Only every single one of his an embarrassing number of times.
She nodded but said nothing.
"Okay, you're much cooler about this than people usually are."
Well if by cool he meant utterly petrified into drinking almost an entire rum punch and praying for a giant shark to leap out of the ocean and onto the cruise ship's top deck to eat her in one bite, yeah, she was totally that.
"So, I'm trying not to let folks know who I am." He gestured toward his blond hair. "Dyed my hair, got these glasses, and ditched my normal wardrobe. However, it turns out I need some help making sure everyone knows me as Carter from Iowa."
And this was it, this was when she admitted that she knew who he was and had maybe sorta definitely blown his cover on Instagram. She'd explain that she was sorry and felt like total shit about it. Some of the tension in her shoulders lessened and she relaxed enough to power through the rum punch, which was mostly gone already.
Decision made, she opened her mouth and she fucked it up. Again.
"Why?" she asked.
"It's a long story, but let's just say that someone loves telling the world about me."
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
He was talking about her. Well, about her Insta page. The whole thing had started as a joke, a silly bit of stress relief. She'd never meant for it to have blown up like it had. All of the followers had just sort of happened, and well, he'd seemed so far away, so unreal, so unknowable, that the fact that her super fan page might impact him never even crossed her mind.
He was The Admiral for the love of all things superpowered.
That was then. Now? He was pretty damn real sitting across from her looking like she was the only person between success and failure.
Aubrey's gut clenched and she set her drink down on the little table between their deck chairs. She was such a bitch—also, she had to get downstairs and stand in the line that probably wrapped around the piano bar to sign up for internet so she could take down the post. Before that though, she needed to tell him the truth.
Wow. This is gonna be super fun in the chewing off a limb kind of way.
"If you're in agreement," he continued. "We can just use that perfect bullshit story you came up with for the drunk woman. I'll be your brother's friend from college. It's
perfect. The board game thing was a nice touch. You're the only one on this ship who can help me. I can't risk telling anyone else who I am."
"I can understand that." Loose lips and all that.
"So are you game?" He gave her a hopeful smile that made his dimple appear. "A little backup help? I'll make it worth your time. Just tell me what you want."
The way he looked at her when he asked was a shiv to her guilty conscious. Her chest was tight, the rum punch in her stomach was swirling, and she couldn't stop jiggling her knee. Nerves? Guilt? Shame? How about all of the above.
However, if she deleted the post and helped him out on the cruise she could make up for the trouble she'd caused because she hadn't seen Carter as a person but as a famous dude who'd voluntarily relinquished his privacy. If she did him a solid, fixed things up, then what good would telling him the truth about her do? None. It would just complicate matters since the person he'd confessed his identity to was the last one he'd ever want to. Why shove that in his face?
Hey, Dean, stop projecting. You're the guilty party here.
It was true. And she was a chicken shit. She admitted it all in her head but…well…he'd never have to know the truth. Anyway, when he got off the ship without anyone being the wiser about who he was, he probably wouldn't even care.
Yeah, sure, Dean.
"I'll help," she said, her voice little more than a squeak. "And I don't want anything in return. Really."
"Thank you so much." He clinked his beer against her plastic cup. "You have no idea how much you’re saving my ass. You're the best, Aubrey."
Oh yeah. Definitely. Without a doubt. She was the best shithead on this cruise.
Four
Plate loaded down with enough carbs for a marathon runner, Aubrey scooted in next to Grace at their table in the crowded buffet restaurant and took a sip of coffee. After a million dreams last night all involving Carter and her getting it on—which all ended with her telling him she had been the one who'd told the world he was on board and him denying her an orgasm as punishment—she'd woken up tired, unsatisfied, and desperate for caffeine.
Grace, however, had no fucks to give about any of that judging by the little divot of pissed-off-ness in the middle of her otherwise gorgeously unlined and fully moisturized forehead.