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“Fuck!” D'Andre yells.
“What happened?” Aliza asks, her eyes fixed on me.
“Let me help you get him to the room,” I say, avoiding her questions.
“No, you can tell me what happened. I know that you two were together. So what was all of this about?”
“Really, it’s nothing. He’s drunk, and this is just a big misunderstanding.” I can tell by the silence and conviction in her eyes that she’s not satisfied with my response.
She would probably continue to question me, but D'Andre manages to convince her to let me be. He struggles to his feet and refuses to look at me. I try to help, but they both shoo me away. Not wanting to add to the fuel, I cease my efforts and wait for them to leave and disappear behind the walls of their cabin.
“What the fuck was that?” I ask the moment the door closes behind me.
“He was attacking you.”
“He was drunk, and I had it under control.”
“No, you didn’t. So I stepped in.”
“No, you beat a drunk man when he wasn’t able to defend himself. That’s not okay!”
“I was protecting you from that asshole,” he says loudly, pointing into space.
“I didn’t ask you to protect me,” I bark back.
He stares at me, seemingly confused by my anger.
“So what did you expect me to do? Just let him aggressively push up on you while you struggle to get away?”
“I didn’t expect you to do anything. I specifically asked you not to. I didn’t want any drama with D'Andre, and his ego is not worth my reputation during this trip. But you had to step your alpha ass in, doing exactly what I didn’t want…cause a scene.”
“I care about you, Sabrina. I couldn’t just—”
“You don’t know me.” My voice is low. “At all. So you should have just minded your damn business.” I pause, glancing down at my hands. “I know you thought you were doing a good thing, but all you did just now was make a small problem a bigger one.”
“What are you saying?” he asks when I return my gaze to him.
“I-I don’t know.” I sigh, looking away from his pleading gaze.
“Are you saying that last night, this whole week means nothing?”
“Jackson, it started as nothing. Pretend, remember? This was your idea.” I shrug softly.
“I see.” He nods then tosses my clutch in the chair. “You left your purse on the lunch table,” he says, brushing past me to leave.
“Jackson, wait!”
“Nah, I get the message.” He storms out, slamming the door behind him.
I want to run after him, but I don’t. For what? My words clearly hit a nerve, and I truly regret saying them. Even if I feel what I said was true, the disappointment on his face is haunting. This week has been amazing, the most fun I’ve had in a while. What bothers me the most in this moment is that I can see myself enjoying being with him, beyond this short time on this ship. But I was right. He doesn’t know me, and while his desires to protect me are flattering, I’ll be the one who has to deal with crud stories of the two men fighting over me during a business function.
After a few hours, I dress and head to dinner, hoping for the chance to see Jackson. He didn’t come to escort me like we’d planned, but I didn’t expect him to. I feel like shit for making it seem wrong for him to care for me. The day started so great and quickly turned into a heated mess. I’d love nothing more than to end it on a lighter note. To see him, apologize, and just maybe get the chance to start over.
Dinner commences, but Jackson never shows. Eventually, I grow tired of waiting, with no desire to mingle with these people. As I wait on the elevator to open and whisk me to my floor, I mull over the thought of going by his cabin. When the lift does arrive, I press the button and exit on Jackson’s floor. The doors chime shut behind me, startling me just a bit. My nerves bubble and sweat pricks my skin with each forward motion. The halls are dead silent, only adding to my anticipation. I round the corner but stop, second-guessing my decision.
“He’s probably not going to answer the door anyway,” I say and swiftly turn around to go back the way I came. A few steps in and I stop again. “Sabrina, get it together. Knock on the door. If he answers…apologize. If he doesn’t…well, then you tried.” I take a deep breath, about face, and lazily approach Jackson’s door.
I don’t knock right away. But I do stare at the peephole for nearly an eternity then press my ear against the door. There’s no sound coming from inside, but I knock anyway, my sights still locked on the peephole. After about thirty seconds, I knock again, only to be meet with more silence. With my knuckles, I tap the door once more, sauntering back to my room when he doesn’t answer.
What I want to do when I reach my quarters is to shower and sleep. But our voyage comes to an end tomorrow, and there’s packing I need to do. My need for organization always comes in handy when it’s time to repack from a trip. Because I never fully unload my belongings and put things back in their place throughout, it only takes me about thirty minutes. I scour the room, filing everything but tomorrow’s outfit into my luggage. When I’m done, I disrobe, shower, and welcome myself to two mini vodkas from my fridge. The alcohol soothes me, making it easier to fall asleep through my thoughts of Jackson.
