“I don’t think you’ll like the answer,” I said. I set down the curling iron to zip Ollie’s toothbrush and toothpaste away in his toiletry bag, the sensation that I no longer belonged there fading a bit once it was out of sight.It’s just guilt, I told myself. Once I apologized to Ollie, I’d feel settled again.
Which is what I’m trying to do now as I stand before him, swaying along to the music. “I’m sorry about last night,” I say.
Ollie points to his glass and shouts, “You want a sip of my pint?”
I lean toward him, thankful my heels boost me up enough for my mouth to reach his ear. “Can we talk? Outside?”
Ollie nods when I pull away. He finishes his beer and sets the empty glass on the bar. I take his hand and lead him through the club, trying not to think of the night I dragged him outside Mitch’s and kissed him. I have kissed my way out of apologizing to Ollie plenty of times, but I have a feeling it won’t work now.
My ears are ringing when we step outside. The door to the club shuts behind us. I feel exposed in the quiet. When I turn to Ollie, I’m suddenly unsure of what to say.
He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans with a sigh. “What’d you want to talk about?”
I settle on, “A cigarette would be great right about now.”
Ollie lets out a small sigh that twists me up inside. Why is it so hard to shove away the sarcasm and jokes and just say what I mean, especially when I know it’s something that needs to be said? It’s so much easier to sayI’m sorryin a crowded club than out here, where I know he’ll actually hear me.
I cross my arms over my chest and look away for a moment. My eyes snag on the door to the club. Part of me wishes to escape inside so I don’t have to have this conversation, but the other part of me would rather go back to the boat and watch movies on my laptop. I don’t know which part of me is the real Nina. It’s as if I have no idea who I am anymore. Nothing feels the same.
“I’m sorry for being such a douche canoe last night,” I say when I turn back to Ollie. “I was exhausted and emotional, and you were right about that primary. I should’ve told Xav.”
Ollie nods but doesn’t look at me. He’s got his walls up, and I hate it. I want the smirk and the dimples. Not this.
“And I’m sorry for what I said.” I uncross my arms and take his face in my hands. “You don’tonlymake problems for me. You, Ollie Dunne, make most things better.” I smooth the groove between his eyebrows with one of my thumbs and feel the tension there ease. “I didn’t mean what I said.Youare not a problem. Can you please forgive me so we can go back to being pissed off at each other for the things we’re usually pissed off at each other for?”
Ollie leans into my hands. “And what would those things be?” I know he’s forgiven me by the playfulness that returns to his eyes. If I lift my hands from his face, perhaps I’ll find a dimple beneath them, but I’m not willing to stop touching him to find out.
“Oh, you know, beef cheeks, butt cheeks...” I give his face a pat. “These cheeks.”
“Which is your favorite?”
“That’s a secret I will take to my grave,” I say, wishing I could kiss him without it complicating things.
The door to the club opens. Music and voices flood outside, reminding me that we aren’t alone. When I lean away, Ollie looks as if he’d like to grab me by the waist and pull me against him. I wish he would. He’s flirted with me plenty over the last two months, but he’s hardly touched me. I can’t count how many times I’ve nearly dragged him into the laundry room and begged him to put me out of my misery.
But I can’t make a move on Ollie, even though I really, really want to. He might think it means something. Ifheinitiates, then I can just go along with it.
Which is exactly what Ollie is thinking. I know it. Because instead of pulling me to him, he leans away. “We’d better go back inside,” he says. “Who knows what those gobshites have gotten into in our absence.”
As if he’s made a prophecy, a frantic-looking RJ waves us over as soon as he spots us in the club. He points over his head to a nearby stage used for dancing. But instead of dancing, I find two of my stewardesses screaming at each other and making one hell of a scene. I can’t hear what Alyssa and Britt are saying, but their hand gestures paint a pretty clear picture. Simon stands poised to step between them, looking as if he’s trying to talk them down. Eglé is off to the side with Nekesa, who sips at her drink and looks like she’s trying not to cry.
“What the hell happened?” I ask when we get close enough to hear RJ.
RJ leans between me and Ollie. “Alyssa started going off on Nekesa, something about the primary and the drugs. And Britt...” He shakes his head. “You know how she gets.”
That’s all he needs to say before I’m making my way through the crowd to the stage. Britt is fun, and lighthearted, and can roll with thepunches, but when someone sets her off, especially if she feels they’re treating someone else unjustly, she can explode. I’ve had to talk her down from a fight more than once over the years.
I haul myself onto the stage and step between Britt and Alyssa. “Back off!” I shout, pushing them away from each other. “You’re both drunk. Cool off and deal with it tomorrow when you’re sober.”
Neither girl looks ready to back down. Britt won’t look away from Alyssa, who looks between me and Britt with equal disdain.
“This yacht is a joke,” Alyssa says.
“Hey now, Lyss,” Ollie says, forcing his way between me and her. “Let’s not say anything we might regret, yeah? How about you and me go for a little walk?” Ollie takes her by the shoulders and steers her to the steps on the other side of the stage before disappearing into the crowd.
“Everyone good here?” I sweep my gaze over the rest of the crew. Nekesa and Eglé nod, but Britt starts ranting a mile a minute.
“I can’t work with her, Nina. She’s...” Britt rambles on, but it’s too loud in here for me to understand her. During a lull in her monologue, I pat her on the cheek and turn her toward RJ.
