Page 30 of Yard Sale

“Checked,” he said. “My brother’s coming to pick me up, so it was easier that way.” There was tension in his voice again, but I wasn’t about to ask.

I was probably the last person in the world he was going to vent to, and honestly, I was the last person in the world who wanted to know more about him.

“So, uh…I’m going to go get a pretzel. You want one?”

His brows lifted. “Oh. Hmm…”

“If you say nutrition plan to me, I’m going to throw you off the boat,” I warned him.

He did a little laugh-cough and shook his head. “Yeah, fine. The one with jalapenos.”

“Whoa there, House Hippo. Are you sure?”

He looked stunned. “How do you know about the House Hippo.”

“My dad’s a hockey player,” I reminded him. “He played for Ontario until I was five.”

He blinked rapidly, then shook his head. “Come up with a better insult. It doesn’t have to be cute. Just not that.”

“Okay, Montreal Bagel. Be right back. There’s Tums at the medicine counter if you need them, by the way.”

“Fuck off!”

I grinned as I hurried away, and I did everything in my power to ignore the sensation now spreading rapidly through my veins.

CHAPTER 8

TIAGO

What was I doing?

What was I thinking?

Dealing with my family was going to be stressful enough, so why was I sitting in Aravind Gupta’s fucking private cabin on this ferry? It was one thing to let him guide me inside because the stress and the sun really had fucked my vision to hell and back.

But this?

I had lost my mind. Not a week ago I was thinking about all the ways I was going to rip him a new asshole for the shit he wrote about me, and now I was letting him buy me a pretzel?

I needed to get out of here.

I contemplated standing up. Now that my eyes had adjusted from being out in the sun, I could make out most of the nook we were sitting in. There wasn’t much more than the couch-bench thing I was sitting on, a little table in the corner, and the window, which was letting in all the natural light.

I could navigate to the curtain and maybe sneak past Aravind and hide…well. Fuck knew where. The rest of the ferry was so dimly lit I’d barely been able to follow a path to the deck where I nearly killed myself from heat exhaustion.

It was annoying that Aravind was right about my own dipshittery. I should have brought water. And sunblock.

And it had taken so much out of me that the thought of leaving the cushioned seat I was on was hell. Maybe I could play nice for a little bit. I had a few hours left before my dad or Thierry was going to meet me at the ferry station, so maybe I could take some peace where it was being offered.

Aravind might have been a dick in his article, but he wasn’t being so bad right now. And I appreciated that he wasn’t awkward about my sight. He wasn’t treating me like I was made of glass.

And hell, maybe it was performative. Maybe he was trying to show off just how cool he was with everything. I’d dealt with those people too—usually who were trying to get into my pants.

Which I very much doubted was Aravind.

Somehow though, I didn’t think he’d be able to hide it if he was pretending. He didn’t seem to have a great poker face.

“You look like you need to shit.”