Page 192 of Wallflower

“You can just leave them by the door, I’ll grab them!” I call out, emerging from the blankets, and swinging my legs to the side of the bed. The sudden movement makes my head spin. I feel sick, nauseous, sad, all at once, and it's overwhelming.

“We aren’t allowed to do that, it’s unhygienic.”

For fuck’s sake.

Huffing my hair out of my face, I get to my feet. Trying to rein in my annoyance as I fix the tie on the fuzzy hotel bathrobe.

A large glass of white wine sits on the side table, almost completely drained. Clearly the reason for my impromptu nap, fucked up nightmare, and blooming headache. Still, I can’t shake the feeling ofmorethat clings to my skin, despite the effort I extinguish trying to shake it off.

As I cross the room, I peek my sister through the crack in the door. She’s leaned over the sink, brushing the mascara through her long lashes with a precision I envy.

Of course there’s a part of me that’s overjoyed she’s here, alive and breathing. The other side of me is missing its counterpart that my subconscious dreamed up.

Pausing before the stateroom door, I hesitate to open it. What if it wasn’t a dream, but a warning? Some sort of divine intervention presenting the future to me on a silver platter. Notifying me of the danger Chelsea and I will face if we engage any further with the hot cruise workers.

They are undoubtedly real.

Does that mean Rip is too?

Or is my lizard brain trying to conjure up a reason for me to not abandon my life on the mainland and join another cruise liner for work?

Shaking my head, I swipe all thoughts of that fuck-ass alternate reality away.

Unlatching the chain lock at the top of the door, I slowly twist the knob. It swings open, and without a doubt, I know the person before me doesn’t work for the cruise company.

He’s got a fat lip. The bruise around his eye and cheek already discolouring his perfect skin.

Ripley holds no towels in his hands, just my still-beating heart. A smile graces those soft lips, pulling at the wound, splitting it open. His hair hangs around his face in the hottest way, the same thought I remember having in a life that didn’t exist.

We’re locked in a stare-off that feels like an eternity as every moment from that dream overwhelms me. I feel him moving inside me like a ghost, hear his moans of pleasure, his harrowing wail of loss, echoing down to my shaking bones. An erotic mournful melody I couldn’t escape if I tried.

Rip’s voice comes, deep and gravelly, “There you are, I’ve been looking for you.”

I’m overwhelmed, unbelievably so. But he’s real. My finger’s itch to touch him, feel his thundering heartbeat beneath my palm. I remember the stillness of his body before I put an end to that other reality. However, who I was in that place bubbles up from a darkened corner of my soul, bringing with it the unrelenting need to fuck with him. Because I will literally never get another opportunity like this.

I twist my features. “Do I know you?”

The air around us stalls as he becomes a rigid statue. A myriad of emotions flit through his honeyed chocolate eyes, shining beautifully in the warm lighting.

Ripley’s foot breaches the threshold without a word, the Carnotaurus tattoo I know is inked into his calf advancing on me step for step as I back away.

The heavy door closes on its own behind him as he floods the room by simply occupying it.

My facade threatens to crack as his face falls for a flicker.

“You don’t remember me?” he chokes, and it shreds the fibres of my lie away one by one.

“No, should I?” The back of my legs hit the mattress, pausing my movements and trapping me between Ripley and the bed.

“Yes,” he snarls. It’s vicious and arousal slicks me up. I know that sound, and how it vibrates against the most intimate part of me.

“Umm, okay…” I scramble, trying to keep composure as more flashbacks flood my mind. “Are you su?—”

“You’re lying.”

“What?” I squeak, faking offence. “Am no?—”

“Just stop,” he rumbles, “it’s pathetic.”