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.
“Do you want to wait? We don’t need to take off. I can run inside, see if there’s a bigger plane I can charter.”
I shook my head. “I’ll be fine,” I managed to say, the words muffled a little by the bag. “It’s just nerves.”
When he reached across me, his hands gently searching for, and pulling out, the seatbelt, I inhaled. Got a whiff of his cologne that took me back to last weekend.
I feel the rough prickle of his cheek, wet suction as my right nipple makes its way into his mouth, his soft play of tongue against delicate skin, probing and teasing, a low moan coming out of me when he gently bites the tip of it.
Okay, I could do this. I was a big girl. The edge of his hands brushed against my bare thighs, my sundress pushed up by my seated position. He glanced my way, his breath pausing slightly, and when our gazes met it was all I could do to keep my legs still, to not open them, the final movement of his hands - clenching, then tightening my belt - done with his eyes on mine, our mouths just inches apart, the bag dropping from my hand as I stared at him.
“Thank you for coming this weekend.” He let go of my belt, one hand settling on my bare knee. I felt every finger of that touch, five hot points of contact that seared through my skin and lit a path directly upward.
I swallowed. “Thank you for inviting me.”
He didn’t smile, didn’t acknowledge, just moved his fingers in a slight caress. I inhaled and put my hand on top of his. “Unless you plan on doing something with that hand, please stop. I literally can’t think straight.”
He laughed and his breath smelled like peppermints. “I’m trying to distract you. From the takeoff.”
Oh. We were taking off. I curled my fingers around his hand and he tightened it a little on my knee.
“And.. we’re off.” He tilted his head to the window, and I glanced over, the rumble beneath us quieted. I felt his hand move underneath mine.
I bit the inside of my cheek. “I wasn’t scared of flying. The nerves were more about us. This weekend.”
He frowned. “I didn’t mean to pressure you to come.”
I smiled. “It’s a weekend in Aruba. I’ll survive.”
“If it’s the sex that worries you, we don’t have to. You take the lead on that.”
“Okay.” I spoke quickly, before my pacifist side denied the request.
“Good.” He reached back out, squeezed my hand. “You still need the bag?” Reaching down, he plucked the crumpled brown paper off the carpeted floor.
“No, I think I’m good.”
I rolled my hand over, looped my fingers through his, and felt myself begin to relax.
In the hotel lobby, I stared down at my key, the marble floor below framing it in waves of tan, and tried to fit this piece into the puzzle that was Brett. This was my key. He held his, for a different room, and signed the bill, the front desk clerk all but climbing over the counter in her attempts to flirt with him.
When he stepped away, reaching for my hand, I held up the key. “We didn’t have to get separate rooms.”
He stopped, the two of us in the wide expanse of the lobby, the ocean glinting at me behind the glass. “It was presumptuous to assume anything else.”
Presumptuous. I’d be willing to bet I’d never heard a prospective boyfriend use that word before. I shrugged. “I mean ... we’re adults. We can share a bed without having sex.” God, what an awkward and unnecessary conversation. Why was my mouth still moving? Why didn’t I shut up and stuff the key in my purse like a good girl?
He chuckled. “Let me be a gentleman. Please.”
I shrugged, sticking my key in my purse. Yes, Riley. Let the man be a gentleman. I followed him into the elevator.
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.
“Do you want to wait? We don’t need to take off. I can run inside, see if there’s a bigger plane I can charter.”
I shook my head. “I’ll be fine,” I managed to say, the words muffled a little by the bag. “It’s just nerves.”
When he reached across me, his hands gently searching for, and pulling out, the seatbelt, I inhaled. Got a whiff of his cologne that took me back to last weekend.
I feel the rough prickle of his cheek, wet suction as my right nipple makes its way into his mouth, his soft play of tongue against delicate skin, probing and teasing, a low moan coming out of me when he gently bites the tip of it.
Okay, I could do this. I was a big girl. The edge of his hands brushed against my bare thighs, my sundress pushed up by my seated position. He glanced my way, his breath pausing slightly, and when our gazes met it was all I could do to keep my legs still, to not open them, the final movement of his hands - clenching, then tightening my belt - done with his eyes on mine, our mouths just inches apart, the bag dropping from my hand as I stared at him.
“Thank you for coming this weekend.” He let go of my belt, one hand settling on my bare knee. I felt every finger of that touch, five hot points of contact that seared through my skin and lit a path directly upward.
I swallowed. “Thank you for inviting me.”
He didn’t smile, didn’t acknowledge, just moved his fingers in a slight caress. I inhaled and put my hand on top of his. “Unless you plan on doing something with that hand, please stop. I literally can’t think straight.”
He laughed and his breath smelled like peppermints. “I’m trying to distract you. From the takeoff.”
Oh. We were taking off. I curled my fingers around his hand and he tightened it a little on my knee.
“And.. we’re off.” He tilted his head to the window, and I glanced over, the rumble beneath us quieted. I felt his hand move underneath mine.
I bit the inside of my cheek. “I wasn’t scared of flying. The nerves were more about us. This weekend.”
He frowned. “I didn’t mean to pressure you to come.”
I smiled. “It’s a weekend in Aruba. I’ll survive.”
“If it’s the sex that worries you, we don’t have to. You take the lead on that.”
“Okay.” I spoke quickly, before my pacifist side denied the request.
“Good.” He reached back out, squeezed my hand. “You still need the bag?” Reaching down, he plucked the crumpled brown paper off the carpeted floor.
“No, I think I’m good.”
I rolled my hand over, looped my fingers through his, and felt myself begin to relax.
In the hotel lobby, I stared down at my key, the marble floor below framing it in waves of tan, and tried to fit this piece into the puzzle that was Brett. This was my key. He held his, for a different room, and signed the bill, the front desk clerk all but climbing over the counter in her attempts to flirt with him.
When he stepped away, reaching for my hand, I held up the key. “We didn’t have to get separate rooms.”
He stopped, the two of us in the wide expanse of the lobby, the ocean glinting at me behind the glass. “It was presumptuous to assume anything else.”
Presumptuous. I’d be willing to bet I’d never heard a prospective boyfriend use that word before. I shrugged. “I mean ... we’re adults. We can share a bed without having sex.” God, what an awkward and unnecessary conversation. Why was my mouth still moving? Why didn’t I shut up and stuff the key in my purse like a good girl?
He chuckled. “Let me be a gentleman. Please.”
I shrugged, sticking my key in my purse. Yes, Riley. Let the man be a gentleman. I followed him into the elevator.
