“Who cares?” That was the issue. My arguments had merit, and hers were that of a fourth-grade shouting match.
“We live too far away.”
“So?”
“I don’t even know him.”
“Yet. But you can.”
“You suck at this.”
“I’m not gonna stand in the way of what could be true love.”
My next spin was a little too aggressive, and the Bic shot toward the edge of the desk. There was a rap on the glass of my wall and I looked up, raising my eyebrows when I saw what was there. “Mitzi, I’m getting flowers.”
“Bitch, God is smacking you on the damn forehead. Jump.”
I heard the click on her end and slowly hung up the receiver, gesturing in a kid, one who looked barely out of high school. I stood, watching warily as he carefully set the vase down, the entire arrangement tipping slightly before it found solid footing. “Thanks.”
“No problem, ma’am. They sure are big.”
I nodded, reaching out and snagging the card, the boy’s eyes following. I set it on my desk, my hand covering it. “Thanks.” I repeated the sentiment, and he finally turned, nodding to me with a smile and moving to the door. I tapped the card against the desk before letting out a sigh and flipping it over.
I can’t get you
out of my head.
I stared at the words until they blurred, and I tossed the card down, my butt settling deeper into my chair as I leaned back and looked at the flowers, a huge display of orchids and lilies, a colorful blend that brought me back to the island without even trying. He couldn’t get me out of his head? The feeling was mutual. Then, after a good ten minutes spent analyzing the decision, I picked my phone back up. Skimmed over his last text.
take a chance.
I took a deep breath, then responded.
I’m free this weekend.
5 months, 3 weeks before
My first passport stamp ever had been for that bachelorette party. And, just a week later, I was getting a second. I flipped my passport closed and tossed the navy book into my bag, zipping closed my suitcase, the contents already over-analyzed at least a dozen times.
“You’ll be fine,” Jena drawled from the kitchen, as she waltzed into my bedroom with two glasses of sweet tea. “Here. Take these. We don’t want you vomiting on Island Boy’s plane.”
“I don’t get airsick,” I responded, my stomach flipping as the words came out. Maybe I could get airsick. I took the pills from her and sat on the edge of the bed. Tossed back the medicine and took a deep sip of tea. Winced. “Did you get this from the fridge?”
“Yeah.”
I grabbed her wrist and stopped her mid-sip. “Don’t drink that. It’s old.”
“Old, Monday? Or old, last month?”
I groaned, took the glass away. “It’s old. I’ll just grab us beers.”
She followed me into the kitchen, glancing at her watch. “Better make ‘em sodas. You’ve got to leave in twenty to make it to the airport on time.”
“Is it too late to cancel?” I dumped out the glasses, then opened the fridge and grabbed two Cokes, tossing one her way.
“I thought Mitzi talked to you about this. She’s the convincer, not me.”
“Which is why I wanted you here. Is this crazy?”
“You running off to a foreign country with a man you barely know? Yes.” Jena cracked open her Coke and held it to her forehead. “It’s hot in here. Did you already turn off the air?”
“Turn on the fan. I’m trying to lower the utility bill. So ... I shouldn’t go?”
She plopped down at my round table, picking through my mail until she found a postcard with enough strength to act as a fan. “It’s crazy, but I didn’t say you shouldn’t go. Go. Live. Hell, one person in this town should do something exciting. I’m saddled with two kids and a husband who hasn’t gone down on me since prom night. I’d kill for two nights in Aruba with a sexy stranger. Just be smart. What’s your dad think?”
I looked away. “Haven’t told him. But I’m sure word’ll reach him by the time I return. If he calls you, let him know you have my hotel info and Brett’s number in case of emergency.”
She groaned. “Great. Put me in the line of fire.”
“You’re the only one who’ll stand up to him. The other girls will hand over the information as soon as he starts yelling.”
She stood. “You know I love you, right?”
I smiled. “I know. Thanks for feeding Miller.”
“Gives me an excuse to escape the kids. Sleep in your bed. Watch your porn.”
I laughed. “You find any, please leave it out for me. Showtime’s the only excitement these walls have seen lately.”
She held out her arms. “Gimme a hug, then get out of here.”
I gripped her tightly. “Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need it.”
***
I climbed onto the plane, a miniature version of Chelsea’s, with propellers instead of jets, with four seats behind the cockpit’s two. Brett crawled in behind me, a cell to his ear, the moment before takeoff stolen as he wrapped up a conversation. I was grateful, unsure what to say, feelings of awkwardness at an all-time high. I’d have to sleep with him, right? The man flew here, picked me up, and was taking me to Aruba? It’d be assumed, especially since our prior encounter had revolved around ripped panties and orgasms and ohmygodIthinkIsuckedhisdick. I looked around for a vomit bag and didn’t see one. Clenched my hands around the handle of my purse and felt the leather bend.
“You okay?” He was off the phone, his hand settling on my shoulder, and I jumped a little at the contact, my gaze tripping to him, his eyes concerned, brows furrowed. God, he was even more beautiful than I remembered. I was a great girl ... but ... I was small-town pretty. Didn’t even own a thong till the bachelorette party. I wore a retainer to bed. Snored. Had the coordination of a giraffe. Barely owned two pairs of socks that matched. Shopped for clothes at Walmart. I didn’t belong on a private plane with this man, whose five o’clock shadow could dominate a magazine cover.
“I’m sorry, Riley. I didn’t realize you were afraid of flying.” He fished under his seat, produced a paper bag. “It seems cliché, but breathe into this. It’ll help.”
Thank God. A flimsy vessel for my throw-up. I grabbed the bag and opened it with shaky hands. Held it over my mouth, breathed deeply, and checked my stomach for queasiness. Yep, still there.