“Yeah.” Wes looked hopeful and, somewhere inside, there was a distant sense of her heart softening.
Can’t happen. You can’t let that happen.
“All right, here’s my rather pathetic résumé.” She’d gone rigid, as cold as self-preservation needed to be. “High school? Dated normally, if not frequently. College? Met the supposed man of my dreams and lost my virginity to him, thinking he’d be my life. After college? Engaged to the guy. For six years. And when I finally realized he didn’t actually want to get married, I did the bravest thing I could and broke it off. I realized how, over the years, I’d stopped loving him somewhere along the way. Actually, my family ended up more devastated than I was, and that hurt me more than any breakup. I didn’t like what I’d brought down on them.” She cleared her throat of the emotional debris. “And now? Dating normally again, making up for all the time I wasted.”
It was the first time she’d gone into such detail with him, and he looked as if she’d pressed a just-extinguished match to his skin. It didn’t burn so much as leave an ash mark that shocked more than hurt.
Gradually, he regained composure, back to the confident player he presented to the world. Problem was, Erin knew there was more to him than that.
“You’ve already found ‘the one,’” Madame Karma had said.
No. God, no, she wasn’t ready, didn’t want to know that he could be affected by her and her by him.
“Why don’t you just come out with it?” he finally said. “Tell me that I’m the type of guy who isn’t good for anything more than a few weeks of…fun.”
When she didn’t answer, his shoulders lost their arrogant line. His gaze lost some of its confident shimmer, too.
The change bent her heart into a shape that didn’t belong in her chest; the warp of it made clear to her what she really wanted to feel for Wes-if she could just allow herself to do it.
But she wouldn’t. It’d destroy her right now. So she brought back the angry girl who’d been left in the dust by a man who never did value her.
Her body language shouted defensiveness, and Wes clearly didn’t have any trouble comprehending. Without a word, he left Erin standing there, the breeze whispering something that sounded like “curse” in her ears.
She tried to tell herself it didn’t matter, that this jinx was actually a good thing.
Because, maybe, just maybe, this curse was fate’s way of protecting her from making yet another huge mistake.
8
WES DIDN’T KNOW HOW MANY hours he stayed away from the cabin. Two? Three? It didn’t matter.
All he knew was that every time he found himself stopping to take stock of what’d just happened with Erin, realization crystallized his brain.
The ocean, he kept thinking, staring out at the black depths. It was his life. And he was this damned ship, floating and drifting even when it was anchored.
Erin might as well have told him that he was just an object to her-a plaything that existed only to amuse. And, truth be told, the old Wes would’ve been more than happy to oblige. But, just this once, he’d allowed himself to think he could be meaningful, and it’d backfired in his face.
So why try with her again? Why not just go back to what he was comfortable with? Life had been good to him this far, so why was he pining for something else that could turn out to hurt him much more in the long run?
Forget Erin, he told himself, abandoning his most recent spot by the deck railing. Forget your damned crusade to matter to her.
He finally went inside, making his way to the ninth-deck casino. Going back to the cabin would only be an exercise in futility, and who the hell needed more “curses,” character assassination and cock-blocking?
As he entered the gaming area, complete with slot machines and blackjack tables, he told himself he was happy to be back to normal.
Whatever normal was these days…
He watched all the silk-and-satin people laughing at a roulette table, women in pearls hanging over men with loosened ties and slicked-back hair. Music from the disco next door pounded through the area-something hard, something that was bound to make females writhe on the dance floor with sinuous invitation. Maybe he should go over there.
But when he spied three women near the roulette wheel giving him the eye, Wes hesitated. Two brunettes and one blonde.
Blonde. Short, sassy hair, just like Erin’s style…
Wes turned away from them. Deciding to get a drink, he ambled to the bar and ordered a whiskey straight up. While he waited for it to arrive, he surveyed the lively room some more, avoiding the trio of lustful temptation because he didn’t want to be reminded of what awaited him back in the cabin.
Or what didn’t await him.
Ding-ding-ding, went the machines. Hooray, went the people at one blackjack table as a dealer busted.
All the sounds and sights melded into a gray blur. Even his whiskey, when it was served, tasted dull.
Where had his capacity for pleasure gone? And why couldn’t he stop himself from wanting to just go back to his room to be near her?
Down the bar a few seats, Wes became aware of a pickup in progress. As he absently sipped his drink, he saw that an older man was lounging on a stool, ice rattling in his cocktail glass as he talked to two women who had to be in their twenties. The girls were glamorous in that way women were when they looked at a fashion magazine and dressed the way it told them to for a night on the town: big hair, glitter on their smooth skin, skimpy halter dresses with short skirts. The man, though, was a different story: pewter hair, bourbon-heavy gaze, his collar opened enough to show a tanned, gray-hair-sprinkled chest.
Wes negligently listened in on the conversation, having nothing better to do.
“…was in Hawaii on a layover when I met two women, just as pretty as you, in the hotel bar,” the man said. “The big island is full of beautiful girls. Is that where you’re both from?” His voice was slightly slurred, but friendly.
One of the girls, a redhead, who looked like the ringleader, answered. “We’re from Chula Vista, near San Diego,” she said, tone halfway to disinterested.
But the guy wasn’t gauging that. He also wasn’t catching the glance the women shared as he continued his story. It was a glance that predicted their escape from the barfly, a glance that made Wes feel sorry for the older man. Wes wanted to tell him to turn back to his drink and stop making a play for this prey; he was embarrassed for him.
“Yeah,” he said, “I was a pilot for years. Traveled a lot of places…”
The girls nodded, trading another loaded look.
Ready to go? What do you think? How’re we going to get away from him?
“Oh!” the redhead interrupted, looking toward the casino’s exit. “I see Debbie!” She turned to the man. “Our friend’s outside waiting for us.”
The pilot stopped talking, finally getting it.
“It was nice talking to you,” said the quieter girl.
“Yes, nice meeting you,” said the redhead as she linked arms with her friend on the way out. “Have fun tonight.”
The older man didn’t even have time to respond before the duo darted away. As they left, they giggled to each other, loudly enough for the pilot to hear.
Mortified now, Wes waited a few moments, scanning the room again and pretending to be so absorbed in the activity that he hadn’t heard the exchange next to him. When he finally chanced a look at the pilot, the older man snagged his gaze.
Wes’s world seemed to web into cracks. In the pieces, he saw himself in the other guy-Wes Ryan in twenty-five years, wrung out, an object of scorn for all the single girls he’d still be trying to hit on.
Slowly, the pilot turned toward the bar, hunching over his drink.