Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Just as I turn the page to start a new chapter, a loud thud outside the room breaks my concentration.
Jorn’s boisterous laughter cuts through the quiet ship, followed by another thud, and I roll my eyes.
The noise from the mess continued on late into the night, then gradually died down as I sat awake, reading.
This might be the end of it, which can mean only one thing.
Weston is on his way back, and by the sounds out in the hallway, he either lost the game miserably, or he took heavily to the bottle.
Probably to make himself forget his mistake.
I stare hard at my page, but can’t focus on the words. He’s going to walk through the door any second, and I’m suddenly regretting being awake when he does. Although, the sheer amount of noise would have prevented me from sleeping even if I hadn’t been reading.
I set my jaw and stare down at the page, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach, knowing I have to face him after everything that happened today.
The door slams into the wall as Weston stumbles to the ground, cursing under his breath. My spine straightens as I crane my neck, trying to see if he’s alright, only to find him on the floor, on his hands and knees.
Laughing.
He shushes himself, then grabs hold of the doorjamb, trying to get to his feet again.
He must be beyond drunk.
My mood softens slightly, unable to be too mad or hurt when he’s laughing at himself. Closing the book, I set it on the bed and watch as he rights his body, leaning his shoulder against the frame, until he looks up, his eyes falling on me.
“Shit,” he mumbles under his breath. “I woke you.”
“Being asleep would be a requirement for you to wake me. Everyone was doing a pretty good job of making sure that didn’t happen.”
“I’m sorry, princess,” he slurs, glancing away.
He straightens and tries to step forward before swaying on his feet. He looks like he’s about to fall flat on his face before he reaches out and grabs hold of the doorway again.
I stifle a laugh. Avoiding him is impossible, so I might as well get it over with.
I slide out of bed, feeling more exposed in Weston’s shirt tonight than I ever have before.
My bare feet pad across the wooden floor, and I watch as his gaze trails up my legs, stopping where the hem falls on my bare thighs.
I doubt he even realizes he’s staring, and I can’t keep the heat from my face as his eyes darken the closer I get.
I’ve never dealt with anyone this drunk before, let alone someone of his size. Brynne has told me stories of having to manage off duty guards in the same state, but hearing a story isn’t the same as trying to catch this large man if he falls.
“Come on, let’s get you in bed,” I say.
He shakes his head violently, squeezing his eyes shut and wobbling slightly.
“No. You’re hurt. I would hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you.” He winces, then dares to look at me again.
“I’m not hurt anymore,” I say, lifting my arm and moving it around. “See?” He watches me move without an ounce of pain, until his eyes fall to my thighs again, and I realize the flapping and waving only caused the shirt to hike higher up, exposing more skin.
“You were hurt. Bad,” he mumbles, his voice so low I almost didn’t hear him.
“I was, but I’m not anymore. Sig took care of me.”
“It should have been me,” he says, his words still slurring together.
“You weren’t the one who jumped out of the lookout. It never would have been you,” I say.
He heaves a sigh and shakes his head again. I wonder if he always feels he has to take the burden off everyone else. What made him feel so responsible?
“Alright, come on,” I say, taking the last step toward him and reaching out to lift his arm. He jerks it away and turns his head in the opposite direction.
“No. I’ll sleep in the tub,” he says, and takes a step forward, before tumbling to his knees. I dart out in front of him, grabbing his shoulders and pushing them back to keep him from toppling over and slamming his face into the ground.
He falls forward, his hands wrapping around my waist, his fingers digging into my sides. I feel the flex of his fingers, before his hands fist in the fabric, and I realize the mistake I made, putting us in the same position we were in hours ago.
Except this time, he’s on his knees.
And completely intoxicated.
He looks anywhere but my face, and I gulp down the lump forming in my throat. He won’t kiss me again, not if he regretted it immediately last time.
“You’re not sleeping in the tub,” I say, my voice breathier than it should be. “Because if something happens, I can’t lift you out of it.”
“Jorn would help, just get Jorn,” he says, his eyes still averted.
A laugh escapes me. “If you’re any indicator, I don’t think Jorn will be useful for anything tonight.”
“Sig then.”
I roll my eyes and groan. “Ugh, will you just do as you’re told?”
A grin breaks out across his face, and he giggles like a little boy at some unknown joke. His chin lifts, and his eyes are full of laughter as they meet mine.
“Yes, princess,” he grumbles, and a shiver runs up my spine.
Just get him into bed, Lennox.
Stepping to his side, I lift an arm so it is draped across my shoulders, and he pushes up to stand, wavering slightly once he’s back on his feet.
We take a step together, and I stagger under his weight.
There’s no way I’ll be able to fully support him.
He’s more than double my size and towers over me, not to mention how heavy his limbs are because of the drink.
We shuffle and stumble together across the room, just barely past the desk, when he clears his throat.
“I shouldn’t have done that, princess. It won’t happen again.”
The low rumble in his chest would normally make my stomach flutter as I feel it where I’m pressed into his side, but the words filled with sincerity cause it to sink instead.
Even as I read, trying to drown my own thoughts away with someone else’s words, I couldn’t stop from replaying his kiss in my mind.
The way he held me, the way he pulled me in tighter, his fingers twining in my hair, the scrape of his beard on my skin.
When I kissed Dane, it was thrilling, exciting, and new.
I enjoyed kissing him, and I wanted more.
But kissing Weston felt like I was on fire, and he was consuming me with every stroke of his tongue and press of his fingers. Every shared breath took mine away, and nothing else existed. Not the ship, not the crew, not the island, not even the immense pain I’d been suffering through all day.
I thought he felt it too, but I was right.
It was a mistake.
It’s obvious now that every time we were close, there was something holding him back.
But in that moment, he lost control. I could see the desire in his eyes, even now when he’s too impaired to try to hide it, but desire wasn’t enough to overcome whatever is holding him back after the unusual friendship we’ve developed.
I wasn’t enough.
The last thing I want is for him to see any hurt in my eyes, to know that my fingers started tingling and my chest tightened the moment he said it will never happen again. I need him to think it meant just as little to me as it did to him.
A temporary lapse in judgment.
The result of being too close to someone for too long.
The result of sleeping in the same bed.
Just pent up tension and frustration that needed a release, and now we can move past it.
I must have stayed quiet for too long because he speaks again before I can think of what to say.
“I’ll get in trouble,” he mutters under his breath.
“In trouble?” I scoff. “By who? You’re in charge around here.”
He giggles softly, his shoulders shaking, and I can’t help the smile that breaks across my face.
“I can think of a few people. You being one of them.”
“It’s alright, Captain. Chalk it up to a stressful day,” I say, hoping to brush over the conversation and just focus on getting him safely across the room.
“So it’s back to Captain?” He looks down at me, his eyes glassy and his face unreadable. “You called me Weston.”
Calling him Weston was a slip of the tongue, mostly out of anger, and trying to get him to see the situation from my perspective. It wasn’t intentional, but I can’t say that it didn’t feel good once I did, especially the moment I saw him realize it.
He leans into me, his weight pushing down on my shoulders as he brings his face closer to mine, his breath tickling my ear.
“I liked it.”
My stomach drops again, but this time not in the bad way. I need more space between us, especially if his inhibitions are this low, and he can’t control what comes out of his mouth.
“I shouldn’t have done that. It won’t happen again,” I say, repeating his exact words back to him. I stare down at our feet and quickly add, “I was mad at you.”
The last thing I need is him reading more into it, especially since I’m trying to convince him that the kiss was nothing. I don’t want him to think I liked it, just like he liked when I said his name.
A grin breaks out across his face and his eyes sparkle. “You’re always mad at me, princess.”
“I am not always mad at you. I can’t help it if you’re an asshole a majority of the time.”
He giggles again. “Only you think I’m an asshole.”
“Hm, I wonder why that is?”
He nods exaggeratedly. “Point taken.” He staggers again, falling onto me, and I struggle to push him upright.
His arm has fallen down over my chest, and dangles as we walk.
The pressure of his body leaning on mine pulls my shirt in all different directions, and I realize I probably should have put on pants before we did this.
“You are very drunk. Maybe I can handle drunk Captain.”
“Don’t get used to it, princess. It doesn’t happen often.” His smile softens for a second before he looks down at his feet.
So, it only happens when you have to wash away the mistake you made hours before.