Not What You Seem

by Lena Maye

  Ella

  I tip the bottle of vodka and fill three shot glasses. It isn’t like we came down to the galley to drink, exactly. We came down to munch on some chips and cupcakes around the little table that’s built into one of the walls. And then we happened to need something to drink with it. After opening a few drawers, we happened upon three shot glasses. And then a liquor cabinet and an almost full bottle of vodka.

  That isn’t so full now.

  Jean laughs and throws her shot back. “Fuck,” she hisses afterward.

  Renee giggles and bounces in her seat. She’s moved into cute-drunk. A Renee I’ve seen only a handful of times before.

  She wiggles a finger at Jean. “You drop the f-bomb like every third word.”

  “Do not,” Jean snaps. Then she grins and takes the bottle from me to fill us up again. “Okay, maybe. What can I say? It’s a good word.” She raises an eyebrow at Renee. “Maybe you should use it more.”

  Renee’s mouth falls open a little. “Why me? It’s not like Ella cusses.”

  “First.” She holds up one finger as if giving a lecture. “You said ‘f-bomb’ instead of stating the actual fucking word. Like we’re in mixed company or something.”

  Renee cute-giggles again, and Jean turns to look at me. Jean’s got this way of looking at someone with full attention. As if she’s evaluating everything. At first it made me uncomfortable, but then I realized she looks at everyone like that.

  “Second.” She holds up a second finger. “I think it’s a word Ella’s probably either used or heard a fair amount of times.”

  “Why do you say that?” I look down at the rings of vodka on the table. Pouring mishaps that have increased over the last hour.

  “I don’t know,” Jean says, her voice softening. “You flinch a lot. Like you’re scared something’s going to happen. Always looking for something to go wrong. I guess it’s a feeling I’m somewhat familiar with.”

  “Always flinch,” I repeat a bit distantly.

  Jean flips her black hair over her shoulder. It’s almost the same color as mine, but long and straight instead of a mass of tight curls.

  “Didn’t mean to bring up bad shit.” She picks up her shot. “How about let’s not talk about it and just have another fucking round.”

  “Ella’s mother’s in prison,” Renee offers brightly. Then slaps her hand over her mouth. “Oh, Ella, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Jean nods, apparently not surprised at all. “Well, there goes not talking about it.” We all drink, and Jean fills my glass again, but Renee pushes hers away, mumbling another apology.

  “It’s fine,” I tell her. “It just a fact. Like we’re on a boat right now. Or we need another shot.” I probably should push mine away too, but the vodka is so smooth. And it’s been a long time since my head’s been this light. And it feels like I’m moving, listing to the side. Or maybe that’s the boat.

  After another drink, Jean scrunches her nose. “Fuck, we need to switch to something else.” She sets her glass down. “I’m sorry about your mother. It’s a fucked-up world that some of us get.”

  I nod and take a chip from the bowl in front of us. “How was yours fucked up?”

  Oh, I can’t believe I asked that question. Who asks a question like that? I lift my shot glass and give it a scowl.

  But Jean just shrugs and leans over the table.

  “I had this thing with guys for a while,” she says.

  “Oh.” I don’t quite know what to say to that.

  She shakes her head. “Not a sex thing. An anger thing. It fucked with me for a while. For a long time. Until Kepler.” A wide smile spreads across her face.

  “You two are good together,” Renee says.

  “Yes, we are. But it wasn’t always that simple. We had to figure each other out.” Jean leans toward me. “Like you and Dean are good together.”

  “That’s because Dean’s a spork,” Renee says with a face so serious we both burst out laughing.

  Three shots later, Renee seems to be sobering and has mostly explained her silverware theory. We’re all laughing so loud that I’m surprised the guys don’t come down to see what’s happened—especially as Jean launches into ideas of what Kepler could be.

  “A cheese grater!” she blurts. Then she pauses. “Wait, that’s probably me. Kepler’s a garlic press or something. An oven mitt? Fuck, I don’t even know. I’m going to have to think about this.” She glances toward the hatch, and I get the idea that she misses him. She parted from him easily, but I’ve noticed it from the second I met them—like being together lets them refuel. Or maybe just puts both of them at peace.

  Like Dean. How he does something like that for me—pulling me from past into present. A normal girl who laughs and jokes and maybe even kisses. If he, you know, wants to.

  Would Dean want to kiss me?

  I stand, perhaps a little inelegantly. Maybe I’ve had more than I thought. Jean and Renee look at me expectantly.

  “I’m going to ask Dean if he wants to kiss me,” I announce, and then I march for the stairs.

  30

  Dean

  Holy shit, Ella’s drunk. Or at least decidedly tipsy.

  She stops in front of me—so close that I set a hand on her hip, mostly to keep her balanced and so we don’t tumble if the boat should move—and she looks up. “I came up to ask you something.”

  Those laughing eyes appraise me. The sun’s mostly set, so I’ve turned on the string lights that decorate the boat. I’m not sure if it’s the lights or the liquor, but Ella’s practically glowing. And she runs her teeth over her bottom lip, staring up at me.

  And, again, I should have worn jeans. Although I never sail in jeans, so I never think about it.

  Behind her, Kepler picks up his girlfriend, kisses her, and then sets her back down. He rests his forearms on her shoulders. She looks a little wobbly too. As does Renee.

  A grin stretches across my face at the sight of them. “I’m guessing you’re not going to ask where the liquor cabinet is.”

  She pushes out her bottom lip. The one she just bit so seductively. “We just happened across it. And I don’t even know how much we—”

  “Ella.” My fingers grip her hip as the boat floats slightly starboard. “I’m teasing. You can have as much as you want.”

  “As much as I want? Oh, you’re my hero.” She laughs and leans back, making me catch her. I pull her against me and suck in a strained breath.

  “I want, I want, I want!” She sings it, laughing through the words. But her voice is beautiful. As stunning as she is. The little hummed tunes I’m always listening for are nothing compared to those offhandedly sung words. It also didn’t hurt that she called me her hero. And now I want to hear both of those things again, but Renee’s phone starts playing some Ke$ha song and Jean calls Ella over.

  Ella glances over her shoulder at them and back at me, and it’s pretty obvious she wants to go. So I nod toward them, but she sticks out that bottom lip again.

  “I want to ask you a question,” she says.

  “Then ask it.”

  She blinks up at me. “I don’t think I can ask it right now. If I do, things might get awkward. Depending on your answer.”

  “Well, then what do you want my answer to be?”

  Her smile falls for a moment, like she’s not entirely sure. Which perplexes me—how can she not know?

  She tiptoes and leans closer to my ear. “I want your answer to be yes,” she whispers.

  “Then that’s my answer.” My voice sinks lower like we’re sharing a secret. And maybe we are.

  She leans back. “Seriously?” Her eyes narrow on me. A challenge. “You’ll agree. Just like that. Without even hearing what I’m going to ask first?”

  “Well, now it’s less like a question and more like a dare, so…” I pretend to think about it. “My answer’s still yes.”

  She shakes her head at me. “You’re too trusting.” Then she turns and darts away, grabbi
ng Jean’s hand as Renee turns up the song.

  And now there’s drunk-girl dancing. Except with Dev in the middle, of course. Right on the deck, under the warm string lights that cast deep shadows. The music from Renee’s phone is fuzzy because it’s turned up so loud. Ella shakes her hips and dances hand-in-hand with Jean. And when Jean says something in her ear, Ella throws her head back and laughs.

  Sebastian crosses to me. He’s got a bottle of something that he takes a swig of and hands it to me. “They brought this up.” His voice is still gruff, but that’s not why I shake my head at the bottle.

  “I shouldn’t. Just in case.” I gesture up toward the masts.

  “I got it.” Sebastian presses the bottle into my hand. “Not saying you should get shit-faced. But look at her.”

  I’m not sure if he’s talking about Ella or the Heroine. Maybe both. Regardless, I’m not interested in taking my eyes off either. Maybe this is Sebastian’s way of apologizing. And maybe I should too because it’s clear he really likes this woman. I have to admit, it never occurred to me that he thought differently about the Heroine.

  Maybe I’m being a dick too.

  I take a drink from the bottle. “Thanks, man.”

  He slaps me on the back. Another drink later, and my shoulders release a little. One more, and I’m moving across the deck as a Katy Perry song comes on Renee’s phone. Ella’s eyes light up when she looks at me, and she grabs my shirt, pulling me to her. I go pretty damn willingly.

  Okay, so I might have drunk more than I’d intended. Not hugely, but enough that I stumble when Ella’s head falls hard against my chest.

  I have to give it to her—she’s been fighting sleep for the last hour, and it’s a losing battle at this point. But she refuses to give in, like she can’t give up this night.

  But now, even though we’re standing, her face is pressed against my chest, and I’m pretty sure she’s drooling.

  I smooth my hands over her shoulders and down her arms. “Ella?”

  She mumbles something into my chest.

  Kepler chuckles lightly, and it surprises me because I’ve hardly heard him laugh this whole time.

  “I think she’s done,” he says.

  Her cheek presses against my chest. “Nnnuuumph…”

  I lean down closer to her. “What did you say?”

  She tips her head back, obviously trying to focus. “I’m not done.”

  “Sure you aren’t. Come on, you can sleep it off.” I start toward the hatch, but she pulls on my shirt.

  “I want to dance and look at the stars. I’m going to get a second wind. I always get a second wind.” Her voice clears a little as she blinks. I’m not really sure where she’s falling on the drunk-to-tired scale right now. Honestly, she seems a bit more tired than drunk, but either way, it’s time for her to call it a night. I’m not trying to be the chauvinist asshole, but she’s just going to fall asleep again. Better for her to do it laying down than standing up.

  I nod to Sebastian. “Give Renee the third cabin.”

  “Already set up,” he says.

  I take Ella’s hand and pull her toward the hatch, stopping to grab a bottle of water for her from the cooler. She stumbles behind me, so I help her down the ladder and through the narrow door at the end. She flops on my bed, surprisingly still sitting up.

  “It’s dark in here,” she announces.

  “Yes, I know.” I lean over her to click on the bedside light attached to my headboard and then stand back, taking a moment to enjoy the fact that she’s in my bed again. I hand her the water. “Take a few drinks.”

  She nods and drinks half the bottle before handing it back.

  “Are we going to dance in here?” she asks.

  I laugh. “Probably not a good idea.”

  She flops back onto the bed, spreading her arms out on either side of her. “Green bedsheets,” she mutters, and I laugh again.

  “And you’ve somehow managed to find your way into them. Again.”

  “I know,” she says, trying to shove off her shoe with the opposite foot. “But I’m dressed this time, and I don’t like it.” After a few attempts, she sighs and shakes her head. I kneel and untie her laces, sliding off her shoes. Which vaguely reminds me of the first time I took them off—when my hands were shaking so hard I couldn’t undo the laces. I’m just pulling off the second when I hear a zipper.

  Oh, fuck. She’s wiggling out of her jeans, her hips swaying from side to side, but she gets them caught at the top of her thighs.

  I… um… have no clue what to do. Do I help her peel them down?

  She’s drunk. And I’m looking at her wiggle on my bed. Her thighs open slightly. A soft triangle of blue fabric over her—

  Fuck. Don’t look. I stare at the far edge of the bed. The first time, I was freezing cold and shivering so hard that I hardly even thought about undressing her. This time, things are… different.

  She squirms. “Dean, help me.”

  I’m not sure whether that’s music to my ears or my cue to run. But I can’t leave her here with her jeans halfway down, so I tug on the bottoms, trying not to look at the way she spreads her legs an inch so they can slide off. The jeans release from her thighs, and I pull them off, fold them, and set them on a chair.

  When I turn back to her, I clear my throat. Yep, much different than last time.

  “Question,” she says, her soft voice so damn musical. Somehow she pulls herself up to sitting. She tugs up on her sweater, and then that’s off too, and she’s just in her tank top and matching light-blue panties.

  “Yeah.” I rub my hand over my face, trying not to look directly at her. Which is difficult. Because she’s the only thing in the whole damn room that I really want to look at.

  “Sit with me,” she says, scooting over a few inches. “I have a question, and I can’t ask it while you’re looming over me.”

  “I, um…” I glance at the door. “I should let you sleep.”

  “Dean.” She reaches out and grabs my shirt, tugging me down. I take a breath and sit next to her. I should stay with her until she falls asleep anyway. Otherwise, she’ll probably wander topside in only her underwear and tank top.

  She scoots over next to me, so close that her body heats my arm. She bites her lip, looking up at me. I really, really should have taken a few more drinks from that bottle because it would have slowed down my thoughts, and right now, they are zinging around my head so fast I can’t keep up.

  Then, before I fully register what’s happened, she slides a leg over my lap and grips my shoulder to pull herself on top of me.

  She’s straddling me, her weight pressing against me. She has to feel how freaking hard she’s making me.

  Drunk, Dean. She’s drunk. Warning sirens blare in my head.

  I keep my palms flat on the mattress. “Ella?”

  “Umm hmm.” She leans forward, her breasts pressing against my chest, and places a soft, open-mouthed kiss on the edge of my jaw. And then another right next to it.

  I let out a groan before I can stop myself, and that seems to encourage her because one of those soft open-mouthed kisses turns into a playful nibble that must be connected to every cell in my body because every one of my muscles tightens.

  “Ella.” I catch her hips with my hands, and she shifts a little. Holy fuck. My vision goes stark white as I try to hold on to whatever logic I have left.

  I want her. So damn desperately. I’m hard as fuck, and she’s slowly rocking on top of me. She nibbles down my jaw to my chin, and the only thing I can fully concentrate on is kissing her. In my tipsy state, I’m suddenly thinking that would be a good idea.

  Kissing her, I mean. Just once. Just to break the ice that seems to be hanging between us. If I can kiss her once, then maybe I can kiss her again in the morning. When we’re both sober. Is that a good idea?

  She must be eight steps ahead of me because her hips shift as she leans up, and then she’s kissing me. Soft at first. A savoring, slow exploration. She tas
tes like vodka, and her tongue slides against mine. She lets out a small moan, and her thighs squeeze me. My hands automatically go to her waist, pulling her roughly against me. And the world explodes. I deepen our kiss, shifting that slow exploration into something more dangerous. Her nipples press hard into my chest, and our bodies are locked against each other. Her hands slide up my neck and dig into my hair, and she moans as I slowly tug and release on her hips, grinding her against me. The most elegant, heated kind of trust that I could ever ask for.

  I want to be inside her.

  My blood burns with the need as the thought takes over, barreling over any of the remaining logic I have left. I want to be inside her so fucking desperately. My hands slip up under her tank top, eager to find her warm flesh, like that trust I want from her is tucked into the softness of her skin.

  No, I need to find my self-control. She’s drunk.

  Maybe.

  But she was drunk, and I’m not really sure where she is anymore. I don’t want to take the chance of messing anything up. Because that’s trust too. Stopping this before it goes any further.

  I break our kiss, and she says my name. Moans my name. It might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard, and it’s followed by a bite on my lower lip that elicits a deep groan from me. She’s impossible to resist.

  But as I lean away from her, I’m noticing everything. Her lips are red and a bit swollen from our kiss, and her gaze is so hot it might burn me. But her eyelids flutter. She’s tired—I don’t have any doubt that she’s turned on, but she’s fighting to stay awake and coherent.

  “You’re tired,” I say.

  She starts to say something, and then she nods. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be, baby.” Damn, did I just call her a pet name? I wait for a reaction, but she just smiles tiredly. “I’ll let you sleep.”

  “No.” She grips my shoulders. “Stay with me, Dean. Please.”

  Now there’s a request I can’t resist. I scoot backward, pulling her with me. When I get us farther on the bed, I lay down, and she curls up next to me, one long, bare leg over the top of me, her head on my shoulder. Her hair tickles my jaw, and I pull her closer.