Page 21 of Until Hanna

“Sorry about this.”

“Why?” I curl into his side when he wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer.

“Have you not been downstairs for the last three hours?” He tips his head down to me, and I meet his gaze.

“We're on a yacht in paradise. There are worse ways to spend a day.”

“This isn’t a yacht, baby.”

Ignoring how my belly warms every time he calls me baby, I shake my head. “There are bedrooms and a kitchen. It’s a yacht, honey.”

“We’ll just have to agree to disagree until I can show you what a yachtreallyis.”

He won’t be doing that, but I’m not going to remind him.

“Oh my God, it’s so big!” I hear one of the women downstairs cry out in glee, and my nose scrunches.

“I hope they aren’t talking about what I think they’re talking about.”

“Who the fuck knows.” He lets out a breath, and I rest the side of my head on his chest as the boat moves through the water, not fast but at a decent speed.

“Hopefully he’s being safe if it is.” I peek up at him through my lashes. “Are those the girls you guys hung out with the night before we did?”

“No, and I wasn’t hanging out with anyone. I was waiting for you to call.”

“Liar.” I roll my eyes.

“I never lie. I’d rather hurt someone’s feelings with honesty than lie to them. The night before you called, I hung out with Otto and Ham by the pool, and when shit started to get out of hand, I went to bed. I’m too fucking old for that bullshit and what’s happening downstairs right now.”

“What about Ham?” I ask, because he hasn’t seemed the slightest bit interested in any of the women, even with all of them making it obvious he could have one or all of them.

“He’s got a brother he takes care of back home who lost all ability to do it himself because some idiot got behind the wheel of a car when they were wasted. He doesn’t want something like that on Otto’s conscience, so he tends to hover.”

“Does Otto know that?” I ask quietly. I hope not, because that says a whole lot of not-nice things about Otto if he does.

“Ham doesn’t talk about it, so I doubt it.”

“He should tell him.”

“I’ve said the same, but it’s his story to tell, not mine.”

“I guess.” I rest the side of my head against his chest and close my eyes.

“You leave tomorrow,” he says quietly, smoothing his fingers up and down my hip, and darn if I don’t feel a weight land in the center of my chest. “We need to talk about what happens after that.”

“Walker—”

“I want to see you again.”

“I…”I want that too, I think but don’t say, because admitting that to him is opening myself up to getting hurt. “I don’t know if I can offer you that right now,” I murmur quietly. “And the truth is, I don’t trust my judgment, and even though I really like you, I—”

“What happened?” he cuts me off. “Why did you decide you needed to take a break from dating for a year?”

“Besides the fact that I have the worst taste in men?”

“Besides that,” he agrees, and there’s no missing the anger and frustration that’s filled his tone since starting this conversation.

“I was seeing a guy for a few months. He was a pilot for another airline, and I thought things were pretty serious. He insisted we be exclusive and talked to my mom and dad, and he was planning on going home with me to meet them.” I rub my lips together. “Then, we were out to dinner one night, and his wife showed up at the restaurant we were at.” His arm around me tightens. “I had no idea he was married or that he had kids.”

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