Page 33 of Passing Ships

“Hey, you didn’t answer my question,” I accuse.

“Yes, I did. I have no social media; therefore, no one’s back home, stalking it.”

I scowl at him.

“Truth or dare?” he repeats.

“Truth.”

“Is there a man back home, keeping tabs on you?” he asks.

“Lately, I’ve preferred my own company to that of a man.”

He tips his head back. “So, you aren’t dating?”

“Sometimes.”

He nods, but I can read the impatience on his face. He doesn’t like the way I skirt around his questions.

“I’m not seeing anyone in particular. No,” I say.

He shakes his head.

“What?” I ask.

“From where I’m sitting, I’d think your calling card was stacked. A beautiful, young, single woman.”

“I’ve been taking the time to court myself, I guess.”

“Court yourself?”

“Yes. I’ve taken myself on dates. I’ve traveled alone. Gone to the movies alone. Even eaten at a fancy restaurant alone. How can I expect anyone else to value my company if I don’t enjoy it?” I ask.

That seems to satisfy him.

“Me too. However, the company of an equally intriguing human being is nice too,” he murmurs.

I raise a brow. “Touché.”

He smiles.

I lean over the table to whisper, “Besides, self-induced orgasms aren’t nearly as satisfying, are they?”

His eyes flare, and he meets my stare and holds it as he downs his shot.

“Truth or dare, Sailor?”

“Truth.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” I ask.

His brow furrows. “Call you when?”

“Anytime in the last nine months. I put my number in your phone,” I say as I snatch it from where it sits on the table. I tap the screen until I find his Contacts and scroll to my name. I lift the screen to him. “See? Amiya Chelton—that’s me.”

“You put that in my phone?” he says.

I wiggle the device in his face. “Yes. I just said that,” I say.