Fifty Shades of COVID-19

Chapter 6

The boat rocks again. I'm getting dizzy. I need to slow down and deal with this situation. The seasickness and the emotional rollercoaster. Does he like me? I can't tell.

I move to the living area to sit down on the L-shaped sectional. This is just a fancier version of a bad online date. Attraction isn't everything.

º-º-º-º-º

I wet a dish towel, stringing out the excess what. My stomach's starting to settle, as well as the self-pity. Enjoy the moment. This will all disappear soon.

The side screen door opens with a squeak.

I turn my head. Christian. My reluctant host.

"Did you need something?" Christian asks, walking into the saloon. He gestures to the open cabinets.

I shake my head, as the yacht hurtles forward. I grab the countertop. Now, we're moving. How many knots does this go? I forgot how boat speed works.

"Are you sure?"

"I feel a little queasy," I admit. Not making eye contact. "Do you have any motion sickness medicine?"

"Take this," Christian says, pulling a pill packet out of a storage compartment. He unwraps the packet and hands me a pill.

"Thanks," I say, inspecting the small blue capsule.

His eyes linger on my mouth. Waiting.

I swallow the pill and stare at him, trying to send him unspoken signals. Kiss me. Let's make this trip good and forget about it.

"You will feel better soon, and the yacht's stabilizer should kick in," Christian says, turning to face the side door. He slips out. This disappearing act. It's getting annoying.

I walk toward the couch and start cleaning the brown smudge. The dirt disappears, leaving a big wet mark. It looks like I spilled an entire glass of water.

I toss two throw pillows onto the spot. It doesn't look quite right, so I add another one, knocking magazines onto the ground in the process.

Picking up the magazines, I notice an advertisement for cologne, featuring an attractive couple sailing. The image tells a story. Of a couple in love.

"I wish," I murmur, touching the page. Christian should stop avoiding me. Surely, he doesn't kiss all of his employees. Unless, that's it. "I'm his employee."

Technically, Andrea's my boss. But the optics would be bad if something were to happen and I got upset. I could take it to media. Blame him. Try to get money from him. The power dynamics are off.

"I've been so clueless," I whisper. I kissed him. Pursed him. Tested a theory. I knew Icould get fired over it, and I took the risk. But in doing so, I put him in a bad position. Maybe that's why he's avoiding me. It's too much to ask.

º-º-º-º-º

I sit in the dry corner of the partially wet couch. I should go to the living area and let this couch dry. But I wanted to hide the evidence of the smudge. An imperfection wouldn't go unnoticed. Not when everything else looks new. Hence the mountains of throw pillows.

"He won't care. Or notice," I mumble. The rippling waves bring me peace. I touch my stomach. No more pain. Good.

The side door opens. The familiar squeak.

Christian walks back in.

Breathing heavily, I feel my heart rate elevate.

He climbs up the small staircase to the lookout area. His eyebrow raises when he sees the pile of pillows.