The Sex Bucket List

by Lane, Prescott

  Mateo looks at his computer and then takes yet another call. He hangs up quickly, and I can tell by the look in his eye we need to sit down. “It’s not mechanical. The plane is fine.”

  “Thank God,” Poppy says.

  Mateo sits down next to her on the sofa, placing his hand on her shoulder. “There was some sort of incident on the plane.”

  “Terrorism?” I ask.

  “They don’t think so,” he says. “I don’t have the whole story, but it seems a man and his wife were fighting. He was drinking, and he punched her. The flight attendants tried to intervene, and things got out of control.”

  Poppy looks up. “Dash left the cockpit, didn’t he?”

  “All I know is that a pilot is injured,” Mateo says.

  “I know it’s him!” Poppy cries, and I can’t console her. “Is he okay? How bad is it?”

  “I’m trying to find out more,” he says.

  “The plane will land here?” I ask.

  “Yes,” Mateo says. “Soon.”

  The next fifteen minutes are a complete zoo. Poppy wants to go to the runway and meet the plane. My brother just landed, was briefed on the incident, and is now trying to get to the office. And my dinner date is trying to manage the situation.

  Once Mateo confirms the injured pilot is indeed Dash, there’s no stopping Poppy. I do some quick thinking and call one of my contacts, who tells me which hospital the ambulance will head to once the plane lands.

  I manage to convince Poppy to head there rather than put up with the police and TV crews descending on the airport. And within about twenty minutes, she and I are standing at the entrance to the emergency room, waiting for Dash to arrive, watching passenger accounts of the event on our phones.

  The man was drunk, out of control, and abusive. There were no air marshals on the plane. The flight attendants were overwhelmed, and a few passengers intervened. Dash exited the cockpit and ultimately restrained the man, though in the process, he pulled a small knife from his pocket and stabbed Dash in the neck. It’s unknown how the knife got through security. Dash’s status is also unknown. There’s a lot that’s unknown. But everyone’s saying Dash is a hero.

  Gage and Mateo are at the hospital with us. Their phones won’t stop ringing. They should really be at the office, but Dash is their friend. And the security issue is over; it will now just take time to sort out how the knife got on the plane and what happened in the air. So it’s fine the guys are both here. In fact, from a PR standpoint, I like that Gage, as head of the company, is checking on an injured pilot. He’s clearly worried about Dash, pinching the bridge of his nose so hard that I fear he’ll leave a permanent indention. Our dad used to do the same thing when stressed. As for Layla, she’s a mess and keeps calling me, but she can’t leave Greer and get here. My mom isn’t faring much better. I’ve talked to Ryan, and he, too, is upset. So are our kids. Dash is like an uncle to them.

  Mateo is the only one holding it together. Hell, I think he’s holding all of us together. He’s listened to Gage, talked to my mom, consoled Poppy, brought everyone food. And ever so often, he gives me a little smile or a simple brush of his hand to mine. We never got our first date, and I’m not sure when we will, but he waited before and that’s his way of letting me know he’ll wait again.

  Where is the damn ambulance? Poppy hasn’t said a word since we confirmed the injured pilot was Dash. She either cries quietly or looks like she’s in a daze, pulling out her hair extensions one by one. At times, I see her trembling a bit. I’ve asked a million times if I can do anything for her, and she just shakes her head each time. The waiting is killing her. I know she needs to see Dash, to know the extent of his injuries.

  After I ask again if there’s something I can do, she takes my hand and finally speaks. “Stop wasting time, Emerson. Go to Mateo. That’s what I need you to do.”

  I get to my feet, catching Mateo’s eyes, knowing he’ll follow me. All the crazy stuff on my sex bucket list is great, but a simple hug and kiss would be perfect about now. I head outside to get some fresh air, looking up into the afternoon sun. Is it really not nighttime yet? Nothing about the past few hours makes any sense. How could this have happened? How can I help my friend?

  “Have you eaten anything all day?” Mateo asks.

  I turn around, and a soft smile appears on his face, but it doesn’t hold happiness. It’s a worried smile. “I can’t eat,” I say. His phone rings again. Pulling it out, he moves the switch to vibrate. “Mateo, you can’t . . .”

  “Two minutes,” he says, holding out his hand to me. “Me and you for two minutes.”

  I fall into his arms and hold him tightly. He strokes my hair as I cling to him. I haven’t had a man hold me, just hold me, in years. And for those one hundred and twenty seconds, I hold on as tightly as I can, knowing how quickly it can be taken away.

  Now it’s the buzzing of my phone that forces us apart. I have to answer; it’s Ava. I console her on the phone as best I can, and then Jacob, too. I tell them I wish I could be there to comfort them. I know they need me. I don’t think my littlest one knows what’s going on, which is good. I feel so torn between my kids and everything else—Gage, Poppy, Dash, my work, and so on. Such a typical mom feeling. I promise them as soon as Dash arrives at the hospital and is stable, I’ll head home.

  I step out of Mateo’s arms and we go back inside. There’s been no update, so I take a seat next to Poppy—and wait.

  Waiting is the worst. I was absent the day God handed out patience in heaven. I suppose waiting is a little better when you’re with someone, when it’s a team sport. The mind goes to dark, scary places when you’re alone with your fear and worry. I heard a priest say in a homily once that fear is bad, but being scared while you’re alone is intolerable.

  Glancing up, I find Mateo’s brown eyes fixed on me. He looks so strong, so sure, like he’s been here before, like he’s in this for the long haul, no matter how long it takes. Maybe I won’t ever have to worry alone again.

  * * *

  I hate I had to fly home. It’s Ryan’s week with the kids, but they need me. He brought them to my house for the night, thinking they’d be more comfortable in their regular rooms. He was right, and I don’t mind. He hangs around a little while to let me collect my thoughts, hug and talk to the kids, and clean up a bit. I keep my shower short because I start to think too much. And checking my phone every thirty seconds isn’t helping, either.

  Dash is fine, for the most part. The knife didn’t go in too deep, and it missed the carotid artery and whatever other important veins and nerves there are. He was alert and stable when I left the hospital. But the adrenaline coursing through my veins hasn’t settled. I haven’t heard from anyone since I left. I don’t know how Poppy’s holding up, or whether Dash was released. And I know I need to be handling PR for this episode.

  Putting on my most comfortable pajamas, I hear the doorbell ring and come out of my bedroom, finding Ryan at the door taking a couple sacks of food. “You ordered?” I ask him.

  “No, I thought you did. The guy said it was paid for already.”

  I smile, knowing exactly who did this. Then I take out my phone to send a thank you text. I know I should call, but don’t feel like I can with Ryan here.

  Mateo’s response is immediate. I’m keeping our dinner date.

  “It’s from that Italian place you like,” Ryan says. “Should we call and tell them it’s a mistake?”

  I smile and shake my head. Did I tell Mateo my favorite place at some point? If not, how did he know? I’m not too hard to figure out. I’m a total carb whore—pasta and garlic bread are my biggest turn-ons. My food porn pictures would be anything made from dough.

  I take the sacks from him. “Think I’ll keep it. I need the carbs.”

  I kneel down and start to unload the sacks on the coffee table in the den, feeling it’s wrong to share any of this with Ryan.

  Taking a knee beside me and eyeing the cartons, he says, “Weird. It’s all
your favorite stuff.”

  I shrug. “By the way, thanks for helping with the kids. You don’t need to stay.”

  Ryan places his hand on mine. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

  I slip my hand out from beneath his and get up. “I’m flying back in the morning. I think the kids will be alright now.”

  “They will be. Are you alright?” he asks but doesn’t get to his feet. “I can stay the night.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

  “I said I’m fine. Go home.”

  “I know what you said,” he says, getting to his feet. “But . . .”

  “It’s been a day from hell. You said you wanted distance. So go home.”

  “Emerson,” he says softly, “let me be here for you.”

  “I can’t.”

  “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because my . . .” My phone rings, stopping me from blurting out I’m finally moving on. Mateo’s name lights up my screen. I doubt that’s any sort of red flag to Ryan. He knows that we work together and that Mateo is at the hospital. Quickly grabbing my phone, I motion for Ryan to leave, but he doesn’t.

  “I want to know if there’s any update,” Ryan says, and whether I like it or not, that’s a pretty good excuse for him to hang around.

  I answer the phone. “Hi, Mateo. Have you seen Dash?”

  Listening to Mateo, I nod to Ryan. Mateo goes on, and I learn that Dash is being discharged from the hospital soon, but he’s being grounded until the investigation concludes.

  “How’s Poppy?” I ask.

  “She’s strong, hanging in.”

  “Tell her I’m flying back in the morning.”

  “I will.”

  I glance over at Ryan, now plopped down on my sofa. “How about you?” I ask.

  “Just keeping an eye on Poppy and your brother.”

  “You’re a really good friend,” I say then bite my tongue, hating the way that came out. “I mean, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he says. “Did you eat?”

  “Thank you for doing that,” I say. “You’ve got so much going on. I can’t believe you took the time to do this.”

  “Emerson,” Ryan blurts out, “you want the spaghetti or the lasagna?”

  “Is that Ryan?” Mateo asks.

  I gnash my teeth, plotting various ways to murder my ex-husband, then lower the phone to my chest. “I want them both,” I snap. “That’s all mine.” Ryan holds up his hands in peace, and I bring the phone back to my ear, to a laughing Mateo. I move from the den into the kitchen to get some privacy. “Sorry about that. Ryan was watching the kids. That’s why he’s here.”

  “I’m glad he’s there.”

  I scrunch my face. “Really?”

  “I was worried when you left. I hated the idea of you by yourself.”

  “I’m used to it,” I say. “I thought it might bother you that Ryan is here.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” he says. “Plus, if you and I are going to work, it’d be best if he and I got along.”

  “That’s so mature. I was worried that . . .”

  “How about you stop worrying about everyone all the time? And let me worry about you for a change?”

  “I’m a mom, worrying is a prerequisite for the job.”

  “My mom says the same thing,” he says.

  “I’m so tired.”

  “Eat and try to sleep,” he says. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  I hang up, walk into the living room, and find Ryan asleep on my sofa. Is this his idea of being there for me? Rolling my eyes, I grab the takeout and head to my room, looking forward to a long, deep carb coma.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  UNSELFISH SEX

  I make my way to Atlanta and continue to monitor the news. Lucky for us, all the accounts are showing Dash went above and beyond his duties to ensure the safety of our passengers. That’s a blessing. It makes my life easier. Still, the media has questions, and I’m the one providing the narrative.

  Walking into the corporate headquarters, I never realized that buildings had moods until today. I can feel the worry and sadness. It’s as if the very walls, the very bricks have absorbed the emotions of our employees. Even with good news swirling about Dash, it will take a few days if not weeks for everyone to feel “normal” again. From the looks of my brother, it might take even longer than that.

  I step off the elevator and look through the open door of his office, seeing his head resting in his hands, and just for the briefest moment, he looks like our father. Then Mateo appears in my line of sight, his back to me. I can’t hear them, but I know the stress has them both on edge. Gage glances up, catching my stare. And the big sister in me kicks right in.

  I step into his office and shut the door behind me, as Gage stands up. I move to him and wrap my arms around him. Ten years older than he is, Gage will always be my baby brother. It doesn’t matter that he’s the boss, that he towers over me, that he’s now married with his own baby.

  He releases me, probably embarrassed in front of Mateo. “You’ve handled the media brilliantly,” Gage says.

  I nod my thanks. “Any word on how he got the knife onboard?”

  “TSA error,” Mateo says. “Nothing on our end. Apparently, the guy has a history of domestic violence.”

  “I checked on his wife this morning,” I say. “Doctors checked her out. She’s fine. I offered her counseling on our dime.” Gage nods in response. I should’ve asked him first, but I knew he’d be fine with it.

  The three of us catch up on the details of the past day until we are all on the same page. But in the quiet pauses, I feel the tension between Mateo and me building, both of us anxious to check on each other, to have a proper hello, and a moment alone. This is why it’s hard to be involved with someone at work.

  Gage thanks Mateo, indicating he wants a minute alone with me. I’m really hoping he isn’t going to lecture me about something. His face looks so serious. Mateo’s eyes catch mine over his shoulder, as he closes the door behind him. He’s obviously concerned, too. Alone together, Gage paces back and forth in front of his desk a few times, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “You’re freaking me out,” I say.

  “I’m not sure how to start this conversation.”

  “Is it about me and Mateo?”

  He shakes his head. “I need your opinion.”

  “This is a first.”

  He grabs some papers off his desk and hands them to me. I pull my glasses out of my purse, and my eyes scan over the pages. “You’re selling now?” I ask. He’s had offers before, but was never serious about them.

  “I’ve thought about it before. And after what just happened, maybe it’s a sign.”

  I continue to look over the document. “It’s an extremely good offer.”

  “Half would be yours.”

  My eyes shoot up. “Dad left the company in your hands.”

  “We were both his kids.”

  “Gage, I’ve worked part-time mostly. You’ve really run things, grown the company. What it’s become is built on your hard work, not mine.”

  “Well, I won’t sell without your blessing and Mom’s. And I won’t sell unless you’re taken care of.”

  “Half is too much.”

  “So you’re okay with me selling?”

  “Let me think about it,” I say. “But don’t rush into something because of Dash.”

  “Layla said the same thing. But it’s more than that. I’m married now with a kid. I can’t go back to eighty-hour work weeks.”

  “Have you talked to Mom?”

  “Not yet. I wanted to talk to you first.”

  We go on to talk about options, negotiating tactics, his concern for our employees, whether everyone would keep their jobs at their present pay. It’s a lot to consider, but nothing needs to be decided now.

  “I plan on ta
lking to Mom tonight,” Gage says. “I’ve asked her to fly in. I’d like you to be there when I talk to her.”

  I agree, of course, but my heart sinks for purely selfish reasons. I may never get to have dinner with Mateo. Forget the damn sex bucket list—right now I’d settle for a bucket of chicken and him.

  I make my way to my office, tending to a pile of papers on my desk and answering a few emails and calls. Looking up from my desk, I find Mateo standing in my doorway. I wonder how long he’s been watching me. The smile on my face is enough to invite him inside. “That looked serious back there,” he says and closes the door. “What’s up?”

  Another reason not to date an employee: some things I really can’t discuss. Just because I know what an amazing kisser the man is doesn’t change my position in the company or over him. Over him? That would be nice. “Just company stuff,” I say, tossing my glasses on my desk and walking to him.

  He cocks a cute little smirk. “You mean, boss stuff.”

  “Yes,” I say and try to hold his gaze. The man always looks like he’s ready to devour me. It’s hot but unsettling. It’s been a long time since a man looked at me like that. Casting my eyes down, I notice his clothes, the same suit he was wearing yesterday. “Did you not go home last night?”

  He shakes his head. “Worked all night.”

  I step to him, my fingers lightly touching the stubble on his face. “You must be exhausted.”

  He shrugs, as if forty-eight hours without sleep is completely normal. Maybe it is for him. I guess if you work security, you probably don’t get naptime.

  “I’ll cut out a little early today if I can. Don’t tell the boss,” he teases.

  “I may do the same,” I say.

  He reaches for my hand, and my heart beats faster. “Why don’t we sneak out together? Maybe a long afternoon nap?”

  Turning away from him, I collapse down on the sofa in my office and release a deep breath. “Gage needs me tonight for work, so I can’t. I’m sorry.”