Page 60 of One Wrong Step
“No, Vivian. Whatever you’re thinking is wrong. I don’t regret this,” he says, waving a hand between us. “I don’t regret you.” He brushes his lips over mine.
Knock. Knock.
We both stare at the door. Jonah gently touches my non-injured cheek and then stands and walks to the door. When the knocking continues, he says in a grumpy voice, “Hold on, I’m coming.”
I get up, careful not to fall, and follow him. What’s going on?
He yanks the door open, and Carl is on the other side, giving Jonah an appreciative look. “You said you were coming.”
I try to move in front of Jonah. “Hands off, Carl?—”
Jonah blocks my path with his arm. “Vivian, I’ve got this.”
I cross my arms and glare at Carl to let him know I’m watching him.
He tilts his head with a grin. “Hey, cutie. I brought you something.” He pulls his hand from around his back with a “Ta da!”
It’s rum. And not the cheap stuff. It’s my favorite.
“Stop trying to take credit. I bought the rum.” Jonah grabs the bottle out of Carl’s hand.
“It was my idea. Having it delivered was my idea,” he amends.
“Thank you, Carl.” Jonah shoos him with his hand. “Now, go away.”
“Are you sure? My shift is?—”
Jonah slams the door in his face. “God, he’s pushy.”
“Forget about him.” I grab the bottle. “Find us some Coke and ice, doll.”
“Are you sure? You seemed out of it before.”
I stride up to him. “You’re so sweet to me, Jonah.” I grin and tap his cheek a few times. “Stop it.”
He gives in and gets the rest of our supplies. The hotel has Pepsi products, not Coke, but at this point, I don’t care. I make us each a drink. “Let’s get this party started.”
Jonah looks a bit worried, but it doesn’t stop him from taking a swig of his drink.
After a couple of drinks, things turn philosophical. And by things, I mean me. This is standard Vivian Beauchesne. “I think it’s better to be heard than seen.”
“What does that mean? How are they different?”
I drain my glass and fill it again. Lifting the bottle, I raise a brow. He shakes his head and then squeezes his eyes shut. Jonah is now past tipsy and has caught up to my drunk-as-fuck stage.
“Shit,” he says with a laugh. “I’m so gone.”
It would be easy to ignore his question. But the answer seems important somehow. “If I’m talking and you hear me, that’s intentional on my part. Within my control.”
“Um…okay.”
My thoughts tumble around, refusing to cooperate with my brain. I take a deep breath to slow them down.
“Being seen means you get me. You can see past the—” I stop as the word catches in my throat. But the alcohol makes it easier to push through. “Past the pretty face to the person underneath. The beautiful parts…there are some. And the ugly parts.” There are too many of those. “Being heard is standing up for what you believe in. Being seen is…” Am I really doing this? Less than a week ago, this man was my sworn enemy. Now, I’m giving him the keys to the car so he can run me over.
“Being vulnerable.” Jonah stares at me, drunken wonder in his voice. His head drops. “Is it worse if no one tries to see you? They assume that what they can see is all there is.” He wraps his arms around himself. “I do more than lift things.”
“You make a good bodyguard.” I touch his arm, wanting to erase the sadness on his face. “But you’re also more than that.”
