Reaching Gavin (Good Girls Don't Book 3)

by Geneva Lee

The week passed at an excruciatingly slow rate. I had two run-ins with Trevor, who seemed intent on catching me in the act with Gavin. Gavin, on the other hand, continually reassured me that no one in the office would have a problem with our relationship. Still, I wanted to keep it private for now. We hadn’t even slept together yet. It hardly seemed like the business of the rest of, well, the business. When Thursday night finally rolled around it was like Christmas Eve. I couldn’t sleep. Instead, I managed to get both Jess and Jillian on video chat to help me decide what to pack. Since I’d finally told them about my dinner with him the other night, they’d adjusted their attitudes about him. It felt good to have my outfit-prepping, over-analyzing, twenty-four hour cheer squad back together.

  “Will I need a swimsuit?” I asked them, studying the meager choices I had to work with. I kept most of my suits back in Texas where I usually spent the summer. There wasn’t a lot of call for swimwear in the rainy Pacific Northwest.

  “Yes,” Jillian said definitively as though she was an expert on my itinerary. “It’s better to have it then to have to go au natural.”

  “I don’t know.” Jess jumped in with her opinion. She was back in the hammock, even though it was dark outside. “Gavin might find au natural pretty inspiring.”

  “Look at her,” Jillian exclaimed. “She could wear a burlap bag and he would be inspired.”

  “I’m packing this one,” I announced. Gavin had been a little less forthcoming with the details than I would like. I didn’t know if we were staying in a hotel, a bed and breakfast, or a tent. I really, really hoped we weren’t staying in a tent. This was one weekend where I wanted a bed at my disposal.

  “How are you getting there?” Jess asked. The wind blew a strand of blonde hair over her freckled nose and she pushed it away with a puff. She was like a talking advertisement for a Mexican vacation.

  “Driving? Where is Friday Harbor?” I didn’t really have any clue where that was located. Since I’d found out our destination only a few hours ago, I’d jumped straight into packing.

  “It’s on an island in the San Juans,” Jillian said dryly.

  “There are plenty of bridges that connect the islands,” I pointed out. Gavin had left that detail out, but he’d probably assumed I’d know after three years of college here.

  “It’s like a four-hour ferry ride,” Jess informed me. She had lived in the Pacific Northwest the longest of any of us. Naturally, she knew exactly where Friday Harbor was. I wished, though, that she thought to mention this fact before.

  “Four hours?” I was aghast. “Will we be stuck in a car for four hours? Or on a boat for four hours? How does he expect me to wait that long to…”

  “You can do it on a boat,” Jess said.

  “You can do it on in a car,” Jillian said at the same time.

  “Are we writing a Dr. Seuss novel or helping me out?” I was frustrated. Sexually. And otherwise. But mostly sexually. “I don’t want our first time to be in a car or on a boat.”

  “You haven’t done it yet?” Jillian said with a look of horror that mirrored Jess’s. I’d been a little light on the details of our first date. Mostly, because I didn’t want them to psych me out about the sex stuff.

  I shrugged as if this was no big deal. “We messed around. We’ve just been waiting.”

  “Who are you and what have you done with our best friend?” Jess asked.

  I stopped trying to shove another pair of shorts into my overstuffed weekender bag and looked at the phone screen. “I always jump into bed with a guy too soon. You both know that.”

  “We know that. We didn’t know that you knew that.” Jillian looked mildly impressed as though I told her that I’d taken a vow of silence or that I had swum the English Channel. Given that she had slept with Liam before she knew his name, I could see why this was the case.

  “Gavin is… different.” I didn’t even want to say it. Those words felt like a jinx. I’d thrown around the term ‘the one.’ I talked about long-term possibilities with Trevor. There was even the terrible choice of a certain tattoo. Thank God, it wasn’t his actual name. I had been that girl who wanted the real thing so much that she was willing to settle for the knock-off. Now, I couldn’t believe that I’d landed the genuine article.

  “Uh-oh.” Jess sat up in the hammock, nearly falling out of it, her legs tangling as she tried to get up while still holding the phone. “Is this more than a fling?”

  “No way!” I held up one finger. Yes, I had been hinting that Gavin was Mr. Right, but they weren’t going to get me to say it. Doing that would really screw my chances to make it work with him.

  “Oh my God!” Jillian squealed, then clapped a hand over her mouth and looked over shoulder. I assumed Liam was asleep at this hour. “She’s falling for him!”

  “I don’t see why you two are happy about this. I usually have terrible taste in men.”

  Both of them averted their eyes from the camera on their phones at the same time. That was more than a little suspicious.

  “Spill it,” I demanded. They had been up to something. Something behind my back. They were being a little too cool about Gavin, especially given how concerned they’d been after I told them we kissed.

  “I called my sister,” Jess said in a rush. She sighed heavily, as though she felt relief for keeping such a serious secret for so long.

  “She had dinner with him. That doesn’t make her an expert,” I said. Lillian’s own workaholic tendencies and commitment to her job didn’t exactly make her a matchmaker.

  “She’s a lawyer,” Jillian explained.

  “She knows how to read people,” Jess said. “I believe her exact words were: Cassie has finally caught herself a real man.”

  Now I was definitely jinxed. Not only was I having a hard time not thinking of Gavin as Mr. Right, my friends had already decided he was the one. It was going to be hard enough for our fledgling relationship to live up to my expectations. I couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to live up to theirs.

  “And we Googled him,” Jillian confessed. My friends had stalked him more than I had.

  “Did you run a background? Get his FBI file?” I sat down on my bed, crushing a pile of clothes underneath me, ensuring they’d be a wrinkled mess, but I didn’t care. My friends had given me a headache.

  “We like him even more now,” Jess said.

  “You two really are determined to jinx this.”

  Jillian shook her head furiously. “Don’t worry. Trust me on this. Sometimes life surprises you.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I pinched the bridge of my nose as my temples began to throb.

  “Good guys still exist,” she told me. This time she smiled as she looked over her shoulder at her own Mr. Right. “You’re going to have to trust us on this.”

  “Jillian is right,” Jess added, “and believe us when we tell you that when the right one comes along, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “I mean, even my mother didn’t scare Liam off.” To Jillian there was no greater proof that she’d found a keeper.

  They were making a lot of sense. They’d found true love. They’d fought for it. After my last relationship disaster, their stories had given me hope. It was just that I had finally accepted that the right guy might never come along. Now I had to face the possibility that he had. “How will I know?”

  “You just will,” Jess promised.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I was going to die.

  And not an unexpected death. No, I pretty much expected it. I hadn’t asked questions when Gavin picked me up in his Tesla. After my conversation last night with Jess and Jillian, I’d looked up the ferry information for the one that went out to the San Juans. I’d felt prepared, so when Gavin began to drive, I didn’t think anything of it. To be honest, I didn’t know this side of the Puget Sound all that well. If I had, I might have noticed that he wasn’t heading in the direction of the ferry at all. That, and the fact that he’d given the entire office a
day off, stating that we all had to rest up before the big Majestic Theater presentation, had led me to believe that we would be spending the whole day traveling.

  I stared at the small, four-person aircraft he expected me to get on. Gavin hadn’t noticed my reluctance yet. He’d been putting our baggage into the cargo hold and speaking with someone who worked at the private airfield.

  I hadn’t moved. I was still sitting in the passenger seat. The car was off and it was beginning to get hot, but despite the dangers of the greenhouse effect, I felt a whole lot safer in here.

  I wasn’t an enthusiastic flyer on a good day. I usually had to remind myself that statistically I was more likely to die in a car accident then I was in an airplane crash. I didn’t know how much that changed on a Cessna, but I was going to guess those figures skewed a little when the plane was the size of a golf cart. I was considering whether I should call my parents and tell them I loved them when Gavin opened the passenger door and leaned down.

  “Are you going to join me?” he asked.

  “I was just deciding that,” I admitted. My hands were still on my seat belt buckle. I really hadn’t gotten far in the decision-making process.

  “Will it help you to know that I’ve been flying for 12 years?”

  I did the mental math on those numbers. “You can fly at 14? Your parents let you do this? Do your parents even love you?”

  “I learned with my dad. When he bought his first plane,” he added.

  “So this plane is yours?”

  “My family’s.”

  I stared at it. Gavin owned a freaking plane. The longer that information stewed in my brain, the more silly I felt. Of course, his family owned a plane. They were gagillionaires, which meant they probably could have afforded something a bit larger. Or at least big enough to have a nice flight attendant serving vodka.

  “Oh, I guess I would have expected…” I shut my mouth before I said something truly stupid.

  “That we would have private jet? We do. I just don’t like to use it. Dad insists that we have a pilot fly that. I prefer to be in the cockpit.”

  I really wished he didn’t have that preference. Right now I wanted a pilot and a plane that looked a little less like child’s play toy than this one.

  Gavin extended his hand in offering. “Do you trust me?”

  That was a loaded question. An hour ago I would have said yes unequivocally. Now, I had something to quibble about. He helped me out of the car slowly, letting me take my time, or maybe giving me time to change my mind. Once I was out, his fingers knitted through mine and the simple gesture—the first time we’d ever held hands—calmed me. He led me toward the Cessna, chattering about various near misses and how he’d handled each one.

  “Please don’t tell me about the times you almost crashed,” I said, gripping his hand a little tighter.

  “The weather is perfect today,” he said in a soothing voice. “It’s going to be a perfect flight and it will take less than an hour.”

  One hour. I repeated it over and over again like a mantra. I could handle anything for an hour—except dying. Gavin helped me climb into the co-pilot’s seat, which proved to be a little tricky in my sundress. When the wind caught my skirt and tried to blow it over my head, he grabbed it and kept me covered up.

  "That’s for my eyes only.”

  Normally, I might have languished in those words, savoring the possessive suggestion of them. Now? I was glad I would die with my dignity.

  Once I was inside, he handed me a bulky set of headphones with a mic attached. “You’ll need these when we’re in the air. It will be too loud for us to hear each other otherwise.”

  “Since I’m probably going spend the entire flight screaming, you might regret giving me these.” I took them as my stomach began to churn.

  “There’s a floatation device here.” He motioned to a pouch on my belt as he helped me buckle up. “But you aren’t going to need it.”

  “I never understood why they do that,” I began, nervously rattling out everything in my brain. “Before you take off—when they tell you what to do with your mask or flotation device or how to get to an exit. We’re all just going to be praying and crying if the plane goes down.”

  Gavin stood back, his mouth gaping open, and I realized what I’d done. I thought I’d gotten control of my sailor mouth.

  “Sorry,” I said sheepishly. “I did the cursing thing again, didn’t I? What did I say?”

  “I don’t think I could repeat it without blushing,” he said with a chuckle. He tucked a strand of loose hair behind my ear and kissed my forehead. “You’re going to be fine. Trust me.”

  For a second that appeased me. Then I remembered that my issue wasn’t Gavin’s 12 years of flight experience. It was with the Cessna. The plane didn’t care about me. The plane could not be trusted. I kept these thoughts to myself lest I unleash another stream of foul-mouthed, verbal diarrhea.

  I closed my eyes and concentrated on everything Gavin had said about how safe we were. Nothing helped. I tried to picture being in my happy place – a white, sandy beach. All I saw was fiery wreckage on the sand. When the engine turned on, I nearly jumped out of my seat, which would’ve been hard given how tightly I was strapped in. The propellers whirred to life and Gavin’s voice filled my ears. “Sound One requesting the runway.”

  Sound One? Later, when I wasn’t about to vomit, I’d have to ask if there was a Sound Two. Although, I didn’t want him to think I was interested in flying in it. I never wanted to be on this thing again. Wherever the San Juan Islands were, I hoped they were nice, because I was going to be living there forever. He’d talked me into this once. It would take drugging me to get me on it again.

  “Sound One you are cleared for takeoff.”

  We taxied forward, gradually gaining speed. I felt it in the pit of my stomach, but I kept my eyes clamped shut. So far it was a lot like every other flight I had taken, except that I could feel air rushing in at me. There wasn’t much separating me from the outside and as the wheels left the ground I realized that I must be suicidal.

  “How are you doing?” Gavin’s voice filled the headphones.

  “What happens if I barf all over the cockpit?” It probably should have occurred to me this question before take-off.

  “There should be air sickness bags on the floorboard.”

  I didn’t risk trying to bend over to search for them. My belt would have made it harder and I didn’t want to risk pressure to my already queasy stomach. Instead, I began to count. One number after the other. Gavin, wisely, stayed mostly silent. I had no idea how much time we’d been in the air until he spoke again. “If you look out, you can see the islands.

  I cracked open one eye, followed by the other and dared to look out the window. There was nothing but blue water hatched with lines. Waves, I realized. In the distance, I could make out land. I imagined that if I turned around I might still be able to see the rest of Washington. But while it was beautiful, my stomach did a nose dive when I looked at the open water. One of the perks of mostly flying between Washington and Texas was that there was usually land below. Not that I wanted to crash into that either.

  Gavin cautioned me as we began to circle the Friday Harbor Airport. “This is going to be a little rough. It always is.”

  Thank God, he wasn’t a nurse or doctor. He had terrible bedside manner. Still, I appreciated the warning. That said, I was pretty excited to see solid ground.

  The plane descended rapidly, much faster than I was used to. As the landing gear came out, I closed my eyes again and braced myself. We hit the tarmac fairly hard and then braked with a whoosh. When we finally stopped, I couldn’t even bring myself to open my eyes. Finally, my door opened and Gavin began to unlatch me. I practically fell into his arms. Pushing him aside, I stumbled a few steps away and proceeded to hurl all over the pavement. I tried to wave him away, but Gavin was at my side instantly, making sure my hair was out of my face. He rubbed circles over my back as I dry heave
d a few more times.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I just thought you were nervous. I promise we'll find another way home.”

  I straightened and forced a small smile. I was grateful when he found a napkin for me to wipe my mouth with.

  “We can either take my motorcycle up to the house,” he said, quickly reversing when I blanched at the suggestion, “or we can walk into town. Is there anything that might make you feel better?”

  “Besides a new stomach?” I was only half joking. “Maybe a milkshake and no more motorized vehicles on land or sea.”

  “A milkshake?” he repeated as though he expected me to spout some WebMD bullshit about how it settled the stomach.

  “I figure there’s still a 50% chance I’m going to throw up, I might as well have my favorite thing in the world,” I explained.

  He settled for that logic. “Done.”

  Gavin wouldn’t let me carry anything other than my purse. I was glad that I had packed light for the weekend, since I’d been hoping to spend it mostly nude. He looked a little like a pack rat with his bag and my bag slung over his shoulders, but he didn’t complain. Downtown Friday Harbor was only a mile away. We took it slowly, allowing my stomach to make peace with finally being back on two feet.

  “I didn’t expect you to take flying so badly,” he said, obviously feeling guilty.

  “I probably just need some Dramamine or something.” I didn’t bother to tell him that I doubted I would ever take flying well. I hated that something he loved made me lose my breakfast.

  “There are other ways to get here. That was just the fastest.”

  “Fast isn’t always better,” I said, allowing a hint of suggestiveness to creep into my voice. Now that I didn’t want to toss my cookies all over him, I was starting to think about what I had planned for the weekend. He was the only item on my to-do list.

  Friday Harbor was a charming collection of local restaurants and shops, all owned by community members. As far as I can see, there were no corporate stores or big chains. There wasn’t even a Sound Coffee. The various establishments were brightly painted, standing out against the blue background of the marina. It was a refreshing change of pace from downtown Seattle.