Winger

by Samantha Whiskey

  Before I could swing the door shut, Charlotte glided in, her pink gown elegant against her pale skin and dark brown hair. She was a classic beauty, but what made her even more breathtaking was the heart she had to match.

  “Hey,” she said softly, shutting the door behind her. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said, making my way to the rolling bar in the corner. I poured myself a finger of whatever was in the amber container and took a sniff. Brandy. A little too hoity for my tastes, but there wasn’t a beer in sight.

  “What’s going on, Xan?” Charlotte leaned a hip against the back of the winged chair that faced a desk.

  “We’re supposed to announce our engagement in three months.” I said it with all the excitement of a trip to the guillotine.

  “Oh,” she whispered, standing up straight. “Are you ready for that?”

  “Do you want that?” I fired back.

  She glanced away, then brought her green eyes back to meet mine. “I want whatever you need.”

  “Jesus, Charlotte. You deserve more than this. Than a guy who sees you as a sister. Don’t you want more?” She had to want more because I sure as hell did.

  She bit her lower lip. “I’ve been told since I was five that we would marry. That I would help you rule our country. I gave up on romantic love years ago.”

  “That’s sad. I love our country, too. I’m ready to King, but this is an asinine law.” I raised the glass to my lips but was interrupted when Jameson walked in.

  “So this is where the party went.” His eyes flickered to Charlotte, who rolled hers. “What’s wrong, Charlie? Did I interrupt anything important?”

  “Don’t call me that,” she seethed.

  I tried to hide my smile and failed. Jameson was the only one who ever ruffled Charlotte’s feathers. In fact, I was pretty sure he poked at her just to see the biggest reaction he could get. The pair had been at each other’s throats since we were kids.

  “You look like you need to get out of here,” Jameson said, his eyes narrowing in my direction.

  “I would in a heartbeat.” A heartbeat. That’s what a three-month deadline felt like.

  Jameson produced a set of keys. “Take her.”

  “For fuck’s sake, did you buy another car?” I asked, examining the Maserati key.

  “Yeah.”

  “Like you needed one here in New York?”

  “It was green,” he said with a shrug as if that was the only reasoning he needed.

  “Go,” Charlotte said quietly. “We’ll cover for you. Just get out of here and breathe a little, Xander.” She stepped closer and leaned up to whisper. “And be happy. No matter what is expected of us, I want you to be happy, and if that means we shake up the plans others made for us, so be it.”

  “Charlotte…” I whispered, aware that she was telling me she was willing to walk away from our parents’ arrangement.

  “You’re right. I love you like a brother, and there’s a future coming for us that is...well, asinine. Go find some happy.”

  I kissed her on the forehead and strode out of the room, my steps eating up the distance quickly. Jameson ran ahead of me, knocking over an entire tray of champagne flutes, and I slipped out while security rushed to help him. They were preoccupied keeping people out, not in.

  A quick trip to the valet and I was behind the wheel of Jameson’s new Maserati, which I noticed was the same color of Charlotte’s eyes. I made it out of the city in good time and headed north.

  Where the hell was I going? Unlike my perfectly planned out life, I had no destination in mind. I rolled down the window and was hit with a blast of freezing January air. Ripping off my tie, I turned the music up and settled into the soft leather. I had a full tank of gas, so did it matter if I didn’t have a destination? I had no obligations for the next couple of days. Letting my mind wander, I let the car put as many miles between me and my fate as I could.

  Ruling Elleston was something I could do. I’d been raised to the role, trained, educated and prepared in every way possible. But marrying Charlotte? Sharing my life—my bed—with someone I couldn’t picture sexually?

  How the hell was I going to do that?

  I liked sex. Scratch that. I fucking loved sex. Every nuance of it, from the tastes, the sounds, the consuming pleasure—it all added up to phenomenal. I’d never cheat on Charlotte once were married—hell, once we were actually together—engaged. But I wasn’t sure I could fuck her, either.

  I drove for hours, and then the first snowflakes hit the windshield.

  Slowing, I watched in fascination as the sky went from crystal clear to blinding white. I’d heard storms moved in fast in this part of the country, but damn.

  Another twenty minutes north and the roads were covered. The snow rose high on either side of the highway—this region was no stranger to the fluffy white stuff.

  “Shit,” I muttered to myself. It was time to turn back, or at least find a hotel for the night. I pulled off the highway at the nearest exit and went to loop back to get on the Southbound side...but there wasn’t one.

  “You seriously pulled off at the only fucking exit in Upstate New York that doesn’t have a return?” I asked myself. Fumbling with my phone, I cursed when I saw it was down to one percent.

  I committed as many of the directions to the next on ramp as I could to memory and wound the Maserati through the forested, hilly curves of the Catskills. I slid a few times, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle. But if this kept up, the depth was going to be an issue.

  I glanced at the road sign telling me the next onramp was in one mile. When I looked back to the road, a deer bounded out of the forest and onto the street.

  “Shit!” I shouted, slamming on the breaks. The car slid, and I downshifted, trying to turn away from the animal. I missed the massive buck by only a few feet, sliding off the road, and into a snowbank.

  The car slammed to a halt, and the seatbelt stopped my forward momentum with a snap, but not before my head hit something as the airbag deployed.

  A fine powder filled the car from the airbag, and I threw open the door, coughing as I stepped into the night. I felt a warm trickle and pulled my fingers from my forehead to find a light stream of blood. Great.

  Leaning back into the car, I grabbed my phone.

  The fucking thing was dead.

  “This is what impulsivity gets you,” I muttered.

  The car was buried in the bank past the first set of tires, and the back had no traction on the snow-covered ground. There was zero chance I was getting it out of there.

  “Couldn’t buy an SUV, could you?” I cursed my brother instead of my own stupidity. I was in nothing but a tux and dress shoes, about to walk a mile in sub-zero temperatures to the highway and pray that someone stopped.

  At least it would make for an interesting story.

  I put my hands in my pockets and started walking down the side of the road, ignoring the cold that seeped through my dress clothes and shoes. As I passed a smaller road, I looked up the hill and saw lights through the blowing snow. That was my best bet if I didn’t want to freeze to death.

  I trudged up the hill, thanking God that I didn’t fall on my ass.

  The house was white, with lights streaming out from the glassed-in wrap around porch. More than the appearance, I cared about the smoke billowing from the chimney. They had heat.

  Correction. She had heat.

  I paused, the snow up to my knees on what I assumed was her sidewalk. She was beautiful. Her wide, blue eyes narrowed as she looked out over the snow through her window. She was petite, but perfectly curved—from what I could see—her blonde hair falling just around her shoulders. As she brushed it back, I caught the color underneath. Pink. It was pink. No...purple. Holy shit, the underlayer of her hair was dyed like a unicorn. More than beautiful, she was exquisite. Maybe I was going into hypothermia because she had to be a hallucination.

  But I desperately needed her to be real.

  I stumbled up the st
eps, having lost the majority of feeling in my feet, and rang the bell.

  “Please be real.”

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