“Come on, Ollie. I’m desperate.” I drift closer to him again. Not hard to do, given it’s only a few feet from the door to the beds. A single step, and I’m right in front of him. The door is open, which makes it feel a little less claustrophobic in here, though I don’t love that the restof the crew is probably getting an earful right now. I can hear laughter and conversation floating in from the other bunks. That could’ve been me if I hadn’t been so bent on not rooming with any of the other crew.
“Nah,” he says. When he looks up at me, heat in his eyes, I am desperate in so many ways. He drops his gaze back to the sheet and stares at it like it’s a Rubik’s Cube.
“Are you serious?”
Ollie shrugs. “I want the bottom bunk. You want the bottom bunk. Why don’t we share it?”
“Funny,” I say.
“Suit yourself.” He gets to his feet, forcing me to take a step back.
“I’m a higher rank than you,” I say. I try to yank the sheet from him but end up playing a pathetic game of tug-of-war. I’m doing the tugging. Ollie is doing the standing and laughing.
“You’re not, darling. We’re the same rank.”
“But I’ve been here longer.”
“I started five months before you did.”
“And then youquit,” I say, giving the sheet another yank and gaining no purchase. “You haven’t worked here for over a year. I officially have more experience than you do.”
“Don’t think that’s how the chain of command works on yachts, kitten.”
“Why won’t you do this for me? Wouldn’t this all fit into your master plan of winning me over?”
Ollie looks at me with an expression I can’t place and yanks the sheet to him. It pulls me along with it, and I careen right into his bare chest. He tips his face down and his nose almost brushes against mine. His breath smells like that fucking mint tea, and I nearly push myself onto my toes to kiss him. His eyes drop to my mouth, and I marvel at how long his eyelashes are. I almost let go of the sheet and reach out to touch them.
“Okay,” he breathes.
“Okay what?”
“You can have the bottom bunk.”
“Really?” I sigh in relief. “Thank you. You have no idea—”
“On one condition.”
Of fucking course.Suddenly I don’t give a shit about his eyelashes, as unfairly gorgeous as they are. I look away, and my vision snags on his shoes in a heap beside the door to the world’s tiniest bathroom. I used to complain about that when we had an apartment together, how he’d just kick off his shoes anywhere. What did he think the point of the shoe rack was? But after he moved out, I remember thinking my shoes looked so lonely without his on the floor nearby.
“What’s the condition?” I say.
“You go on that date with me tomorrow night.” He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
“No.”
He pries the sheet from my hands and takes a step back. “You enjoy the top bunk, then. I’m thinking we’ll need a schedule for the porthole. How about we keep it closed from sunrise to dusk, and you can have it open from sunset to dawn?”
“How about I shove that sheet into your mouth hole and keep the porthole open twenty-four seven?”
“Easy now, killer,” he says.
“I thought you wanted to win me over. How’s this helping?”
“I’ll never get a second alone with you on this boat. You’ll run away to the laundry room, or call Britt, or jump into the ocean, or pretend to be asleep whenever I’m in here.”
I would. It’s true. In the past, I’ve done all these things to avoid him.
Ollie settles the sheet around his neck and turns away from me to begin unpacking his things into our shared closet, if one can even call it a closet. It’s more like a kitchen cupboard with drawers.
