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Since this is our first port back in the U.S., everyone needs to leave the ship and go through Customs. I was planning on lounging on a half-empty ship today, but I’ve heard horror stories about some people having to wait hours before getting back on the ship, and I don’t feel like sitting in a crowded room for hours with people who are hangry and hungover.
“I’m sorry again, about...” She trails off; neither of us needs or wants her to finish that sentence, because even though she brought me on this cruise so I’d hook up with Sawyer, no one expected her to walk in on him grinding his hips against me—swimsuit bottoms on, thankfully—with his hands all over my naked upper half. He skipped dinner again and hasn’t even tried to find me to talk, and I’m worried that this might have just as much to do with regret as it has to do with embarrassment.
“Let’s not talk about it,” I say, avoiding her gaze in the reflection, feeling the heat creeping up my cheeks.
“You’re a grown woman, Gwen. You’re allowed to have desires. You’re free to make your own choices.”
“Gram, please. I’m begging you. I am very interested in ending this conversation.”
“And that man is very interested in you,” she taunts. “But fine. No more mention of it.” She picks a piece of lint from the arm of the chair as I fix my makeup. “What’s your plan for the day?”
Gram and Nancy are doing some celebrity mansion bus tour, not listening when I remind them that basketball season is in full swing so the chance they’ll get a photo with LeBron James is highly unlikely. They’re determined, especially after watching that Tom Brady movie, and they also won’t listen when I tell them the whole movie is fiction.
I shrug my crossbody bag over my shoulder—it’s straw and shaped like a pineapple and maybe a little juvenile, but oh well—and slide my sunglasses into my hair. “Not sure. I think I’m just going to check out Little Havana, get a nice, big Cuban—”
She whips her head to look at me, her brows nearly meeting her hairline.
“The sandwich, Gram,” I clarify, and I don’t want to know if she’d assumed I’d meant a man or a cigar. “Anyway. I probably won’t stay out too long.”
Then she says the same thing she said every time I’d drive back to school after coming home for the weekend: “Have fun, but be safe.”
We meet up with Nancy to disembark, and Sawyer’s hulking form lurks in the background. I see him in my periphery and avoid looking his way; if he wanted me to see him, he would’ve joined our little caravan off the ship.
Nancy follows my gaze and pats my hand. “Forgive him, dear. I don’t think he slept more than an hour last night.” She looks back at him and shakes her head. “Come to think of it, he’s been weird ever since we left the island yesterday. Did something happen?”
My eyes dart to Gram, impressed that she hasn’t spilled the beans in the last twelve hours. “Nothing at all,” she says, putting an end to the conversation. Though I’m pretty sure there’s an ‘I’ll tell you later’ dying to come out of her.
We’re caught up in the current of the crowd, swept off the ship and into the line for Customs, and then I wait with Gram and Nancy outside for their shuttle to their bus tour. Once they board, I hail a taxi. I’m sliding into my seat and trying to shut the door, but there’s resistance in the form of a large hand that holds the door open.
“This one’s taken,” I say, peering into the sun at the person trying to commandeer my cab.
“Hey.” Sawyer bends, propping his arm against the doorframe.
“Hey.”
“Mind if I…” he nods toward the seat next to me, and I slide over, making room.
I shrug. “Sure.”
He climbs in and shuts the door, and the driver takes off. I stare straight ahead, not sure what to say, and also convinced I don’t want to say anything. If either of us owes the other something, I think the debt is his.
I feel his eyes on me: the length of my body, then my face.
I fold my hands in my lap and swallow.
“Where are we going?” he asks.
The driver glances in the rearview mirror, his eyes connecting with mine, like he’s asking if it’s okay that this random man has hopped in with us despite not knowing where we’re headed. I offer him a smile and answer Sawyer. “Little Havana.”
“Oh. Okay.”
We ride in uncomfortable silence until we reach our destination. I tip the driver and take off with Sawyer trailing two steps behind me.
“Hey, Gwen.” He reaches for my arm and finds my elbow, his fingers gentle as they wrap around my skin. There’s nothing possessive about it, just tender, like he’s missed this connection since yesterday. “You’re avoiding me.”
“Me?” I’m dumbfounded; my jaw drops. “That’s rich, coming from the guy who felt me up and bolted, then ghosted me all night.”
His ears turn pink and his jaw clenches, like he wants to say something and can’t decide if he should. I’m acutely aware of the people around us, but right now I don’t care. This was all a stupid idea, from the very beginning. I don’t know why Gram thought this would help me move on past Tristan, when neither man seems to care about how his actions affect me.
