eyes. She spins on her heel and rushes off, slips a little on the wet floor, catches herself just before she falls, then swears under her breath. A moment later, the door to the bedroom slams shut, and she lets out a loud growl.
I stay rooted to the spot, cold, soaking wet, and wishing I’d grabbed a robe before engaging in this stupid fight. Stalking to the bar, I pour myself a generous serving of whiskey, then down it fast so it burns my throat and warms me from head to toe. I spend the next twenty minutes going over what just happened, muttering to myself about how awful she is, imitating her voice and the things she said, imagining myself coming up with the perfect comeback instead of the garbage I actually said.
If this were a romance movie instead of real life, we would have kissed, possibly right after she called me rude, arrogant, and entitled. It would have been one hell of a kiss too, and likely would have led to me picking her up by her bottom and carrying her over to the couch, where we’d tear each other’s clothes off and have wild sex with some sexy song playing in the background. Then it would cut to a shower scene, where we’d still be at it. I’d be nice and warm, instead of chilled to the bone, and the satisfaction of releasing all this pent-up tension I have when I’m around her would be incredible.
I’d explain what really happened with Paz—how, upon my father’s death, he came to me for money, and I offered to pay his tuition and boarding for any university he wanted, but he said he just wanted the cash. When I didn’t give it to him, hoping he’d grow up a little and change his mind, he made a sex tape of himself with my stepmother without her knowledge. Nora would listen as I’d tell her how Paz blackmailed her with it, forcing her to come to me for help since my father’s bank accounts had been automatically frozen for sixty days after he died. I’d tell her how I paid him off, had my best IT guy scrub all of Paz’s devices of any versions of the video, and told him to stay away from us forever. Nora would apologize for assuming the worst and tell me she’s never known a more honourable man and, well, who knows what would happen after that? Probably more sex. A lot more rigorous, incredible, mind-blowing sex that would leave us both panting and grinning like fools.
But it’s not a movie. This is reality. I can’t tell her what happened. She hates me. She does not lust after me. None of that stuff isevergoing to happen, even though the very thought of it is enough to do me in. And if it did happen, it would make me the biggest hypocrite in all of the Caribbean, because I’m the guy who made a big speech about keeping things professional (i.e., no sex with anyone involved with the competition/resort).
I’m going to have to make it through the next eighteen or so hours until we’re rescued without letting things veer off into Hollywood film territory. Not that it’ll be hard, as she’s definitely not going to be making any moves in that direction. I’ll have to accept that she’s always going to believe the worst of me, and that’s that.
As much as it sucks.
I think I’ll have another drink.
19
Pasta, Wine, and Understanding
Nora
Oh,that… that… asshole! I have never in my entire life hated someone like I hate him. He’s the absolute worst human being on the planet except for Hitler and a bunch of other dictators and serial killers whose names I’m too angry to think of. How dare he call me Captain Justice? And Captain Jumps to Conclusions? And aharpy? Wow. Just wow.
How about Captain Knows the Truth and Doesn’t Approve? That’s more like it.
Ouch. I’ve been angry-scrubbing my scalp for quite a while now. I should calm down.
