Page 4 of Baby for the Bratva

But what now? Should I really stay on this ship when he knows everything about me?

My only saving grace is the fact that Tyler doesn’t make enough money to jump onto a plane and fly to the nearest island to wait for me. He works at a bar and his tips barely get him through the month because he goes out to eat every single day.

It bothered me then, but now I realize it was a blessing in disguise.

Saved by my ex’s brokeness. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so damn sad.

I turn my phone off and put it back in my purse. Even if Tyler wanted to call me back, he wouldn’t be able to. I heard enough from him to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that leaving him was the right thing to do.

It’s time to find my room and wash off all the ick that’s clinging to my body from that relationship. I’m going to turn the water up so hot that I burn away every memory of his fingers on my skin.

Torch it down and start anew. That’s the best way to do it.

But first I have to find my room.

With a new sense of purpose, I roll my suitcase into the main shopping area, not allowing myself to get distracted by the flashing lights and glittering souvenir trinkets for sale. I have enough keychains already. My mom teases me that I won’t be able to lift my car keys if I get any more.

She’s probably right. Fewer keychains and more booze this time around. That’s the only way I’m going to get through this with my sanity intact.

A flash of red draws my attention upward, and I see an electric sign directing new passengers to their rooms hanging in the center of the lobby.

The pixelated words roll across the screen like an advertisement.

ABC, left.

DEF, right.

I was on the wrong side of the boat, which is easy to correct. I wait for more instructions from the sign, but it just repeats itself, so I grab my suitcase and roll my way to another red carpeted hallway. It’s identical to the last one, but the rooms have different letters.

I keep going until I get to the B’s, and then I take the nearest elevator up to the sixth floor. That’s where my room will be.

I smell coconut and spices as the bronze-colored doors to the elevator roll shut. Could be a coincidence. There are probably thousands of people on this boat, but how many of them would smell just like Mr. Handsome from the boarding line?

I inhale deeply, closing my eyes and taking in the wonderful smell. It must be something expensive. I’ve never smelled anything like it before. It’s strong but not obnoxious, sweet but not in your face about it. The spices are exotic and unrecognizable, like they were invented just for this cologne.

If nothing else, I have to ask him what he’s wearing. It would be a good icebreaker if I ran into him again.

The elevator arrives on my floor with a loud chime, and the doors roll open. The hallway is the same again, which feels like a horrible idea because people are guaranteed to get lost here after happy hour.

The smell of Mr. Handsome’s cologne grows stronger with every step, like he’s walking right beside me.

I slow down, nervous that I’m going to run into him. My heart is working double-time, but I’m walking at a snail’s pace. The sweat is back, too. I thought I was going to take a shower just to relax and unwind, but now I’m in desperate need of one to feel clean again.

I freeze when I get to my door.

B675. This is the one, but something isn’t right. Is this really my room? It almost looks like the light is on under the door, but the carpet makes it difficult to tell.

I crouch down, jumping back up a moment later when I hear a sound from down the hallway. Nobody comes around the corner, and the sound fades away after a moment.

I sigh, pulling out my keycard and holding it against the handle. If it doesn’t unlock, then I’ll know I’m in the wrong place. Is it possible that there are two different rooms labeled B675?

The handle shows a green light, and I hear a click. This is the right room.

I laugh at myself a little. I’m so on-edge since the breakup that I’m imagining all kinds of nightmare scenarios. My subconscious craves drama so badly that it’s conjuring up anything and everything to prevent me from relaxing and forgetting about what happened between Tyler and me.

I pull the door handle, and the smell of cologne becomes even stronger. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was walking right into Mr. Handsome’s room.

How odd…

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