Page 5 of Voyage with the Reclusive Billionaire

It’s dumb, I know, to automatically assume that it’s because he’s avoiding me. Dumb to even think I take up that much of a place in his mind after a single day. But he invited me to drinks. No. He invited me to the bar, a public space that he knew would be crowded so I’d feel safe, to make sure I was okay after getting a faceful of cruise ship. And then he left last night, promptly after realizing I might be buzzed, but was not concussed.

I should be grateful. I know that. Corey stuck to his word—he made sure I was okay. That’s all.

But I guess after last night I was hoping we’d be friendly, at least. Even just for the duration of the cruise. Because, at breakfast, as I glanced around and pretended to just be admiring the pale blues and creamy whites that adorned the dining hall while searching for any sign of the tall, tanned, dark-haired man I’d quickly warmed to, I realized that everyone in there had someone with them but me. A group of friends, an elderly couple, a honeymooning couple. A family, even. Everywhere I looked, there were at least two at a table.

For everyone but me, anyway.

So maybe that’s where Corey had been. Maybe he was still in his room, with whoever he was here with. Maybe he wasn’t alone like I was. It was stupid, actually, to assume for even a moment that a man that looks like him, as kind as he was–even when he was being a bit assholey–would be here alone.

I tug on my brand new hiking boots with a frown. Great. I’d been looking forward to the idea of scenic hikes when I first booked this cruise.

Now I knew all I was going to be looking at was Corey and his lucky guest. No gorgeous waterfall and flower-covered valley could ever compare to the source of my envy, anyway. Hell, Corey looked like he could belong somewhere as beautiful as where we were going.

I try to shake him out of my thoughts. I’m here to put distance between me and my ex-fiance. I’m not here to try to wrangle up another one.

Though I really, really wouldn’t mind a little rebounding with Corey…

I’m not even sure it would be rebounding. I'm not sure I even need that kind of recovery after Adam. It's not that I wasn’t broken hearted at first. And not that I don’t miss him when I climb into bed alone—but I don’t know if it’s him that I miss or having someone at my side. I loved Adam, really, but I think a part of me always sort of understood that what we had wasn’t…. it wasn’t the true, passionate kind of love that books and movies promise you. It was the kind I had grown content with, but maybe not satisfied.

I wouldn’t mind if Corey satisfied me.

The second I think it, I flush and cover my face. What is wrong with me? Who gets out of a serious relationship one week and starts thinking about climbing into bed with another guy the next?

I’m the worst. I’m an awful human being and I deserve to be here alone.

I make sure I have everything I need, then double check, then tuck the keycard to my room and my cruise ticket in the zip-up pocket on the jacket I’m wearing before stepping out and heading to the deck. There’s still about ten minutes until we dock, but I want to at least get used to the weight of my shoes before charging into a three-hour long hike.

I’m not the only one waiting outside, either. When I make it to the dock, it looks like a majority of the ship is there. Some people look over the edge with their arms braced on the railing. Others look like they’re actively avoiding the edge of the ship, and I can’t help but wonder why they thought a cruise would be a good idea.

A woman with long brown hair curled into the side of a tall, jet-black haired man stands away from the rest of the crowd, content to stare off into the vast ocean with just each other for company. It makes me think of Adam—not because we used to be like that, but because we weren't. And that thought makes me wonder if maybe I should have been looking for that sort of love all along, rather than settling for someone who was safe.

I find myself somewhere in the middle, my eyes annoyingly searching the throng of people, hoping to catch sight of a familiar pair of near-black eyes. I tell myself that I’m just hoping to thank him and ignore the much more factual truth—I want to see him again. I want to see who he’s with just as much as I so badly want it to not be a girlfriend. Or worse, a wife. I don’t remember seeing a ring on his finger, but I also hadn’t been looking for one, either.

I’m just about to give up when I finally catch sight of jet black, wavy hair, and then him leaning against the railing on the fair side of the deck. But he’s not looking out at the ocean, or the approaching mass of land.

He’s looking at me.

Or at least, he was, until I made eye contact. And then he stiffened and turned his back to me, eyes now on the vivid blue water.

I cannot explain why this pisses me off so badly. I can also not explain why, after spending my whole life being someone who literally runs from confrontation, the very first thing I do when Corey spins away from me is glare and head right for him.

I squeeze my way through the throng of people and slot myself in the small space between him and some gray-haired woman clinging to her husband before I can even think about it. And, in the same vein, the words “Little bitch,” have left my mouth before whatever filter I usually possess can keep me from letting them out.

Corey’s jaw sets, but he doesn’t turn to look at me. He says, “Fair enough.”

I’m still glaring at him, even if he refuses to look at me. After a long, silent moment where he continues to avoid further acknowledging my existence, I scoff and go to turn away.

A warm hand catches my wrist just before it’s out of reach. Corey tugs me back toward him, gently enough to let me know it’s a question, not an order.

I hesitate for a moment, even if I already know what choice I’m going to make. To stay, or to walk away. If I wasn’t desperate, I’d walk away. I wouldn’t even have come over here in the first place.

But… I don’t want to be alone. And Corey, no matter how abruptly he left last night, and how big of a dick he was to turn away from me just now, is company.

“I’m sorry, alright?”

Carefully, I turn back toward the ocean. He releases my wrist only when both of my hands are resting gently on the railing. “You know, I wouldn’t even have been able to prove you’d been avoiding me all morning if you hadn’t turned away like that.”

“I’m surprised you wanted to see me again, anyway,” he answers, voice stiff. “Since you didn’t seem to even want to agree to meeting me at the bar yesterday.”

---