by C. Lesbirel
A short while later I return to see that she still hasn’t moved, and I pass her a warm washcloth to clean up with.
“You’re scarily good at this,” she says, taking it from me, and I turn around to give her some privacy, searching out a pair of fresh boxer shorts from my open suitcase.
“I could say the same about you, golden girl.”
“Golden girl?” She mouths the words, arching a brow at me.
“Your dress,” I explain, hopping on the bed beside her.
“My dress.” She looks down at herself and grabs the bed sheets to pull around her as if we didn’t just go at it like a pair of rabbits.
“That was something else.” She lazily crashes back against the pillow looking super cute with her hair all puffed up and scruffy.
“You wanna do the whole snuggle thing?” It’s not usually my game, but for her I could make an exception when she’s all cute and adorable with those wide enchanting eyes.
“Not really, I’ve got to get out of here.”
“What, now? You realize it’s like, 2am?”
“And I have to be ready for work at 6am.”
“Okay, this is awkward. Was it something I did?”
“What? No... Look, I shouldn’t be here. I'm not myself tonight; this was a horrible mistake.”
“A mistake?”
She pauses from wriggling her dress back into position to look at me.
“Oh God. No. Not a mistake, sorry. Please don’t get a complex on my behalf. This was perfect. You were perfect. In another lifetime, maybe I’d stay and do the whole snuggle thing, as you call it. But I’m really not that girl, and I really need to go.”
“Hey, no hard feelings. It is what it is, can I at least call you a cab?”
“I can walk. I don’t have any cash.” She winces, and I smile as she inwardly dies on the spot from embarrassment.
“Here, this should cover it, but I’m not letting you go until you put your number in my phone. That way, if we’re ever in the same place at the same time again, you can buy me a whiskey,” I offer, hand her a fifty-dollar bill and know full well that's never going to happen. I’m leaving town in the morning, and we’ll be on different continents by tomorrow night.
“Thanks. Sorry, again,” she mumbles, punching her digits into my phone. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want her to stay the night. The truth is, I’m not that guy either. Actually, her leaving like this is a total relief. She was right about one thing, what just went down was damn perfect, but I’m not stupid enough to think that perfection is actually real. Not when it comes to relationships.
This is classic me, dicking around is what I do; this chick is no different than the rest of them. At least, that’s what I tell myself as I snuggle her into my armpit to hide her face and walk her out to her cab a short while later. I give her a chastely kiss on the forehead and take one last long look at the woman who just fucked me with so much passion that she threatened to set my soul on fire.
“Goodnight, golden girl.”
“In another lifetime,” she mutters under her breath before she ducks into the car.
5
Hope
This is so much worse than I thought. I didn’t just throw myself at random hot guys and roll into bed at 3am when my tour plane leaves at 6am. More than ever, I know now that I have to find a way to get back to myself. The old me. Something’s changed. No matter how big the crowd at my concerts are or how expensive the set is, the buzz just isn’t the same.
“Jesus, honey, put this on.” Simon hands me a black baseball cap as we drive to the airport. I easily take it, knowing I must look like shit because this hangover is real. My head is throbbing, and my stomach is churning from the motion of the car. Either that, or I’m still slightly tipsy.
“Where did you go last night? I couldn’t find you when I left.”
“I needed an early night; I must be getting too old.”
“Oh please, everyone knows thirty-five is the new twenty. Give me a break. Wait until you’re my age, then you can talk about being old. For someone who had an early night, you don’t look very well rested.”
I don’t bother answering. Instead, I sink back and mentally switch off as Simon starts blasting through my schedule for the day.
The world races by outside my blacked-out window while my mind wanders back to last night and how those blue eyes burned through mine.
His warm hands weren’t afraid to grab hold of me and take control.
“Are you listening to a word I’m saying?”
“Mmm,” I mumble, and a pair of fingers snap in front of my face.
“Okay. So, what’s the first thing you're doing?”
“Getting a coffee?”
“Before that.” He narrows his eyes at me in despair, and I can’t help but giggle.
“Sorry. Can we go through it one more time, please? But just give me the need to know stuff. I’ll deal with the rest after I get some caffeine inside me?”
“Okay. Pay attention.”
The car pulls up, we both jump out at the back of the airport and are ushered straight through security. Luckily, it’s early enough that most people are only half awake and don’t recognize me. Within half an hour, my luggage is checked in, and I’m handed a large latte as I flop into the armchair of the comfortable private lounge belonging to Parker Airlines.
“Better?” Simon winks, helping himself to a coffee.
“Much.”
“What am I doing again?”
He glares at me as though he wants to kill me, making me smile over my cup. “Kidding… I’m just kidding. But, in all seriousness, why do I have to meet the pilot?”
“It’s their policy, apparently. Everyone who flies with them has to meet the pilot of the plane before boarding. Part of their, keeping it personal ethos.”
“I forgot how much people annoy me until this morning.” I blow on my latte more out of frustration than to cool it. I’m so tired of people. Of faces I don’t know.
“Someone's a grouch this morning.”
“I’m just tired.”
“Well, you only have five more concert dates. Then you’ve earned yourself a weekend off.”
“A whole weekend, I’m going to hold you to that.”
“Come on, let’s get this over with.”
He grabs my carryon case with the rest of my team following him, knowing better than to make pointless conversation with me when I’m having a bad day, and that happens frequently now days.
I toss my leather Miu Miu handbag over my shoulder, pull down on the tip of my cap as we make our way outside to the plane and don’t look up until I’m staring down at a pair of shiny black boat shoes.
“Good morning, Miss Carson, it’s nice to meet you.” A gravelly voice hits my ears as a hand appears waiting for me to shake it, which I do.
“Thank…” His fingers wrap around mine, and I lift my head to make eye contact. Oh, dear Lord.
Dark blue eyes meet mine, wide with shock that matches my own. Panicking, I quickly shake his hand and look away.
This is so typically my luck. Of course, the only one-night stand I ever had turns out to be my pilot the very next goddamn day. I mean, seriously?
He’s young, too.
Painfully younger than I remember.
When I think I’ve gotten my burning red cheeks under control as best as I can, I look back at him and ignore the fact that just a few hours ago he was screwing me senseless.
The disappointment at my lack of recognition is obvious in his piercing blues. I think? Or, maybe he doesn’t care. He’s a pilot for Christ’s sake, he probably has sex with a woman in every country he lands in.
I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek. Awkward doesn’t even cut it.
“It’s an honor to have you flying with us, Miss Carson.” His tone is less gravelly this time, more clipped and courteous.
“My name's Sullivan, and I’ll be your Captain. We at Parker Airlines, want to ensure your flight
is as comfortable as possible, so please don’t hesitate to ask if there’s anything you need. I will do my best to make it happen.”
Anything I need? What, like a mind-blowing orgasm? “Umm, thanks.”
“It’s our pleasure to have you fly with us.” He offers another handshake, and I’m not sure I can bear to touch him, knowing full well what those hands can do. What they felt like as he grabbed my hips and pulled me into him last night. He must think I’m a grade A slut. I can confidently say this is the most embarrassing moment of my entire life.
* * *
I cringe and shake his hand. Then he pulls a little, leaning towards me just enough that Simon and the team don’t become suspicious, but I can hear him when he murmurs, “Enjoy your flight, golden girl,” and I melt right here on the tarmac.
6
Sullivan
What the fuck. Just my luck that my last attempt at dicking around is actually a huge country star, and I’m due to fly her to every single tour date for the foreseeable future. To make it even better, she just blanked me. Like she didn’t even recognize me. Like last night was a figment of my imagination. If only I could do the same.
Except, I haven’t been able to get those thick lashes and huge hazel eyes out of my mind since the moment she walked out of my hotel room and I kicked myself for letting her go so easily.
In leggings, an oversize t-shirt and without makeup she looks a little different than last night, but it’s a good different. The top swamps her perfect frame, while those leggings cling to her long sexy legs, reminding me what they felt like in my hands just a few hours ago.
It feels wrong just standing here watching her brush past me to find her seat on board my plane. The distance between us bothers me more than I expected or wanted it to.
I’m distracted through take off and much the same as we cross the European continent and touchdown in Rome. It’s not unusual for me to check in on our clients and make sure everything was good with their flight before they depart the plane, but that sure as shit isn’t the reason I straighten my tie and run a hand over my hair to smooth it out before stepping out of the cockpit and into the cabin.
Her team passes me with a bunch of thank yous and nods until there’s just her and a guy I’m assuming is her manager left. She looks fresher now with her hair long, poker straight and hanging loose over her naked shoulders. Dressed in tight white skinny jeans, a loose denim shirt and a pair of leather cowgirl boots, she now looks every inch the country star that the information sent to me by my brother said she is.
We always got the low down on our clients at least forty-eight hours before we flew them anywhere, but he failed to include a picture of her and mention that she’s sex on legs and single. I’m guessing that last part, because there’s no way any man that she belonged to would let her fly all around Europe on her own. If I had a woman who looked like she does… and who fucks like she does, I would remain only a few yards away from her. Maybe inches.
She gives a small smile as she passes, trying to avoid eye contact but unable to deter her eyes from meeting mine as I stare into them for a long intense minute.
“Everything okay?” her manager asks, his eyes like a hawk watching closely to see what my next move is going to be.
She clears her throat and replies with only one word, “Yes.”
He eyes me suspiciously, and Hope pulls away. She made it clear from her reaction that in her eyes, last night never happened. So, why am I risking a million-dollar contract by trying to work my way into the pants of a client? God knows that Liam has warned us all away from doing just that and always says it's a dangerous line to cross.
Maybe I like the challenge.
Maybe last night was more than just sex.
Maybe she got under my skin.
Just a little.
“Have a great day.” I tense as she moves past me, my body’s way of shielding my ego from an unnecessary bruising.
Of course, my eyes are drawn to her tight ass. Why would they be anywhere else?
“See you after the show,” she says looking back at me with a wink.
What the hell did that mean? See you after the show, as in you’re flying me to Spain tomorrow, and I don’t have any choice in the matter, but if I did it would be anyone other than you. Or, see you after the show, as in I can’t stop thinking about how hot last night was and how much I need more of your huge cock?
That fucking wink.
The hair flip.
I have to know what her intentions are. If she wants to pretend last night never happened, then it is what it is, but I want her to have the balls to say it. Plus, it’s going to be awkward as fuck flying her around for the next few months if we don’t clear the air.
But, the look in her eyes when they meet mine betrays her. My gut tells me she’s keeping me a secret for other reasons.
Maybe she feels ashamed?
Embarrassed?
Whatever it is, she doesn’t need to. She won’t lose my respect just because we had a one-night stand. I’ve had more than most, so I’m in no position to judge.
This woman messes with my mind. So of course, I buy the only ticket available that’s on the floor level to her show and wait patiently with a crazed bunch of teenagers and more guys than I’d like. My ticket is for a seat towards the back, so I have to work my way through the crowd to get closer to the stage. One of those too eager assholes starts to chant her name, and everyone soon joins in, double clapping above their heads waiting for her to appear. I stare him down, there’s no way he’s here for the goddamn music.
The stage fills with smoke and moody blue lighting, immediately followed by the sweetest voice that I have ever heard in my entire life hitting my ears.
Was that her?
The spotlight falls on two long legs standing wide apart and travels up to reveal a black sparkly mini dress wrapped around her curvy hips. They are swinging like a pendulum in time with the beat of the music. Then the entire crowd goes wild as the light moves upwards to reveal her face.
Huge eyes, over done with dark grey makeup that almost hide their natural gorgeousness look out to the crowd. Her lips are painted in a shade of soft pink that I want to smear off with the palm of my hand, so I could get to her bare lips and bite down on them.
Curled chestnut hair swishes in long bouncy twists in sync with her hips.
She belts out the song as if the crowd doesn’t exist, clearly in her element, and her passion is a major turn on. How can a voice so big come out of such a tiny body? It doesn’t make any sense.
The crowd fades into the background, and all I see, hear and feel is her. Her name appears in huge pink letters behind her as she moves into a new song.
Hope Carson.
Hope Carson, you have no idea what I would give to rewind to last night and have a do over. I could have wooed you properly, taken you on a real date. Shiloh is right, I really do need to stop dicking around.
7
Hope
I can’t handle another night out and definitely can’t risk another one-night stand. How can something so right feel so wrong in the cold light of day? Drinking alone in the hotel bar isn’t exactly glamorous, but it’s better than clubbing when I’m not in the mood for it. My phone flashes with another text from Simon, making sure I don’t want him to arrange a car to pick me up so I can go and catch up with them.
I shove it in my bag and take another sip of my rose gin and tonic.
Sensing a presence behind me in the practically empty bar, I turn to once again come face to face with my one-night stand, and my fingers tense around my glass.
He’s no longer in his uniform, not that I didn’t appreciate the way he looked all suited up, but tonight he’s casual in jeans and a knitted oatmeal colored sweater.
Here goes nothing.
How the hell am I supposed to explain why I ignored him earlier, when I don’t even understand it myself?
Self-control is not my forte. I’m impulsive and have made a li
ving on decisions based on the flip of a coin. I hadn’t set out to become an icon, I simply wanted to sing every day I’m on this planet. The fact that I get to do it for a living and people turn up to watch is just a bonus.
Right now, my impulse is telling me that this is a bad idea.
He is a bad idea.
He has to be at least a decade younger than me.
Besides, any chance of a good first impression went down the drain after I practically begged him to have sex with me last night. I’d not exactly fixed things this morning either. Yet, here he is looking all smoldering and irresistible, and here I am hoping for what?
“Do you make it a habit to drink alone?”
“Do you make it a habit to stalk me?” I ask, raising a brow and giving him a small smile.
“You're the one drinking in my hotel bar?”
“Technically, I suggested this hotel to your manager, so I think that gives me ownership.”
I roll my eyes, and he takes the seat next to me at the bar.
“You were amazing tonight.”
“You came to my show?”
“You said you’d see me after it.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal.
“How could I see you afterwards if I didn’t know you were there?”
“And it would have been different if you did?”
“I don’t know. I guess we’ll never find out.”
“Tell me. I wanna know. If I somehow got a message to you that I was front row at your show tonight, would you have arranged to meet me afterwards? Maybe, bring me backstage, and I don’t know, talk about what happened between us.”
“No.” My answer is simple and honest for both our sakes.
“Okay. Goodnight, Hope.” He turns to walk away, and I instantly regret my bluntness.
“Wait,” I call after him, freezing his feet from taking another step. He pivots on his tan boat shoe and runs his fingers through his dark hair.