Weekend Fling

by Stacey Lynn

  “Yes.” I swipe my hair off my face. “Every girl’s staple for vacation.”

  “Huh. That’s funny. I always figured it was shoes and lingerie.” He flashes me a teasing wink.

  My knees wobble at the sight. And lingerie? Please.

  “Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.”

  I follow him to the car where a gentleman dressed in an all-black suit waits by the already open trunk. Wowzers. A driver to boot? “Man,” I sigh. “A driver? This is some high-class traveling.”

  I’m in awe of it. Truly. Obviously, I’m not so dense that I don’t realize even I could hire a car service to take me to an airport. They’ve been around since before Uber and Lyft, but it’s not like I’ve ever actually used them.

  “I’ll grab this, sir.” Sir. Man. This beats Uber manners any day. He takes the suitcase from Trey and tosses it easily into the trunk. “Anything else, ma’am?”

  Dang. I barely have my life put together enough to be called an adult and Trey hires people to call him sir. This man’s in a whole other tax bracket than anything I’ve experienced.

  A flicker of worry bounces across my brain. This is such a vivid and blatant reminder of how different our lives are that it takes me a moment to realize Trey is at the back door, holding it open, a frown on his face. We’re so different.

  “Did you forget something?”

  Yeah. Pretty sure that’s my common sense that’s hiding somewhere. Surely, if I had it, I’d realize how ridiculous this idea is. Trey might be attracted to me, and I him, but outside physical attraction, what in the heck do we have in common?

  “I’m good.” My hands are sweaty and I swipe them down the front of my jeans as I slide into the back seat.

  I duck and slide into the far seat. It’s roomy in the back, and in the front, our driver takes his seat and puts the car in gear.

  “All set, Mr. Kollins?”

  “All set, Frank. Thanks again for the ride tonight.”

  The driver grins, visible in the rearview mirror. “It’s my job, sir.”

  And I have a feeling, based on their familiarity, that Trey knows this guy well. At the very least, he uses this service often. Man, I’m in way over my head.

  “So, good day?” Trey asks. He brushes his hands down his thighs, and I can’t help but watch the hands in action. It flusters me, how attracted I am to him, knowing only what I’ve glimpsed from gossip, news stories, and his interactions with others inside Java Joe’s.

  But good grief, the man is something else.

  It takes me a minute to remember he asked a question and I shrug. “Okay. Work is well…work. You?”

  His hand swipes over his mouth. “I’ve been putting work off this week.”

  “Procrastinating?”

  “No.” He huffs a laugh. “I get lost in work and can lose track of time. Figured if I have to walk Caitlin down the aisle it’d be wise not to miss the flight.”

  I’m surprised he’d admit this to me so openly, but the way he’s blushing also tells me that while he’s open, it’s not easy for him. “Oh. Well, yeah, that wouldn’t be good. You and Caitlin must be really close for you to be walking her down the aisle.” It’s typically a dad thing, and since it’s uncommon Trey is doing it, I don’t ask about her circumstances. Leave it to me to put my foot in my mouth.

  “Known her since college. Our other friend Corbin will be there with his wife. They flew out earlier. For the longest time, it was really just the three of us. We’re more family than friends at this point.”

  “It’s good she has someone like that in her life.”

  “She’s the best. So is Corbin, and I think you’ll like his wife, Teagan. She’s sweet. Good for him.”

  “Wait a second,” I say, and before I can think about it, my hand is covering his. “Corbin? Are you talking about Corbin Lane?”

  Lane Holdings is everywhere in Portland. The owner is practically a billionaire, if not more, and even I remember local news that spread like wildfire a year or so ago when Corbin Lane got married, left his job at the company, along with the shares that were his, and left town. This is one of Trey’s best friends?

  It’s staggering, and that drowning I felt earlier rushes back into my lungs.

  “Yep. One of the best men you’ll ever meet, too.”

  He brushes it off like it’s no big deal but as the car reaches the interstate, I’m struck with a completely different picture. I mean, I knew Trey was wealthy. The building he lives in alone says enough. The gossip about him is vocal and frequent. And yet I had no idea he’s friends with some of the richest people in the Pacific Northwest.

  What must he have thought of my barely average home or the fact he picked me up there?

  I force a smile and look out the window. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

  The car goes quiet, awkwardly, mostly because I have no idea what to say, how to behave. I’m totally thrown off, thinking of his version of casual wedding versus mine. Oh dear.

  I’m meeting his friends, and my suitcase is filled with Target and no-name brands while they probably have personal shoppers at Nordstrom. Or worse…private boutiques.

  I have a feeling this weekend is going to be crazier than anything I could have possibly imagined, as the reality of everything sets in, and when the car misses the major exit off the freeway to PDX, I wonder if I’ve made a very bad, very stupid decision.

  “I thought we were going to the airport,” I say, pointing my thumb out the back window, toward the exit disappearing from view.

  “We are. Just taking a different route. And maybe, a private plane.”

  Chapter 7

  Trey

  Willow makes a choking sound and hair whips over her shoulder. “A private plane?”

  She had gone silent after I brought up Corbin and I’m not quite sure what to do with that. Does she have some sort of crush on the man? I mean, the guy’s a stud. I happen to be cooler, though…and single.

  Still, her round eyes are wide and her lips are parted.

  “You’ve never been?” I tease. And not the way I usually fly but I’m pulling out all my biggest and best moves to impress her this weekend. Weird, since it’s usually not my style and I’m not one to throw my money around.

  “What?” she scoffs and shakes her head. “On a private plane? No. No, I have not.”

  “It’s the best. You’ll love it, hopefully.”

  We pull off the exit to take us to the private hangar, and a few minutes later, the car is rolling to a stop outside the plane that’s already prepped and waiting for us. Our pilot, Dean, will have to do his final flight check but we should be in the air in a half hour or so.

  I open my door and slide out, offering my hand to help Willow. To my surprise she settles her hand in mine, gripping it tightly. Too tightly.

  “Should we get the bags?”

  I keep walking toward the plane and the steps that will be rolled away before we take off. “It’ll be taken care of. Let’s just hope your suitcase doesn’t put us over the weight limit.”

  I duck out of the way as her blond hair whips in the air. It slices against my cheek as she stares up at me, wide-eyed. “Really?”

  “No,” I laugh. “It’ll be fine.”

  “Fine. Just fine. Everything will be fine. Somehow, I’ve heard that before and it’s never fully true.”

  Ironic, because that’s the answer she always gives me when I ask how she’s doing.

  And yet she’s trembling and she’s turned a pale shade of green, which means I may have missed the mark. “Is that…are you not a good flier?”

  “I’m a fine flier. In a jet the size of Rhode Island. It’s the ones the size of a postage stamp that make me nervous.”

  Oh. Well, crap. We’ve reached the bottom of the stairs and our pilot, Dean, is standing at the top.

&n
bsp; “Hey, man! How are you?” We’ve been friends since I was twenty-five and wanted to learn to fly my own plane. I loved it, but couldn’t ever remember to get to my lessons on time so instead, Dean and I just started hanging out whenever I had the time. He’s not only my former flying instructor and owns several of his own planes, he’s a guy I’ve literally trusted with my life on multiple occasions.

  “Good. Hey, Dean, this is Willow. You want to help settle some nerves of hers and let her know how long you’ve been flying?”

  “Since January, sir.” Asshole. He’s giving her shit and I want to kick him in the head for it.

  “What?” She shrieks, and Dean laughs.

  “Kidding, ma’am. Just a joke. I’ve had my license for well over thirty years. Been flying planes since before I could drive a car. You’ll be safe with me. I promise.” He meets her terrified and pale expression and sobers. “Honest. Weather’s nice and calm. Sky is clear. It’ll be a beautiful night to fly with no worries.”

  “And you just want me to trust you,” she says, her grip on mine turning bone crushing, “a virtual stranger?”

  I flex my hand, indicating she’s cutting off circulation but she doesn’t notice. There has to be some way I can calm her down. Smiling, I say, “Yeah, but do you think I’d risk my spot on the top five sexiest bachelors in Portland for an airplane ride?”

  Hot pink suffuses her cheeks, telling me giving her shit about what she most likely already knows about is the right thing to do. Good. My plan worked.

  “Obviously, you can’t risk that title.”

  “I mean, it’s three years running, after all.” I puff out my chest and wink. I like this side of her. And where I can be my charming smart-ass self. Now, let’s see if I can keep it up.

  She shoots me a look and turns back to Dean, hesitantly taking a step up the stairs. “You won’t kill me?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Is there alcohol on the plane?”

  “As much as you want.”

  She seems to study him for a brief moment before nodding once. “Okay. I’ll trust you, then.”

  “Because of the alcohol?” he asks, grinning.

  “Yes. If I get drunk and pass out, I won’t feel myself crashing to our death.”

  Dean’s shaking his head. This girl is funny, although she’s still squeezing my hand like she’s Iron Man.

  “No crashing to our death tonight, I promise. My wife turns forty-five tomorrow and if I’m not there for dinner she’ll bury me herself.”

  Finally, Willow laughs softly, shaking her head, and looks back at me over her shoulder. Dean takes that as his dismissal and ducks back inside.

  My hand goes to her lower back and I follow her up the stairs. “All the alcohol you can imagine,” I promise her again. “You okay now?”

  “Yeah. I think so.” And her smile is so sweet she almost blinds me. She lowers her head and steps inside the plane and comes to an abrupt stop, almost making me run into her. “Holy hot damn,” she mutters, and then grins back at me. It’s in awe and only a bit of fear, which is much better than when I first told her what we were flying on.

  The front of the plane has four seats, two on each side of the aisle. The second row faces the back of plane, each side separated by a table from another two seats facing them. Behind them, there’s a small sitting area with two couches along the plane’s outer walls facing the small aisle. At the far back is the galley kitchen, where I can hear the flight attendant preparing food for us, and a bathroom that’s small, but still twice the size of a regular aircraft’s. All of it’s gray leather with black counters and a gray carpet, giving it a sleek and modern look.

  It’s roomy without being overwhelming, but thank God I chose this plane for our trip instead of a smaller six-seater I’d originally been going to use. Usually, when it’s just Dean and me flying alone, I sit in the copilot seat beside him.

  A time or twelve, he’s allowed me to take control of the plane, but something tells me Willow might not appreciate that adventure.

  Perhaps on the way back.

  “What do you think?” I ask, shuffling slowly behind her. She slips into one of the chairs with a table, and I slide in across from her.

  “This is…wow. I mean, it’s incredible, but kind of perfect, too. I kind of can’t believe I’m flying like this. I feel so rich.”

  Her eyes whip to mine and she grimaces. “I mean, like, it’s not a big deal…or…wow, maybe I’ll stop talking.”

  My shoulders are shaking along with my head. “Relax, Willow. I am rich.”

  “Well, I don’t want you to think that’s why I agreed to do this. Because you’re some rich guy. And Lord, it’s totally classless for me to bring it up.”

  She’s blushing again and I like that she’s nervous. Nerves are easy to take care of. It’s fear that unsettles me, but that seems to be gone now.

  Our stewardess appears with a small white towel draped over her forearm and a silver tray in her hand. She offers us warm towels with tongs and both Willow and I take them, washing our hands. “Can I get you two anything to drink before we take off?”

  Dean will get an extra tip and a thank-you from me for ensuring Willow gets alcohol in her as fast as possible.

  “Wine. Anything white. And lots of it, please,” Willow says, and blushes again. I smile up at the attendant, Amy, based on her name tag. “I’ll have a whiskey sour. Thanks, Amy.”

  “You’re welcome, sir. Ma’am.” Amy heads toward the back bar where bottles and ice are pulled and poured. Across from me, Willow is chewing on her bottom lip, inspecting the window and everything outside like it’s the last time she’ll see Portland.

  Amy comes back and serves our drinks, setting them down on white napkins. Both Willow and I smile up at her and give her our thanks, and when she’s gone, Willow finally glances at me. “You’re very nice to everyone.”

  My drink freezes at my lips. “Would you prefer if I was a jerk?” I’m genuinely curious. Some girls are into dating assholes.

  “Well, no.” She hesitates and takes a drink. I can practically see her internal debate about what to say, even if I don’t know what it is. “No,” she says again. “I think I like you just the way you are.”

  And I’m suddenly cursing the table between us. Leaning over and kissing her until she’s breathless and blushing for a different reason sounds like a fan-fucking-tastic idea right now.

  I allow the moment to pass. There’ll be time for all that later.

  “So, what’s your family like? Do they live close?”

  I’m a pretty open book about myself. When it comes to my family? They like their privacy. When I made my first million, reporters found out where they lived and would try to catch them for comments on their son’s private life whenever they felt like it. But Willow isn’t a reporter. Plus I want her to like me. “My dad, Greg, he’s been a high school PE teacher for close to forty years. Mom works as an insurance claims rep. They got married right after college graduation and I have two older brothers. Ian and Vance. Ian works up in Seattle as an engineer, and last I heard…” I pause and scratch my jaw, trying to remember. “Last I heard, Vance was in Australia, surfing. He’s the hippie.”

  I grin thinking of how vastly different my brothers and I are. Three men, all from the same two parents who instilled strong values and a decent set of morals, and we couldn’t be more different. Vance, especially, who lives for finding the perfect wave.

  “Are you close with them, though? I mean, other than the brother who you don’t know where he is.”

  She says it teasingly and my grin widens. “Yeah. I love my family to death. I wouldn’t be where I am today without their support, and Caitlin and Trey’s. Why? Are you not close with yours?”

  The house where I picked her up is in an older neighborhood filled with overgrown trees and small
yards. It’s too far from Portland proper to have been gentrified and become a place for adults her age. My guess—she lives at home and is embarrassed about it. She’s already mentioned personal problems and a long-term relationship ending. That’d be enough for me to want to be around family. It’s the long-term relationship ending I want to know more about….

  She shrugs and that teasing smile she was wearing vanishes. “We were. Now?” She doesn’t finish the sentence or the thought. But the next drink of her wine is enough to drain the glass and her gaze drifts out the window.

  So pretty little Willow has family issues. It’s not a lot to learn about her, but it’s something more than I’d gleaned from Molly.

  Chapter 8

  Willow

  Was I close with my parents? Ask me two years ago and I wouldn’t have hesitated. Yes. Absolutely. They’re awesome.

  Now? I haven’t spoken to my dad in months and he hasn’t once picked up the phone to call me. What kind of guy leaves his wife of thirty years and doesn’t reach out to explain to his only child? Someone I’m probably better off without, but he hasn’t just abandoned my mom, he’s left me as well, and on top of him and then Scott…well, my barometer for knowing a good man when I see one needs to take a short vacation to the repair shop.

  My phone rings, blaring my mom’s ringtone I always keep at an obnoxious alarm sound, and I jolt in my chair. “Sorry,” I tell Trey, digging into my purse. I probably should have turned it off, but thankfully, I haven’t.

  I can’t even look at him. My mom rarely calls and my heart races before I can tap the screen.

  “Mom?”

  “Oh, hi, Willow, I didn’t expect you to answer. But you’re not home and I was worried.”

  The heck? “Mom, I told you I’m going out of town this weekend.”

  Her voice turns fake. Almost shrill. “Oh, that’s right. Okay…well, you’ll be home when?”

  We’ve had this conversation and the panic that took root at seeing her name on my phone is turning to something uglier. She actually doesn’t remember the conversations we had this week?