11. Diego

Eleven - Diego

We ate dinner in uncomfortable silence. I had no idea how I let things get so carried away with Roni. That's not me. I'm a pillar of self-control and boundaries. Not to mention, getting involved with Roni was just asking for trouble for a number of reasons. She was hot headed, too competitive, rebellious, and had way too much baggage in the form of family issues. I couldn't fault her for who her parents were, but I'd had a front-row seat into the fiasco that was her family. They could use hours of family therapy and still not be sorted.

No, nothing good would come from sleeping with Roni, and the captain's knock on the door was the best thing to happen today, even if my dick painfully disagreed. Roni was mostly agreeable today, likely because of everything that had happened—it scared the defiance out of her. I had no doubt that it wouldn't take long before that well was replenished and she was verbally lashing away at me again, just like she used to.

It was clear that she felt the same about the close call. She sat across from me and wouldn't make eye contact with me. Instead, she closely examined her food, the captain, and our surroundings. Speaking of food, we ate what tasted like canned vegetables and a rotisserie chicken the captain picked up before we boarded. He seemed awfully interested in Roni, or at least why she was wearing a beanie inside. If he recognized her, he didn't mention it.

Roni excused herself shortly after dinner, and the captain invited me to have a drink in the wheelhouse. I'd rather have gone back to the room with Roni, but I didn't want to anger the man. I wanted to remain under the radar. He didn't bother checking our IDs when we boarded, so if he felt comfortable with us, he was less likely to snoop into our business.

"That's a pretty lady you've got with you," he said as I entered the wheelhouse. He poured what smelled like a rich bourbon from a crystal decanter.

"I do, thank you." I braced for him to mention that he knew who she was. If he did, I was going to have to knock him out and we'd have to bail. I'd have to plan another way to get up to Alaska.

"Have you been together for long?" he pressed.

I nodded. "A little while now." It was best not to be specific as to not get trapped in a lie.

He paused to take a sip from his glass, and I did the same.

"What business do you have in Alaska?" he asked.

"Family business. She's afraid of flying, and driving takes far longer than we'd wish."

He nodded and left it at that.

"Well, she may end up hating travel by boat as well. We're expecting a storm tonight. Best to lie low in your room. If you spend the night in the throes of passion, you'll barely notice the choppy water." He had the nerve to wink at me like we were buddies.

I just nodded. I'd always been one to have a polite response to most conversations, but I couldn't find an appropriate answer for him. Not one that wouldn't get us thrown overboard. It was blatantly obvious by his body language and the direction of the conversation that I'd need to keep Roni by my side on this ship. She wouldn't be safe alone with the captain.

We sipped the bourbon in silence as I watched the ocean through the wheelhouse windows, and he quietly kept us on course. When the waves picked up, I made an excuse about needing to check on Roni before I headed back to our room with the rest of my glass of bourbon.

I opened the door and was greeted by the sound of snoring. Roni laid in the center of the bed, sprawled out like a starfish with one arm folded over her forehead. Drool pooled in the corner of her mouth, and the covers were half kicked off of her. Her t-shirt was barely long enough to keep her decent and keep me from getting another boner.

How on earth did I believe that taking this job was going to be a good idea? Things were much too complicated. We had history. If Wells' and Christine's story told me anything, being stuck in close quarters with someone from your past could really heighten any normal emotions you might feel for them.

I'd noticed the way Roni's eyes would sometimes linger, but I chalked it up to her being lost in thought. But then when she came out of the bathroom before dinner, everything changed. The heat of her eyes was much too hot for me to ignore or talk myself out of. It was undeniable—even if she couldn't speak the words.

Did I want her?

No.

The girl was trouble. But damn if she didn't challenge me past and present, and it seemed to wake up something in me that felt dormant for far too long. She didn't look through me like everyone else. To her, I wasn't the nice guy with the good head on his shoulders and undying loyalty—like a golden retriever. I was the bad guy, a villain in her story.

I wasn't sure why I challenged Roni earlier. I'd fully expected she was going to push me away when I approached her. I wanted her to draw that hard line in the sand, so that way we knew our limits and could operate within them. I needed the rejection to put a lid on the chemistry I felt at surprise moments, but she did the exact opposite: she kissed me back. It felt like we were a ticking time-bomb or a pending storm. Both might leave us in a mess of our own destruction if we weren't careful. Yet it was a thrill to experience the storm that was Roni Hanes.

I kissed the president's daughter…

He was going to fucking kill me if he found out. Maybe pushing Roni to do that had been a stupid move. Now I was left with several decisions to make, the first being, where the fuck do I sleep? Because there was no way to walk back that kiss without upsetting her and no way we'd be able to share that bed without finishing what we started. Without having the opportunity to speak to her about where she stood, that wasn't a chance I could take. I needed to carefully tread water for a while.

The room we shared was small, and there wasn't much floor space. I was likely to hit my head or Roni would trip over me in the middle of the night. It was decided. I settled into the slightly padded armchair in the corner and slouched as much as I could to get comfortable, using my oversized bag as a footrest. The boat was quiet—the only sounds I heard were the waves smacking the side of the boat, the quiet hum of the motor, and Roni's soft snores.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and did my best to relax. There was a deep, nagging feeling in the pit of my gut that there was something off. I didn't know if it was mission paranoia, or if there really was something about our situation that was not to be trusted. I was used to having my friends with me and depending on their support and their watchful eyes. I might as well be on my own, because Roni lacked my training.

One thing was for sure: there's no way to ignore this gut feeling, and Roni and I needed to be careful. What happened back in the White House was probably just the tip of the iceberg. Roni's life was in my hands, and despite everything that festered between us, I refused to fail.