38. Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Seven

The drive to our date is quiet. I don't ask questions or pay attention to where we're going. I'm sure Sev has it handled, and I'm only doing this because I have to—nothing more. After a while, my eyes fall closed, and I drift in and out of sleep.

When the car stops, I open my eyes, surprised when I find us in a dark and mostly empty parking lot. I swear it was light out the last time I had my eyes open. I sit up straighter to take a better look around. The light posts glow a faint yellow that's dimmed by a thin fog.

"How long were we driving for?" I ask as I pull out my phone to check the time.

"About an hour," he answers gruffly.

I roll my eyes. Of course he'd drive us an hour away for a date that means shit. He always has to be so extra. My phone has a few email notifications, but that's it. No emergency calls or excuses to leave. Sad part is I don't even have anyone to use for an excuse. Everyone is too far away, and Sev knows it. I get out and shove my phone into my pocket.

The first thing I notice when I'm out of the car is the smell of water and earth. I close the door and listen carefully, hearing what I swear is water. "Where are we?" I ask.

"Hanson River."

"What the fuck are we doing here?"

We meet at the front of the truck, and he takes my hand, leading me away. I don't pull my hand back. I blame it on being tired, but I think I like it.

"Going on a date."

"Doing what? Are we going skinny dipping?"

"Do you want to?" he asks with a smirk.

"No," I snap.

"Then no. But if you want to see me naked, you totally can." He winks at me, and I shake my head. After walking a short distance, we pass a building that gives way to see the docks that are lit up more brightly. A ton of boats, big and small, are docked.

"You going to pull some Dexter shit?" I ask.

"If I were, you'd be strapped to a table. Though, I wouldn't kill you. I'd be doing much better things. Like choking on your cock."

"Why does everything with you have to be so sexual?"

"Because you're hot as fuck and make my dick happy. Is it a problem?"

"Everything with you is a problem," I mutter.

"Bullshit."

I don't admit he's right.

We reach the docks, my hand still firmly in his. We walk past a few boats, and turn down one of the wooden walkways, stopping at a sporty yacht in shiny charcoal.

"This is not yours," I say, pulling my hand from his in shock.

He frowns, looking at me. "Why would you say that?"

"How do you have a fucking yacht?" I gesture toward it.

"Same way I have a house, a cabin, a truck, a shit ton of guns, a beautiful piano, a—"

"That's not what I mean." I shake my head.

"Then what do you mean?"

"Just… nothing."

I'm not even sure I know what I mean. Of course he can own a yacht. It's just another thing that he would do.

He steps onto the boat and offers his hand to help me. I don't need help getting on, but I take his hand anyway. It rocks slightly with our added weight, and he quickly goes inside the cockpit. I stay on the back deck, staring in awe. He starts the boat, the lights come on, and I can see the boat much better. Under the hardtop is seating on one side, a TV on the other. Beyond that is the cockpit, where Sev is. The walls are glass, so you can see through. Beside the cockpit door is a narrow set of steps leading down.

"Come on. I'll give you the tour before we go," he says, squeezing through the small door frame.

He carefully makes his way down the narrow steps. He barely fits and has to duck so he doesn't hit his head. I'm able to fit down easier, but also have to duck.

"This is the kitchen." He gestures around and I take in the shiny wood and silver appliances. There's a small sink, an electric stove top, fridge, and the skinniest dishwasher I've ever seen. There's hardly room for us to both stand in here. Sev walks through the kitchen, down a few more steps, and I follow after him. We end up in a bedroom.

A queen-sized bed is in the center of the room, a TV mounted on the wall across from it, and a few cabinets and drawers.

"Bathroom is here," he says, pointing to a small door. "It's a tight squeeze in there."

"Whole place seems like a tight squeeze." I glance at the top of his head that's less than two inches from the ceiling.

"Didn't want to overdo it and get a bigger one," he says sheepishly.

"Oh yeah. Cause this isn't overdoing it at all."

I can't imagine the cost of this thing. Any boat isn't cheap, never mind one like this.

"Don't be jelly," he says, moving to me and putting both hands on my hips. "It'll be yours too, one day."

"You are delusional."

He steps closer, eyes on my mouth. "You make me crazy." He bites his bottom lip, his gaze darting up to mine. Something flutters in my chest, and I get this insane urge to kiss him.

But I don't. I can't. I'm not giving in to him again.

"I think you were crazy already," I say, stepping out of his grip. "So what are we doing? Just going to float here?"

Sev grins. "No way. I'm taking you out for a joy ride. Going to cook you dinner in my too-small kitchen. Then we're going to watch a movie on the deck."

Why does this all sound so perfect?

Because it is.

"And if I get seasick?"

"I'll take care of you, baby. Don't worry."

I roll my eyes and move up the steps until I'm back on deck. The fresh air feels good. Sev unties the ropes holding the boat to the dock, causing it to sway more. I've never been on a yacht before. The only boats I've ever been on are the water taxis in Chicago.

"Sit back and relax," Sev says, heading into the cockpit and sitting in the chair behind the wheel. I look around, trying to decide where I want to sit. There is a couch that could fit three, and a few smaller armchairs. I decide to sprawl out on the couch. "You can put the TV on, if you want!" he calls out once he pulls off.

I look around, wondering how I'm supposed to do that.

"Remote is in the drawer beneath the TV," he says.

I glance at him but find him staring ahead and not at me. It's also when I notice how dark it is, and really hope he knows how to properly drive this thing, or we're going to crash and drown. Exactly what I wanted to do tonight.

When I get up to grab the remote, I peek around for life vests but see none.

Great. I always wanted to go out reenacting the Titanic. I pull open the drawer by holding a button and tugging on it. I suppose that's there so they don't slide open when the boat is moving. Smart. There are two remotes inside, and I grab them both, not sure which I'll need. I take my seat on the couch and get the TV on. When I see Titanic as an option, I quickly pass by it. I settle on Speed. Keanu Reeves is an amazing actor, and I haven't seen this in a long time.

About twenty or so minutes pass before Sev slows the boat until stopping it completely. We rock in place, the waves and ripples of the water splashing against it, which I find eerily calming. It's quiet out here, nothing but the low sound of the TV over the lulling water. It's nice. Relaxing. If I turned the TV off, we'd be in pure darkness.

"Dinner will take about an hour. You can stay up here if you want."

Sev goes down the stairs, and a moment later, clanking sounds. I focus my attention back on the movie. Which doesn't last for long because I can't stop thinking about Sev.

And I fucking hate it. He's making me food again, and I really love that he does that.

With a growl, I put the volume up to drown out the sounds of him cooking.

He is cooking me dinner. Something so many take for granted or do out of habit. But for someone like me, who gets food from a diner every day and orders food for every other meal because he loathes cooking, it means something. I don't have anyone in my life to cook me meals, outside of the people I pay to do so. Of course I prefer home-cooked food—who wouldn't? But it isn't worth it to me to take the time and make my own. Plus, I really suck at it. So as simple as this may be for some, as simple as it is for him, it's so much more to me. And honestly, I don't think he realizes that about me.

He knows a lot. There are things he sees that he shouldn't. But I also know there are a lot of things about me he doesn't see. Things I keep locked away tight that even I ignore. So yeah, there's no way he knows how much cooking for me means. I definitely hid it when he made me breakfast—which was delicious, by the way. Way better than the greasy diner food I eat every morning. I refused to gush over how good the meal was, which is exactly what I plan to do today.

Keep my feelings to myself.

Don't let anyone get close.

Simple.

Only it isn't. Because I find myself getting to my feet and heading down the stairs, wondering what he's doing.

Maybe just wanting to be near him.

I sit on the steps with hardly enough room to move my arms with how tight it is, but there isn't anywhere else to go where I won't be in the way. There is no table or chairs in the kitchen, just a small space that Sev takes up.

"Miss me?" he quips when he spots me.

"Don't let it get to your head."

"That wasn't a no."

"It wasn't a yes."

He smirks and goes to the fridge to pull out a few bags of fresh vegetables.

"What are you making?"

"That's a question you never ask the chef."

"Why the hell not?"

"It's rude."

"I think you're making that up."

His response is to chuckle, which only makes me believe that he did in fact make it up.

Sev gets into what he's doing, chopping the vegetables precisely. Boiling water. Cutting up chicken. He moves so gracefully, with such precision as if he's done this a million times. He's so comfortable in the kitchen. Other than being a giant and looking out of place, that is. He's slightly hunched over the counter as he works, and I can't imagine that being comfortable. Some things must really suck being that tall.

When he's done preparing everything, he gets more pots and pans on the stove. He makes rice, cooks the veggies and the chicken. Everything smells so fucking good. In another pan, he starts making a sauce that smells even better. Sweet but kind of tangy.

"There are plates in the cabinet behind me. Want to grab them, some wine glasses, and silverware in the drawer beneath? We can eat up on the deck."

I get up without a word, squeezing by him to grab everything he asked. I try my hardest not to touch him, but find myself placing my hand on his hip as I move by. An innocent gesture, which isn't so innocent when my hand tingles. I make quick work of getting everything he asked for and head up the steps to set it all up on the small table in front of the couch. I want to go back downstairs to keep watching him, but feel like I'm being overbearing, so I stay where I am and wait for him to come up. He's carrying a big pot when he does.

"Can you grab this?" he gestures to something under his arm. I pull it out and put down the colorful woven trivet on the table to which he puts the pot on top.

"You could've asked for help."

"I just did." He heads back to the stairs without another word.

"Where are you going?" I call after him. "Do you need help?"

"Sit down and relax, Justin!" He sounds annoyed. See, I knew I was being overbearing. This is why I keep to myself.

With a groan, I sit on the couch and stare at the place settings, noticing I set them up side by side. I stare for a long time, trying to figure out why the hell I did that, when he comes back up with a serving spoon, bottle of wine, and wine opener. He puts the spoon down and works on opening the bottle.

"I looked for candles but couldn't find any."

I huff out a laugh, knowing he's completely serious.

"It's not necessary."

"Too much?" he asks, twisting the opener to get the cork off.

"Not too much," I say softly, looking down at the food. "You've done a lot already."

"This is nothing," he says, gesturing to the table with a jerk of his chin. He gets the cork off and pours us each a glass. "I can do more when I have a full kitchen."

"I'm sure it'll be great."

He takes a seat beside me, and when I don't move, he grabs the spoon and removes the lid from the pot.

"Wow, this smells fucking amazing," I say. He picks up my plate and scoops food onto it. "What is it?" He pauses with the spoon hovering over the plate, raising a brow at me.

"Chicken stir fry," he says carefully.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

He shakes his head, adding another scoop to my plate before setting it down in front of me.

"Just thought it was a common dish."

"I can't remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal. Other than breakfast, that is." I pick up my fork. "Which is usually cereal." I huff out a laugh.

He just nods and serves himself, then gestures to the TV once his plate is full. "What are we watching?"

I chuckle when I see it's the end of the movie. "Whatever you want. This is basically done."

He grabs the remote and scrolls for a few seconds before settling on The Fifth Element.

"Sci-fi fan?" I ask.

"Yes. You?"

I shake my head and stab a piece of chicken. "Don't act like you don't already know."

He smirks, and I take my first bite.

Holy shit. This is delicious. There's no way he made something so flavorful. I take another bite. Wow, he really did. The chicken is juicy, the veggies perfectly cooked with a slight crunch, and the rice is fluffy without being mushy or hard.

"This is incredible."

Sev laughs. "This is nothing, I assure you."

"Where did you learn to cook?"

He shrugs. "Just picked up skills here and there. Mostly from traveling."

"You've been to many places?"

"All over. You?"

"You already kn—"

"For the sake of my pride, could you pretend, for just tonight, that I'm not obsessed with you?" The sharpness in his tone is something I've never heard from him before. It stings, honestly. I hurt his feelings, I think. Shit.

"Yeah, sure. Sorry." I take another bite, chew and swallow past the lump in my throat, before saying, "No. I've never left the country."

I grab my wine and take a mouthful. We don't say anything for a while, and I feel the tension. I fucked this up. No surprise there. I finally try to be nice to the guy, and this is what I get. It's the exact reason I don't do the people thing. I never seem to say the right thing. Don't have enough of a personality to keep people wanting to talk to me, and when I do talk, I offend someone because they don't get me.

I honestly thought things would be different with Sev, because I say whatever the hell I want and the guy keeps coming around. But obviously that was all bullshit because he's already annoyed with me and we haven't even been here long. Though, I guess that doesn't really matter because I'm only here as a deal. Once this is done, he'll get rid of Remi and that'll be that. So I should stop caring how I'm making him feel, and stop acting like this meal is more than just food.

"Should we discuss what I need done?" I finally say, needing to cut the tension with something. I figure this is a safe topic.

"Sure," he says, eyes focused on the TV. He sounds distracted. Maybe it's the movie and the food. Or maybe it's because I suck, and I can't even keep someone who's obsessed with me happy.

How fucking pathetic is that?

"Someone hired me to take out Remington Bellanca. Good amount of money. I can still pay you, if you want me to. This isn't really fair."

"I thought we were discussing what you need done? We've already made a deal for payment." He's still being snappy. I must've really pissed him off. Great.

How much longer until we get back to land?

"Right. Sorry." I take another bite, still amazed at how good this food tastes. It's amazing. "There aren't really any requirements, just that he's dead and it's done soon."

"How soon?" he asks.

"Like within the next few days. Is that feasible?"

"Entirely."

Sev finishes his plate of food first and takes a second portion. "There's plenty if you want more," he says.

I do take more when I'm done. It's so good I could eat the entire pan, but when I'm finished with my second plate, I'm full and don't want to risk overeating on a boat. We finish the bottle of wine. Sev gets up to clear the table, and I do the same to help.

"You can stay here. I got this."

"I'd like to help," I say.

We grab everything and bring it downstairs. The kitchen is already clean, which is impressive. I was expecting the whole thing to be turned upside down. He puts the leftover food in a container that goes in the fridge, washes the pan, and the dishes. The wine bottle goes into a small recycling bin. When he's done, he dries his hands and turns to go back up the steps.

"Did I do something wrong?" I ask.

Well, that must be the wine talking. Why the hell do I care?

His head falls forward, and he turns to look at me. "No. I'm sorry if I'm being weird."

"You're always weird," I add.

He shakes his head. "It's just work shit. I have a job that's past its due date and can't seem to get it done."

"Why not?"

He watches me for a long moment, before carefully saying, "Unexpected interferences."

Okay, he doesn't want to talk about it. Fine. That's totally fine. I don't need to get to know him anyway. In fact, the less I know, the better. He goes up the stairs and I follow. We finish watching the movie, and when it's done, we head back. I'm wide awake the entire drive back to town, unable to shake whatever feeling is coursing through me. I can't put a name to it, but I don't like it. Once I get home, I drop into bed, fall asleep, and forget all about it.