"You're… you've been walkin' around actin' like I'm NOTHIN', and you're…"
She strokes once through the fabric. My whole body shudders. My jaw clenches so hard something pops.
I grab her wrist. Pull her hand away. Hold it against my chest where my heart hammers.
"Not like this."
She throws her hands up. "Like WHAT?"
"You're drunk." I grip the wheel tighter, knuckles whitening.
"So?" She sways, nearly falling as the boat hits a wave.
I steady her with one hand, jaw clenched. "So I don't fuck drunk women who can't remember in the morning."
"I'll remember." She leans in, her breath hot against my neck.
"You won't." I turn my face away, focusing on the dark water ahead.
She grabs my arm, nails digging in. "Even with your dick hard in my hand, you're STILL rejectin' me."
"I'm saying not like this." I pry her fingers loose, gently but firmly.
She stumbles backward, catching herself on the edge of the seat. "There IS no other way! This is all I am!"
"That's not all you are." My voice drops lower, rougher.
Her eyes fill with tears, mascara running down her cheeks. "You covered up when I saw you shirtless. Like I'm not even worth…"
My control cracks. Just a fissure, but enough. My jaw works, hands clench the wheel until the knuckles go white. I can feel the words fighting to escape, clawing up my throat against every protocol I've ever learned.
"I covered up because if I didn't, I was going to pin you against the fridge and find out what sounds you make when you come."
Silence. Her mouth opens. Closes. The boat rocks beneath us, salt spray misting our faces.
"What?"
"You heard me."
The drunk truth spills out: "You… wanted…"
"Yes. I wanted. I want. That's the problem." My breathing is ragged, irregular, like I've run miles. "But not like this. Not when you're drunk. Not when it's just another way to hurt yourself."
"Nico…"
"We're almost at the marina."
She sits. Stares at me like she's never seen me before.
The rest of the ride is silence.
At the car, I half-carry her. She's fading, alcohol and adrenaline crash hitting hard. In the back seat, she curls against the door.
Her head lolls against the window. "I hate you," she mumbles, eyes fluttering closed then open.
I grip the steering wheel tighter. "I know."
"You tracked my phone." She traces a finger down the condensation on the glass.
