He laughed, moving loose strands of hair from my face. “I’ll keep that in mind. Okay, you wait here. I’ll be back as soon as possible, okay?”
I nodded, taking a deep breath. I hated that he was right, that the fresh air felt fantastic. I hated when he was right about anything.
I loved that he’d just taken care of me even though I told him not to.
Ugh. It was complicated.
The glass door opened and shut behind me, and I spent the next few minutes trying not to heave up anything else. I felt empty, my throat raw, my stomach weak from what felt like ten thousand sit-ups. And the damn boat would not stop rocking.
In through my nose…out through my mouth. I took measured breaths, and questioned each of my life choices that led me to this moment.
The door slid open about five minutes later. “Sorry it took me so long,” Landon said, coming around the sofa and crouching to my level. “Give me your arm.”
“What?”
“Trust me,” he said, turning those eyes on me.
“Only because I’m near death,” I teased, and thrust out my arm.
He slipped a black band onto my wrist and tightened the watch-like clasp until a small, hard disk pressed into my wrist. Then he did the same with the other. “They’re Psi bands. They should help take away the nausea.”
“Really?” I asked, looking at the little bracelets.
“Absolutely. And if you’d told Penna you were seasick, she would have told me sooner,” he chastised. “She thought you ate something bad. Guess she figured you were too much of a badass to get seasick.”
“I just didn’t realize,” I said. “We’ve been on board for weeks.”
“Yeah, well, you didn’t do the Atlantic, so this is your first ocean crossing. Don’t worry.” He stood and walked over to the bar, pulling a glass down from the cabinet. A pop and fizz later, he handed me a glass of soda. “Ginger ale,” he told me.
I sat up. “I’m not drinking anything. It’ll come right back up.”
“Well, we’ve got to get some liquid into you, and this is better than nothing. Just give it a few minutes for the Psi bands to kick in.”
“How did you know I was sick?” I asked.
“You missed class this morning, and I knew you couldn’t be that desperate to avoid me,” he said with a tiny smile.
“I’m not avoiding you. You really came to check on me?” Okay, maybe that melted me just a little.
“Yeah, it’s what boyfriends do, right?” he asked with a tiny, really stupidly sexy smirk.
“You’re not my boyfriend.”
He shrugged. “I was always taught to dress for the job I want. I figure this is no different. I’m not opposed to wearing you down by sheer force of will.”
“As I recall, you always wanted to be Batman,” I teased, the nausea in my belly easing.
His eyes lit up. “Remember that, do you? Cool toys, code names, worldwide notoriety—I think I got as close as possible.”
“And so humble.”
“It’s all worth nothing if I can’t have the only thing I need.”
“And what’s that?” I asked, my chest tight for reasons that had nothing to do with being sick.
“You.”
The way he looked at me when he said it would have knocked me to the ground if I hadn’t been sitting. There was no flirtation in his eyes, no manipulation or charm—just honesty.
The ginger ale was sweet as it slid down my throat, and I realized the nausea really had subsided. It was there, but manageable. “I think I need a shower.”
“You do have puke in your hair,” he agreed.
I rolled my eyes. “Do I leave these things on?”
“If you’d like to shower without vomiting on your toes. Want some help in there?” He drew his tongue over his lower lip.
There was the charm.
“I just spent over twelve hours puking and you’re still trying to get into my pants?” I would have laughed if I didn’t still feel so weak.
“Hey, I’ll take you however I can get you.”
I shook my head and stood, still a little wobbly on my feet, and thrust out my hand when he tried to help. “No. I’m good. I’ve got this.”
Keeping my hand on the wall for balance, I made my way to the bathroom as swells kept the boat rocking. It probably wasn’t the best weather for me to be showering in, but there was zero chance I was going to sleep this off with puke in my hair. A girl had her standards, and puke was definitely crossing the line.
I washed as quickly as possible, and even though I felt better for being clean and puke-free, I was exhausted by the time I got out of the shower.
Wrapped in a fluffy blue towel, I tiptoed down the hallway to my room, figuring Landon was still here. Sure, I’d dropped towel to prove a point when I’d first gotten here, but I wasn’t ready for a repeat performance.
A pair of fuzzy pants and a tank top later, I found Landon leaning against the wall in the hallway, holding a rolled-up paper.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Get in bed and I’ll show you.”
“Where have I heard that one before?”
He laughed, and my heart skipped. “Come on. I’ll grab the ginger ale and some saltines and meet you in there.”
My eyes narrowed.
He stuck up two fingers. “Scout’s honor. I will do nothing of a sexual nature. Nada. Zilch.”