Page 125 of I’m The Worst

“About what?”

A long sigh leaves him. “The weather’s slowing us down. We won’t reach Finland on schedule.”

“How much longer?”

“Day and a half.”

Another day and a half trapped in this tiny cabin. Another day and a half pretending this thing between us isn’t becoming real in my head.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, hating the stupid warmth that spreads through my chest every time he looks at me too long or lets me touch him without pulling away. It’s pathetic. He’s protecting me because it’s his job. That’s all this is. I’m the idiot turning scraps into something bigger because I’m so fucking desperate to matter to someone.

“Wolff…”

“What.”

I twist the blanket tighter between my fingers, suddenly wishing I’d kept my mouth shut.

“Are we really not going to see each other after this?”

His thumb stills against the screen.

“I just…” I swallow hard, staring at the ceiling because I can’t look at him anymore. “I don’t know. I thought maybe…”

Maybe what?

That he’d stay?

That a man like Wolff would actually want someone like me once this was over? My throat burns. I’m so fucking stupid.

Men like him don’t want someone like me…a broken Servant who spreads her legs and begs for it even when she knows she’s nothing but a warm, used-up hole.

“You’ll go home. I’ll go back to my life.”

I blink hard against the sudden burn in my eyes. “Yeah.”

What did I honestly expect?

He protected me. Saved me. Held me through panic attacks. Let me touch him. But maybe I made the mistake of thinking any of it mattered outside of survival.

I roll onto my side and face the wall before he can see the tears gathering in my eyes. The rain keeps hammering the glass and the ship rocks harder.

But all I can think about is how fucking humiliating it is to want someone who was never going to keep me in the first place.

The shower is cold. Barely warm enough to be tolerable, but it’s the only thing keeping me from climbing back into bed and staying there all day. I scrub my hair quickly, trying not to think about anything but getting through the next forty-eight hours. The moment I step out, I’m grabbing my towel—until I notice his shirt.

I stare at the black fabric hanging on the door hook. I hesitate, then reach for it, running my fingers over the soft, worn-in cotton before pulling it on over my damp skin. It smells like him—leather and pine and something that’s just Wolff. I inhale deeply, letting the scent wash over me. It feels like the closest I’ll get to holding him again.

It’s pathetic.

But I do it anyway…because…I’m not ready to say goodbye to him. I’m nothing to him, but he became something to me. Even if it doesn’t mean anything.

I check myself in the foggy mirror, the shirt hanging loose around my thighs, the collar slipping off one shoulder. Before I open the door and walk into the room.

Wolff’s not there.

I freeze mid-step, glancing around the small cabin, the bed still messy from where I slept. The chair by the door is empty.

A thought barely forms before the door opens and he enters, water dripping from his hair. He must have gone on the deck. His gaze sweeps over me once before settling on the shirt.