Stranded with the Rockstar (Rockstar #1)

2. Roma

I swim, and scream, and swim, and scream, until I can't anymore, and the boat is too far away now to hear me anyway. The night is still the darkest dark, so it feels like I'm in a void—alone, lost, afraid, probably going to die. And because I don't know what else to do, I laugh.

It's not a loud laugh—I don't have the energy for that, plus my throat is raw from all the salt water—but just a giggle, just enough to keep myself from crying and try to get my thoughts together about what to do next.

"I'm glad you can find the humor in this," I hear from behind me, in his British accent.

I whip my head around so fast that my wet hair stings my face. Somehow I'd forgotten that he was here too. He's managed to get the raft out of the first aid container, inflate it, crawl in himself, and pull the container in with him.

Without conscious thought, I swim the ten or so strokes it takes to reach the raft. He probably just signed our death warrants. All I want to do is scream at, and hit, and strangle him. But what other option do I really have but to join him?

My arms are so strained from the swimming that I'm not able to pull myself into the raft alone. He reaches over, grabbing my biceps and pulling me in like a slug. I land on my stomach, butt in the air.

I hear him scoot backward until he reaches the other side of the raft, which isn't far. I manage to roll over and stare at the moonless sky. The two of us stay in silence for a long time. I can't find any words in my brain.

I'm on an inflatable raft in the middle of the ocean with an international rock star. There are no words in the English language to convey the emotions running through me. I'm feeling everything and nothing.

I don't cry, but only because I never cry—well, almost never. Ever since I was a child, when I began to feel the burn in my eyes, it always made me laugh. It has made for a few awkward situations, like when my best friend told me she was moving away in fifth grade or when I had to go to the Emergency Room for a broken wrist. But I just can't help it.

I do eventually pull myself into a sitting position across from him. He's resting his back against the side of the raft with his hand covering his eyes. I have to come up with a plan. I wish I had some paper. I need a list. A list of ideas, a list of plans, a list of strategies. Because this can't be the end.

"You know we're going to die, right?" He says, still not bothering to look in my direction.

An idea hits me. "Maybe not. Do you have a cell phone? Even if it's not working after getting wet, they still may be able to track the GPS."

He drops his hand from his face and throws his head backward to rest on the inflatable side rail. "Don't have it."

There goes Plan A. I have my phone, but it doesn't have the internet. It's a flip phone for emergencies only. I decide to pull it out of my pocket just to know for certain that my dip in the ocean made it unusable. My fears are confirmed.

"What the hell is that?" I look up and see him staring at my phone.

"It's my cell phone."

He scoffs. "I didn't even know they made those anymore. That's not going to help us."

"Need I remind you that we wouldn't even be in this situation if you had just thrown me a rope?"

"Actually...we wouldn't be in this situation if you weren't hanging off the railing of the fucking boat. Sorry I interrupted your suicide attempt, but it obviously scattered my brain a tad bit."

"It wasn't a suicide attempt," I argue.

He sits up straight, eyes narrowed. "Then what the hell were you doing?!"