chapter sixteen #2
“What are you doing?” she asks, giving me a quizzical look.
I give her one back. “Watching TV.”
“You’re not going to the magic show?”
“Nope. That doesn’t interest me either.”
Riles chews her lip, and I once again internally praise my distraction skills.
“Well,” she adds, a little flustered. “What are your plans for dinner then?”
“Room service.”
“Oh.” She combs her fingers through her hair and twists it. “I was going to have that too.”
I cross my legs at the ankles. “Good.”
Turning in a circle, she then snatches up the in-room menu and retakes her seat beside me. “Good.”
Not “good,” sweetheart. Great!
We order a Mexican feast and watch a movie, and Riles eventually falls asleep at the opposite end of the sofa.
I consider carrying her to her bed, but I don’t want to overstep and freak her out if she were to wake up in my arms. She’s already accused me of drugging my niece beyond just giving her milk, so I don’t want to risk her thinking I’ve somehow roofied her.
I’d like to believe she wouldn’t go there, but… who knows with Riles.
Pacing before her, deliberating my best course of action, I stop and grip my hair.
I could just wake her up—she has no problems waking me most mornings—or I could just leave her to sleep where she is.
It looks comfortable enough, and when she awakens and finds I haven’t touched her, perhaps she’ll trust I’m not a one-night-stand type of creep.
I collect her bedding, then gently ease her head from the arm of the sofa, her body a dead but featherlight weight.
Her eyelids flutter, so I pause and hold my breath, her soft cheek resting against my palm.
Riles’s lashes aren’t spidey like Brittany’s, so I assume they’re not fake and won’t fall off into my hand, which is a relief.
Body parts shouldn’t easily detach, and if any of Riles’s happen to snap free, I’d probably squeal like a piglet.
Barely exhaling, I carefully slide the pillow beneath her head before covering her with a blanket and stepping back, pleased with my stealth-like efforts. Thanks to Poppy, I’m experienced in this do-not-disturb artform. I’ve performed it many nights with astounding success.
I quietly rub my hands together, then head toward my bed when I remember Riles needs the AirPods.
Fuck! How the hell am I going to manage this?
I grip my hair again and scan her bedside table for the white case, finding it next to her cell.
Double fuck! She needs the app too.
Putting Poppy to bed is a shit-ton easier than this, and I suddenly regret ever whining about the process. I’ll take a six-year-old firecracker over an emotionally fragile and scarred woman any day. Cranky Poppy, I can handle. Cranky Riles, not so much.
Tiptoeing to her bed, I collect the AirPods and cell, and then I use her fingertip to activate the screen and gain access to the app.
Heaven help me if she were to wake up at this precise moment—me hovering above her, trying to break into her phone.
She’d no doubt forcefully eject me from the room to deck three… or call security to detain my ass.
Jesus Christ! I should just sleep in the bathtub.
I draw in a breath, tap on the white nose sound she listened to last, and then take an AirPod out and slowly guide it toward her ear, my hand trembling worse than a SWAT team member about to diffuse a bomb.
Memories of playing Operation with Roni when we were younger flick to the forefront of my mind, and that only fries my nerves more.
I sucked at that game. Touched the sides every time.
Gently puffing out my breath, I steady my wrist, carefully inch closer, and close one eye when I slot the AirPod into her ear.
Riles shrieks, her hand whipping up and cracking me in the nose.
“Fuck!” I groan, stumbling back.
“What the hell, Riley?” She scrambles to sit up, her wide eyes bouncing from me to various parts of the room as she secures her blanket to her chest. “What are you doing?”
“I was trying to put your AirPod in,” I mumble into my cupped hands.
“What?” She touches her ear. “Why?”
“Because you fell asleep. And because I didn’t want to move you. Jesus! I should’ve just whacked you with a pillow instead.”
She giggles. Fucking giggles.
“Are you okay?” she asks, raising her knees and hugging them to her chest, her bottom lip clamped between her teeth.
Blinking a few times, I wiggle my nose. “I was a minute ago.”
“Sorry,” she says, continuing to giggle.
“Yeah, so am I.”
“Do you need to see the nurse?” she quips.
“No.”
Slowly rising to her feet, she reduces the space between us. “I’m sorry, but that,” she says, pointing to my face, “was your fault.”
“Mine? I was trying to do the right thing.”
She tenderly touches the bridge of my nose, trailing her fingers to the tip before honking it. “You’ll live.”
“Ow! For fuck’s sa—”
“Stop whining.” She pats my cheek for good measure, and I have the mind to haul her cheeky ass over my shoulder and throw her onto her bed.
I almost do, right before she places her hands on my shoulders and says, “Thank you for trying not to wake me. But next time, maybe just give me a gentle shake.”
“A gentle shake?” I ask, bemused.
“Yes. I live alone now, remember? I’m not used to someone poking something in my ear while I sleep.”
Good point.
“Noted,” I grumble.
She bites her lip, face scrunched. “Do you need me to get you some ice?”
“No. Like you said, I’ll live.”
“Good. Because I couldn’t handle another person I care about dying.” She turns back to the sofa, collects her bedding, and climbs into bed, pulling the covers over her shoulder.
My mouth falls open.
“Turn off the light,” she adds.
Ignoring her, I instead stand there and grin. “You care about me?”
She groans. “Yes, Riley.”
“What do you mean by care exactly?”
“Light!” she grumbles.
I do as I’m told, switching it off before lowering onto the edge of my bed, waiting for her answer, nothing but darkness and the distant sound of waves lapping the ship.
The cabin softly shudders as the stabilizers work to reduce the opposing motion of the swell, my mind shuddering along with it.
When Riles still doesn’t answer, I climb under the covers and try to settle myself, uncomfortably twisting and turning.
“What?” she grumbles again.
“Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”
Her bed creaks as she rolls over or sits up. I’m not quite sure; I can’t see shit.
I sit up too, blinking as I lean forward.
“Riley?”
“Yes?” I blurt.
“Thank you for today. It meant a lot.”
“No sweat.”
She inhales, long and deep, before exhaling again. “And yes, I care about you. Perhaps more than I should.”
A fuzzy excitement warms and tremors my chest in unison with the quaking cabin, my heart’s own stabilizers kicking in. “I care about you too,” I say, thrilled as fuck to also reveal how I feel. “Perhaps more than I should.”
Desperate to go to her and press my lips against hers, to show her exactly how much I care, the deafening silence instead chains me to my bed.
“Riley?”
“Yeah?” I blurt again.
“Goodnight.”
Smiling, I lay back and thread my hands beneath my head. “Night.”