by Amy Matayo
I don’t tell her that as far as schedules go, we follow almost the exact same routine. Except for me, replace Seattle with Phoenix and we’re practically twins. “That sounds exhausting. Do you ever wake up and wonder what city you’re in?”
I already know the answer to this question—a great big depressing yes. Before I took off six months ago, I worked for my father. Expected, what a Ross man did without question, but that isn’t the point. The point is that I once hailed a cab to the airport to catch the red eye out of LAX. I was in Houston and didn’t realize my mistake until the agent informed me at check-in. Especially embarrassing since, thanks to a wicked hangover—weird how my hangovers often coincide with flying—I barely remembered arriving in that city in the first place.
I wound up flirting with that cute little agent, got her phone number even though I never intended to call, and spent over two-thousand dollars on a new flight before that fiasco was resolved.
“A few times,” she says. “More than once I’ve searched for an In-N-Out Burger in Miami and had to settle for a local coffee shop.”
At this, I smile. Getting lost in life might be a small thing to have in common, but it’s something.
“As someone who hates even the smell of In-N-Out Burger, I can’t say I’m sad for you.”
This gets her to stop. “Are you even human? In-N-Out Burger is as American as it gets.”
“Says the supermodel who had never experienced a soda suicide before today and is probably required to drink Kale smoothies for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I have a feeling a hamburger is nothing more than wishful thinking for you.”
An indignant gasp escapes her lips, one I quickly cut off.
“Sweetheart, don’t even try to deny it. I’ve dated a few of your types before. A treat for you is the occasional peanut.”
I expect a hit on the arm, a shove for my bold words. What I get surprises me.
“I’m more of a raisin girl, myself.” She shrugs, bites her lip on a smile. The move is more than a little hot. But then again, isn’t everything from her? She’s a freaking supermodel whose figure has graced the cover of Sports Illustrated more than once.
“But oh my gosh,” she whines, bringing me back up from thoughts that have definitely taken a dip south. “I’m always hungry. I’d kill for a burger right now.”
“Then I’ll tell you what. I’ll buy you one when the food court opens. But only if you promise to eat the whole thing, including the bread.”
She adjusts the strap on her bag and smirks at me. “If you’re buying, I’ll eat the bread. I might even eat yours.”
Does she have any idea how suggestive all her words sound?
“I bet you can’t.”
“I bet I can, and as punishment for your doubt I’ll make you watch the whole thing, even the part where I lick my fingers.”
I think she knows exactly how it sounds.
“What are we betting?” I say, seizing the opportunity to up the stakes. Do we even have stakes? I’m not sure, but I want to raise them anyway.
She thinks for a minute. “If I pull it off, you have to tell me where we met.”
My insides deflate. I haven’t talked about that life in six months, and I’m still not ready for it. “Tell you what, if I lose I’ll tell you one thing that happened the first night we met.”
She frowns. “Was there a second?”
I smile to myself. “There was definitely a second.”
This gets her to look at me. “What about a third?”
No, not happening. I change the subject. “Of course there’s a possibility you might lose.”
Her face falls like the possibility hadn’t occurred to her. “What are you going to do to me if I lose?”
She sounds so fearful that I can’t help but laugh. “I’m not going to do anything to you.” I force a suggestive tone into my voice. “Unless you want me to…”
She rolls her eyes. “What happens if I lose? Give it to me in simple terms.”
“You have to show me one thing in that bag of yours.”
At this, she looks worried. “I don’t know. There’s nothing in there that…”
“Just one, and you can choose what it is.”
She thinks on this for a moment before appearing to relax. Whatever she’s hiding inside that backpack, some things must not be as private as others.
“Okay.”
We come to a row of benches away from the throng of bodies and sit down. Rory drops her bag to the floor and props her feet on it. Funny how she scolded me for doing the exact same thing only a handful of hours ago.
I look across the desolate terminal, at the storm picking up intensity through a western window and the abandoned planes lining the edges of each gateway. The wind is crazy-loud. I think I hear raindrops hitting the roof. I don’t know much about hurricanes, but this feels like only the beginning. There is literally nothing happening in this airport. No one in uniform roams the hallway in pursuit of a specific destination. No tram blares its horn to urge slow walkers out of the way. No moving sidewalks or shoeshine men offer a quick touch-up to hurried passengers. Not even a single announcement comes through the loudspeaker to update us on weather conditions or flight schedules. We might be here for days.
Funny how the prospect doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it did a few short hours ago.
“Of course, if you eat my hamburger, I’ll have to eat all your fries, and then the bet will be off,” I say.
“If you eat my fries, I’ll make you buy me a milkshake. And the bet won’t be off.”
“And what if I drink your milkshake too?” It sounds innocent enough, but in my mind this conversation has gone into the gutter and down the spout, fast. And when you’re me, the mind is a terrible place. My thoughts are pretty much swimming in the sewer at this point.
“Then I’ll have to kill you.”
She says it with such conviction that I laugh.
“At which point the bet will most certainly be off. But it’s a deal.” I hold out my hand to seal it.
She looks at me with false pity but takes my hand anyway. “Wow, you’re so willing to die, and at such a young age.” She shakes her head. “Not that it matters. We’re in the Dominican Republic. At the airport. Everyone knows calories don’t count when you’re overseas. So really I have no reason to kill you at all. Which means I have no reason to lose.”
“I’m not sure anything you said made sense.”
“It totally made sense.” She licks her lips as though the mere thought of a milkshake has her all hot and bothered.
And this girl. Maybe her moves are deliberate or maybe she’s clueless or maybe she plays by a set of rules that reside somewhere in between the two. But in the five whole hours I’ve known her…
She’s taken sexy to such a high level that I’ve completely abandoned my stupid resolve.
I know she’s a supermodel and that makes her appealing by default, but I lean back and rub my forehead anyway, wondering if there’s any way to get any of that resolve back.
Chapter 7
Rory
I will never, ever, not in a million years or a million more if I happen to actually live that long, make another bet in my life. And I knew better. I’ve always known better. Like the time I tried to play the penny slots in Vegas and came away two hundred dollars poorer than when I walked in. Who loses two hundred dollars in penny slots? In half an hour?
Or the time I entered a modeling competition at age fifteen and felt great about myself… super pretty and ridiculously overconfident…until my ankle went sideways on the runway. I fell off the stage and caught myself against the knee of one of the judges. I swear the guy thought I was coming onto him. And he was at least fifty. Which made the whole situation that much worse.
There are so many more examples.
None of them will help me get over the gigantic stomach ache I’m currently dealing with. I can’t eat this much. I haven’t in years. What possessed me to say I could handle t
wo burgers, large fries, and an even larger shake in one sitting? Pride, that’s what. All of which is going to suffer when I start hurling lunch all over Colt’s lap. The worst part is I didn’t eat more than one bite of his burger, and as for the milkshake…I think I’m lactose intolerant. My stomach churns and twists, but I force a smile into place. I’m a model; my pride is even bigger than my ego. It doesn’t help that Colt keeps stomping on it.
“I’ve never seen another human consume that much food in such a short amount of time.”
“Oh come on, that isn’t true.” I say, trying to appear much more at ease than I feel. Because I feel like I’m dying. Or maybe I’m already dead. If not, someone please kill me. “You ate as much as I did, if not more.”
“I’m twice your size, and you ate my hamburger.”
“I ate one bite.”
I glare at him—at his trim six foot physique—planning to give him an incredulous once-over for his silly comment. We’re almost the same height. But my eyes get stuck on his jeans. On the tight black tee that hugs his biceps and shows off the insane ridges lining his waist. The guy has to have a six-pack. Maybe an eight pack, if those even exist. My brain turns to a muddled mess when my gaze roams over his lips…over his chiseled jawline and the stubble that accents it. I have a thing for men with a five o’clock shadow. Colt wears his well. Extremely well. So well that—
I realize a second too late he’s staring at me.
“Something wrong?” He grins at me. Thank God he has the decency not to ask questions, because I know he just read my mind.
“You’re not…” My voice cracks, my mind races to remember what we were talking about. When I think I have it, I try again. “You’re hardly twice my size. Maybe a quarter, but not twice. Plus my stomach hurts. I never should have let you talk me into this.”
“A quarter is still a lot bigger than you. And I hardly talked you into it. The bet was your idea. But the way you practically attacked everything, no wonder your stomach—”
A crack of lightning splits the terminal in two and sends the lights flickering into a strobe-like affect. The floor shakes for a half-second and makes me feel queasy before everything sets to rights again. Colt looks at me and I look at him, and as he’s about to speak and hopefully give us some direction about what to do, a voice comes over the intercom.
“We need all passengers of all airlines to report to terminal D at this time. I repeat, we need all passengers to report to terminal D at this time. Further instructions will be given shortly.”
We wait for more, then glance at each other in confusion when nothing follows. No Just kidding. No Joke’s on you. No, How the heck is everyone going to fit inside the confines one terminal without being stacked one on top of the other?
Nothing happens.
Nothing at all.
“But we’re in terminal E,” Colt said, echoing my thoughts. “And I assume the trains aren’t working, so…”
I sigh, so exhausted already. “So we have a long walk ahead of us. Merry freaking Christmas.”
* * *
The good news is I make it without throwing up.
The bad news is bodies are everywhere.
The worse news is “instructions” were just handed out. The impossible news is what the instructions actually are.
“How are they going to shuttle all these people out of the airport?” I ask, staring at my hands, wondering how I got myself into this mess. The lady in charge just looked at me and Colt and assumed we were married. Who assumes something like that without asking? It’s rude. And embarrassing. And how the heck did I get stuck in this awful situation? And why didn’t Colt say anything to correct her?
Worse, why didn’t I?
“On buses, like they said,” Colt says. I look at him, wondering how he can possibly sound this calm considering what we were just told. Yet he’s standing there with hands shoved in his pockets like he hasn’t a care in the world. He needs to have cares. He needs to have a hundred of them. Like me.
“But we’re not married.” I say this like it matters. Clearly it doesn’t to anyone but me.
He shrugs. “We are now. So I suggest you grab your bag and walk with me to bus twelve, Wifey. Our shuttle awaits.”
My shoulders droop and my feet drag in protest, but I follow him. I have no other choice.
“You two are in room 323 on the top floor. You’ll be sharing a room with another couple, so it will be nice and cozy.”
Cozy?
We’re headed to a no-name motel in the middle of nowhere because the beachside hotels have been evacuated, and all the good hotels in the safety zone are already taken. This is our punishment for trying to fly during bad weather. And did I mention I still don’t have my suitcase? Or that we’re staying with another couple?
What couple? What if they’re crazy?
I’d hardly call this cozy.
That’s what the airline representative said as he shoved a paper in Colt’s hand and gave out hotel assignments. He looked straight at me when he spoke, so there was no mistaking that I was the other half of the you two thing. I don’t want to be the other half. But they’re closing the airport and it’s almost Christmas and I don’t want to be alone either.
Fa La freaking La.
I sigh. “Rory Ross. It has a weird ring to it.”
“It’s a bit of a tongue twister, so it’s okay with me if you want to keep your maiden name.” Colt looks at me and winks. “I’m progressive like that.”
Despite my plunging mood, that gets me to smile. “I wouldn’t have married you if you didn’t believe in women’s rights.”
“Oh, I don’t believe in those. I think you should stay in the kitchen and make me food all day, and after that give me sex anytime I want it. But the name sounds dumb. Don’t want you to embarrass me with it, you know?”
“Give you sex? What are you, a caveman?”
“Some women rather enjoy being dragged by the hair. You shouldn’t knock it until you let me try it.”
“Keep waiting and wishing, weirdo.” With a laugh, I kick him on the backside and let him lead me out the door. Despite the overhang, a barrage of rain and wind slaps me in the face. I yelp and shove my head against Colt’s back to protect myself from the elements.
His body shifts slightly, and I do my best to keep my forehead pressed into his shirt.
“What are you doing?” he says over his shoulder.
I look up for one second. “You’re my husband. The rain is cold. Take care of me.” My head goes back down, and his back shakes with laughter. I smile at the ground and keep in step with him. A few long minutes later, we’re loaded into the bus, sitting side by side in a seat with a rip down the middle, and headed God knows where.
“I wonder what hotel they’re taking us to.”
I lean back in my seat and try to ignore the flip and twist of nerves in my stomach.
“No idea. I guess we’ll find out soon.”
Chapter 8
Colt
We found out soon.
I wish to God we hadn’t.
We’re standing side by side in the middle of what can only be described as a pay-by-the-hour establishment. How do I know this? One, the quarter slot near the headboard was a dead giveaway. Twenty-five cents gets you a vibrating bed for a good ten minutes, though I think ten minutes is a rip-off because who wants to fish around for another quarter just when things are getting hot and heavy? A bit of an inconvenience, if you ask me. And two, I’m pretty sure I’m staring at blood on the floor. Or old urine, if urine darkens over time. Whatever it is, it’s definitely the size of a baseball—or a fist, which would make sense if it’s blood. Either way, avoiding it might be a problem.
I glance at Rory. She’s clutching her backpack and staring at that spot like it might jump up and bite her. Or snatch her bag. From the look on her face, that might be the bigger fear. What is in that thing? Also, how the heck did we wind up here?
I’m about to ask this question out loud
when I glance over at the real problem next to me. Blood, vibrating beds…that doesn’t even touch the surface of the horrible mess that has just become our lives. A strange woman sniffles and buries her head into the strange guy’s shoulder, and I know I’m looking straight at the problem. It’s even worse than I thought.
The other couple. Except the lady from the airline left an important detail out. I take a deep breath and make myself speak.
“So you say you’re on your honeymoon?”
“Yes.” The man glares at me and tightens his grip around his wife’s waist.
“And you got married yesterday?” I’ve asked these questions a couple times already, but I keep hoping he’ll change his answer. Rory closes her eyes and works her jaw back and forth. I’m pretty sure she’s hoping he’ll change his answer too. Or that I’ll shut up. But seriously, who gets married this close to Christmas? It’s ridiculous.
“Two days ago, actually. We spent the night in Dallas before we flew here. The Dominican Republic for a honeymoon, it’s what Stacy wanted. I wanted to go fishing in Alaska, but of course that’s not important right now. This place won out, and here we are. Sharing a seedy hotel room with another couple while a late-season hurricane comes through. Life’s fun like that.”
The woman cries harder. He props his chin on her head and rolls his eyes.
If his attitude is any indication, they’ll be divorced by Independence Day. Fitting if you think about it.
“If it makes you feel better,” Rory says, dropping her beloved backpack on what is little more than an over-sized twin bed. “I wanted to be in Seattle right now. You know, since it’s Christmas and all. Sharing a room with three people I don’t know real well wasn’t in my plans either. Besides, December in Alaska doesn’t sound much better. Too cold this time of year.”
“Three?” The guy looks at Rory, his brows all scrunched together. “Aren’t you two married?”