by Liz Crowe
“Gathered that much,” Joey said.
“I don’t even know where to start. Leslie’s three years younger than me and was all that I wasn’t growing up, all the way through high school and beyond. Prettier, nicer, more talented at everything she tried.” Paige tried not to sound whiney. “Once I broke the news to my folks that I was moving to the heathen inner city of Detroit, you’d have thought I’d told them I was being stationed in Iraq or someplace. I mean, don’t get me wrong. They’re super liberal, at least on paper. But when it comes to their baby girls . . .” She shrugged and hopped off the moving sidewalk. “Hey, grab that,” she said, pointing to an abandoned cart usually used to move massive loads of luggage. “I’ve always wanted to do this.”
Joey shrugged and rolled the thing to her. She put her bags on it, jumped on and leaned against the front, pointing in front of her like a hood ornament. “Onward, boyfriend,” she commanded.
He grinned and started pushing her. They went fast, then faster, ducking and weaving around the gathered groups of people. She screamed in delight, then in a bit of minor terror, as he started whipping her around corners, sending the thing up precariously on two wheels more than once.
Finally, to avoid the airport cops who’d started flagging them down, Joey took one last corner at the farthest end of the terminal and tucked in behind a glass wall. Paige disembarked, feeling more than a tad woozy. When her legs didn’t want to hold her up, Joey grabbed her elbow. She gasped when he yanked her close, giving her a pleasant close up of his lips and an even more pleasant press of what had to be a firm, lean, strong body against hers.
“You did that so I’d fall over, then you’d have to rescue me and would use it as an excuse to kiss me,” she whispered, keeping her hands pressed against his chest as the loud corridor faded from her consciousness.
Joey’s lips hovered tantalizingly over hers. “Yeah, so?” He tucked a wild lock of her hair behind her ear, grazing her neck and shoulder with his fingertip. “I did agree to be your boyfriend on a moment’s notice. I think that entitles me to one . . . little . . . kiss.” The last words were a whisper, spoken ever closer to her lips.
She nodded. But the kiss was soft, chaste, and way too brief. He let go of her as soon as he’d done it and stepped away, looking wigged out. “I . . . I’m sorry. I don’t usually, uh, I mean, shit.” With his hands on his hips, his face reddening, a small frown wrinkling between his brows, Joey Preston looked the epitome of a confused, embarrassed, unhappy young man.
Paige crossed her arms and glared at him, using frustrated anger to cover her own extreme embarrassment. “I have some questions for you,” she said.
He looked at her, his expression reflecting eagerness for a reprieve from the moment. “Okay,” he said, grabbing her suitcase off the cart and rolling it over to her.
“Do you like to hunt? Fish? What’s your favorite sport? How about your politics? Do you vote? Do you think we should have invaded Iraq? Also,” she started holding up fingers, masking her own discomfort over his sudden withdrawal from her with a brisk, get-down-to-business attitude, “I’ll need your favorite color, food, drink, TV show, movie, and type of music. Ready? Go.”
She whipped out her phone, ready to take notes. Joey ran a hand around the back of his head and grinned at her. Dear God, but she was madly in love with this hunk of handsome on the mere basis of that smile.
Okay, maybe not in love. But she was intrigued. The fact he’d agreed to this stupid, crazy thing was an indication of a sort of devil-may-care state of mind that she loved.
He opened his mouth right when a fresh announcement crackled through the sound system, stopping everyone in their tracks.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. It has been determined that all flights leaving Detroit Metro airport will resume in the next two hours. We apologize for any inconvenience the weather has caused. Please check the electronic boards for your outgoing flight number and time and proceed in an orderly manner to the appropriate gate.”
Joey grabbed his backpack and shouldered it. “So, pretty new girlfriend, let’s go check when our flight to Kentucky will leave, shall we?” He stuck out his elbow. She slid her hand into the warm space between his arm and torso without a word. Her heart did a totally sappy pitter-pattering thing, but she ignored it and walked with him to the nearest departures board.
Chapter Five
Joey stood and stared up at the board as it slowly but surely repopulated the departure times. The memory of having very nearly grabbed Paige and dragged her into the nearest broom closet, just so he could get his lips and hands all over her, had not faded. But he’d wrestled the need down, sat on its head, and believed he had himself under control.
For the time being, anyway.
He allowed himself a quick lean over her, a quick sniff of her hair before resuming his thoughtful position. Since he wasn’t sure which city or airport they were looking for anyway, he waited until she pointed to the one she’d been seeking.
“There. Lexington. Oh, crap. It’s not leaving until four, and it’s an hour and ten-minute flight, then a forty-minute drive. My sister is gonna have a shit fit. But my Mama—” As if on cue, her phone jangled down in her purse. She sighed and leaned against him. “I’m going to ignore it.”
“Probably for the best,” he said and draped what he hoped came across as a supportive, friendly arm around her shoulders. She sighed heavier and slumped into him as the phone rang and rang, then rested, and began ringing some more. “Maybe you should . . .” he began until he realized Paige had turned to face him, had both her hands on his waist, and was drenching the front of his shirt with tears.
She shook and sobbed as he patted her back he was reminded of his own weakness in the face of female unhappiness. His mother had never shown much emotion at all, good or bad, to him or his similarly emotionally absent father. They’d moved at least seven times in his life, from base to base, ever chasing the next army promotion until they’d died within a few weeks of each other when he was twelve. He’d learned early to equate emotion with something bad or negative, while silent stoicism equaled strength.
The first time a girlfriend cried when he’d done his best strong and silent thing, he’d freaked out and dumped her. He’d learned since then not to give in to his fear and loathing of tears, lest he found himself without pleasant female company on a regular basis. But he’d never quite grasped what to do or say in the face of the semi-regular outbursts of waterworks.
So he kept patting Paige’s back, trying hard not to notice how great she felt pressed up against him as she went about the business of being female and turning his shirt into a wrinkled, damp mess. Finally, her shaking shoulders stilled, and she gave a few sniffles before drawing away from him.
“God, you must think I’m certifiable,” she said, swiping the back of her hand across her lips before grabbing her shoulder bag and poking around in it, presumably for a tissue. Joey pulled the small pack he always kept handy from the front pocket of his rucksack and handed them over in silence. She took one, blotted her eyes, blew her nose, tossed the tissue in the trash then took a long breath. “Thanks, boy scout,” she said with a slight grin.
He shrugged, still a little wigged out, but fighting it by reminding himself of the very nice pressure of her breasts against his chest and the lovely sweet taste of her lips earlier. “I’m hungry,” he said, grabbing her suitcase handle. “Let’s go find some food.”
She nodded, sniffled a bit more and fell in beside him. They ended up at another bar where she proceeded to put away a serious meal complete with a double cheeseburger, fries, and half his chocolate shake. When she grinned, gave a little burp and sat back, patting her flat stomach, Joey thought he might be in love.
“Impressive,” he said, breaking their burger-induced silence.
“Yeah, I’m a delicate desert blossom.” She propped her feet up on the chair next to him and dragged out her phone. “Best face the music and get it over with
now.”
He nodded and listened as she spoke first with her sister, who made a wailing sound that even the people at the next table could hear, then her mother who must be giving Paige a real earful since the girl hardly got a word in edgewise. When he saw the tears rise in her huge green eyes again, he reached across the table and snagged the phone from her grip.
He put it to his ear, holding out his hand to keep her from launching herself at him and taking it back with a wink and a grin. “Hello, is this Mrs. DiFerrari? Hi, I’m Joey. Joey Preston. You know, Paige’s boyfriend?”
“Well, I declare,” the woman said, her voice soothing his ears with its warm, not-too-overdone accent. “Honestly, hon, I thought the girl was having me on, making up some silly story.”
“No, ma’am. I’m a real person, and I’m sitting here with her at the Detroit airport. I wanted you to know that we’re doing everything we can to get her back to Kentucky in time for today’s . . . uh, event.”
“Well, I’m sure you are, young man. I do hope my daughter is treating you well. I mean, I like to think I taught her a thing or three about—”
Joey cut her off, not willing to hear how that particular sentence might end. “Yes, ma’am, Paige is a very nice, ah . . . um, girlfriend.” He winced, then glanced over at her to catch her rolling her eyes at him. She had her arms crossed, her feet still up on the chair, and looked more beautiful to him at that moment than any woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Without thinking about it, he put a hand on her calf. The warmth of her leg sent a pulse of desire through him he hadn’t expected.
But she didn’t flinch or move her leg so he kept his hand there, enjoying the casual intimacy a few more seconds. He could hear voices in the background on the other end of the line. “You do me a big favor and tell Leslie that I’m bringing her sister as fast as I can. The airlines say the fog is clearing, and we’ll be taking the very first flight possible.” He paused and checked his watch. “We’ll be on the ground at approximately seventeen hundred hours.”
“Oh, heavens, I forgot that you’re a military man,” Paige’s mother squealed in his ear. “Leslie, Les, guess what? Paige’s beau is military.”
“Yes, ma’am. I was an Army Ranger. Now I’m in . . . um, private security.”
There was more random chattering. He waited, keeping his hand on Paige’s leg, noting that she seemed a lot calmer. “All right then, young man. Paige’s daddy will pick y’all up at the airport.”
“Oh, no. That’s all right,” he said, feeling more confident by the minute. “I’ll rent a car. We’ll see you at the . . .” He glanced over at Paige for a clue.
She mouthed “barbecue” at him.
“At the barbecue.”
The woman sighed in his ear. “Well, now, that sounds just fine. You tell my daughter I said to behave herself, and we’ll see her real soon.”
“Yes, ma’am, I’ll do that.” Joey squeezed Paige’s leg. She smiled. “Bye, now.” He ended the call before any more unnecessary words could be said and handed her phone to her. She stared at him, then down at the proprietary palm on her calf. He moved his hand, embarrassed by his own horniness level.
“You are such a sweet talker,” she said.
“Yeah, well, sometimes it just takes a boyfriend’s touch.”
Her smile widened. His face got so hot at his honest misuse of such a loaded phrase he groaned and looked up at the ceiling.
“You are the cutest goddamned thing,” she said, dropping her feet to the floor and leaning forward on the table. Joey tried not to fixate on her boobs, choosing, instead, the higher road of her wild corkscrew curls and her full lips.
“So, is there anything else I should know about your family, you know, so we don’t seem like this is all a big set up?”
“Other than the fact that my mama is a former Miss Kentucky, president of her sorority, and a pushy southern lady, and my daddy is sweet, quiet, madly in love with her still and willing to do whatever she wants?”
“What does he do for a living?”
“He owned the Ford dealership in town before he sold it to a giant conglomerate of dealers for a shit ton of cash during my freshman year of college. Now he goes into the big office at the shiny new location near the mall and gets to preside over someone else’s balance sheet. He’s damn good at it, I’m told. A real go-getter of a sales manager who turns into someone else entirely when he hits the front door of our house and my mama takes over.”
“Huh,” Joey said, leaning back to take the pressure off his zipper while Paige pulled the ponytail holder out of her hair, reassembled the wild tangle of it, and then reattached it in a sort of messy bun-like thing at the base of her skull. “And your mother, your mama, does she work?”
“Oh, if you ask her, she does all the work,” Paige said, rolling her eyes. “And I suppose, at one time, it was true. Back when me and Les were little and into ballet, piano, and sports, and she was dragging us all over the place without any help from him. That dealership was open seven days a week, and there wasn’t a day when my daddy wasn’t at it.” She flopped back in the fake leather seat and stretched her arms up over her head. Joey looked away, lest he embarrass himself by staring at the way the thin fabric stretched across her chest.
Get a grip, man. Stop acting like a pop-eyed teenager.
“So, now she works in her garden, keeps the house immaculate, gets her nails and hair done, fusses at my daddy about taking more vacations . . . oh, and she’s taken up golf with a vengeance. Here,” she said, passing the phone back to him. “This was taken last Christmas.”
Joey took a long look at the photo. Paige sat on the floor in front of a huge, stone hearth alongside a girl who he’d never in a trillion years guess was her actual sister. He glanced over at her, then back down at the image. The girls were all smiles, sitting cross-legged and wearing matching, fugly sweaters. Leslie DiFerrari had long, straight blonde hair but, on closer inspection, shared both Paige’s deep green eyes and her double dimples.
The woman sitting to their left was an older version of Leslie, dressed in a similarly awful sweater, but it hugged her figure closer than her daughters’ did. Her smile was also wide, but much less genuine-looking. She looked brittle and unhappy. But Joey was not one to judge since most of the Christmases he could recall were chock full of overblown, unfulfilled expectations of warmth and happiness.
The man, their father, wore his own version of the bad holiday sweater and their smile. His eyes were also green, and his thick head of hair was silver. He had broad shoulders and was probably six foot four or five if his long torso was any indication. He was leaning in toward his wife and daughters while his wife seemed to want to absent herself from the whole experience.
He allowed himself a quick look at Paige again, then back at the photo. She had her arm around her sister’s shoulders. Her face was flushed and both she and Leslie looked as if they’d been laughing.
“Nice,” he said, handing the device back across the table. She snorted.
“I was as high as a kite,” she revealed. “You can get some really prime weed in Kentucky. Leslie always saves some for our ‘family gatherings.’”
Joey stiffened in spite of himself. She frowned as if sensing his displeasure. “Oh, don’t tell me.” Her eyes flashed. “Wait, hold up a minute. Are you . . . a republican?” She whispered the word as if it were on par with “anal cancer.”
He nodded and crossed his arms over his chest, the urge to leap across the small, messy table and grab her up and kiss that pursed, full mouth never stronger. “I’m a card-carrying member of the NRA too. That gonna be a problem for you?”
She chuckled. “Please. I learned how to shoot a gun when I was fifteen. Mind you, I’ve never had a use for one since. But my daddy goes hunting every year, usually with his buddy Anton Love, the man who owns the local brewery, and we used to eat venison all winter.”
“Well then, that’s a relief,” he said, feeling the tension crawl up his spine at her frown.
>
“Yes, well, it’s probably a good idea not to bring up politics. My parents are your basic Southern liberal types. They didn’t support the whole invading Iraq thing, but they have a huge respect for military types. As you probably figured out.”
He nodded. “For the record, I served in Iraq, two times.”
“Great,” she muttered, slumping down. “I would pick a fake boyfriend who’s a war junkie.”
“I’m not—” He stopped, unwilling to finish the thought, his mind a whirl once again with the odd position he found himself in. “It doesn’t matter. As you said, I’m only the fake boyfriend.” He rose, angry at himself for thinking this might be anything more than that, and shouldered his pack. “I need to buy a ticket. I’ll meet you at the gate.” He didn’t meet her eyes before he turned away, his jaw clenched, heart racing with confusion, lust and his first taste of true frustration at Paige DiFerrari—a stranger to him not two hours ago, but in whose eyes and lips and wild hair, he wanted to lose himself, forever.
Chapter Six
Paige watched Joey walk, stiff-necked, away from her, unable to stop admiring the way his jeans clung to his ass. She shook her head to clear it, wondering what in the name of all that was holy she’d been thinking when concocting the lie about him in the first place. The memory of his hand on her leg, of the way he deftly handled her mother on the phone, of his wide, incredibly sweet smile, all combined in her addled brain, making her head pound and her gut churn.
She got up, re-shouldered her bag and grabbed the handle of her suitcase. Staring down at the remains of their meal, she tried to regain her composure.