Greatest Distraction (Distracted #1)

by Juli Valenti

  “How can you not know what this means! You’re going to find love! Hell, you’ll probably fall head over heels in love! Your dreams will come true.”

  “I think having kids has completely eroded your mind. I’m more than happy for you, that you found your Mr. Right and that he’s an all-around amazing guy. I know how important he is to you, how important the girls are to you, but my dream? My dream is not to find Prince Charming and go frolicking into the sunset. I don’t believe in ‘endings’ like that. Dreams are dreams for a reason.”

  “You’re so cynical. You didn’t used to be, woman. And you just wait. You’re going to meet someone, trip over your own feet, and realize it is your dream after all,” Elle said, shaking her head sadly though her eyes still gleamed with happiness.

  Cynical? Me? Why, just because I didn’t believe in fairy tales anymore? Hmm … maybe she’s on to something, but still. I don’t think I’m anything – I’m just me. Okay, perhaps the ‘me’ is a little cynical. Just don’t tell anyone I admitted it.

  Chapter Six

  “Attention: flight number fourteen-sixty-two, originally departing for John F. Kennedy at four twenty-three, has been delayed. New departure time is six eighteen. We’re very sorry about the delay. Again, flight number…”

  “I get it, damn it; my flight is delayed. Shut. Up,” I said loudly, ignoring the disapproving looks from fellow plane waiters. The voice on the loud speaker had been announcing the delay of my flight for the past ten minutes and it was annoying. Add in the fact that I got to the airport early, around eleven, and you got a very grumpy Ryen. Usually I had opposite luck, and got stuck in security checks, complete with full body X-ray scans. Not today though, especially not when I was this excited.

  In the week since mine and Elle’s spa day, I’d gone shopping, for clothes this time, gotten the time off from my not-so-happy boss, packed, gotten my eyebrows done, and put a re-route on my mail; Elle had offered to go through it for me, which I was grateful. I’d paid the bills on my condo for three months, and, luckily, since I owned the condo, I didn’t have to worry about rent. I also didn’t have to worry about boarding any pets, or any animals going belly up while I was gone. Since I’d long since given away the kitten that … well … the kitten that he had gotten me, I was pet and, mostly, responsibility free. Good thing, too. I’d never have wanted to make Elle go through the trouble of dealing with so much of my baggage.

  It had taken three suitcases, a carry-on duffel bag, and my purse to take all the things I needed to have in the big city. It would have been four, but Elle reminded me that she kept the place pretty stocked regarding soap, shampoo, even an iron, blow dryer, and hair straightener. Other than clothes and shoes, the only other contents were some makeup. Whoever got the droll job of checking my bags for explosives was going to be in for a bored shift. Or, well, maybe an exciting one when they got to the bag with my lingerie. What can I say? I like lacy things, they make me feel pretty.

  “Attention: flight number fourteen-sixty-two, originally departing for…”

  “God Bless it! I get it!” Scooping up my purse and carry-on, I shoved my Kindle roughly back inside and stomped away from the uncomfortable fake leather seats. If I had to hear that voice tell me the exact same thing again I was going to lose my mind. Seriously, how many times is it necessary to repeat yourself? I mean, most people are smart enough to read the big screens with the times on it, right?

  “What flight number did they say was delayed?” I heard a woman ask her traveling partner and I shook my head. Okay, so I guess not everyone was smart enough to read the signs.

  Desperate to escape the artificial woman’s voice, I made my way into the bar lounge. Pausing only for a moment at the “platinum passengers only” sign, I continued on and perched on one of the stools at the bar and waited impatiently for the bartender to come down my direction. He seemed deep in thought with a man at the end of the bar, and I rapped my nails loudly on the wood countertop. Looking up, he caught my eye, held a hand up signaling he’d be over in a moment, and said something to the man he was talking to, making him laugh.

  MMM, that laugh, I thought idly, slightly intrigued. Of course, I refused to look at him - that would defeat the purpose. Nope, I’d sit here and sigh loudly in hopes that the neglectful barman got his act in gear. It had been over five minutes and he still hadn’t even come over to tell me he wasn’t coming over just yet, and it was making me more than frustrated. I understand being busy, but the bar wasn’t. Therefore, it stood to reason that I shouldn’t have to be kept waiting for forever so the hottie with the husky laugh could socialize.

  Giving up, I pulled my e-reader back out from my bag and swiped it to life, hoping for a good distraction. Usually reading put me in a good mood, as well as killed time for me, but I couldn’t concentrate. Bar-guy must be a fracking comedian, I thought, hoping my unspoken words could drown out the sound of their laughter. Just as I was about to either throw my book at them or storm off in a super dramatic huff, my attention was drawn up. Well, if it wasn’t the comedian.

  “Well, hello there. What can I get you, pretty girl?”

  “Vodka cranberry,” I answered, purposely cutting my words short. I wasn’t interested in him or his ‘pretty girl’ comment. I wanted my drink and I wanted it five, wait, now seven, minutes ago.

  The man in front of me frowned before nodding and grasping for the house vodka. I clicked my teeth and shook my head ‘no,’ hoping he’d understand my meaning. Good for me, he did, and placed his hand on a bottle of Gray Goose, raising his eyes and waiting for my approval. When I inclined my head in agreement, he smiled brightly before pouring my drink.

  Content my cocktail was being poured to my liking, I turned my eyes downward, once again trying to pick up where I left off. I didn’t glance up when my glass was set on a square white napkin, merely wrapped my hand around it and brought to my lips. I was probably coming off as a snooty bitch, which I was feeling, and I spared a moment to feel a little guilty.

  “Is this seat taken?” a masculine voice intruded on my moment of guilt and my head snapped up, recognizing the sound. It was him, the laughing man.

  So, it wasn’t just his laugh that was delectable. He was absolutely yummy, exactly what I would consider my ‘type.’ He was tallish, despite my sitting down, with dark hair and eyes the color of green water – not the algae-filled, ugly, smelly kind, but the perfect, clear, breathtaking green of the majestic oceans. His chin was strong, leading into even stronger cheekbones, both covered in a stubble that made me want to lick him. Yes, I said lick him, damn it.

  “Hello?” he asked again, forcing me to realize I’d been staring. I couldn’t help it! He was perfectly muscular, while still being lean and not bulky. His arms were made for cuddling and he showed them off well – wearing a tight fitting V-neck tee paired with dark-wash blue jeans. To top off the hottie-patottie look he was going for? He was sporting black Chucks. Damn.

  “Um…” I answered, definitely winning the most-articulate award in Atlanta. Shaking my head, I decided to give the art of speech another go. “No. No one is sitting there.”

  In return, I was graced with a mega-watt smile that if I hadn’t been sitting would make me weak in the knees. Go figure, he just had to have perfect pearly white teeth and a freaking dimple. A DIMPLE for crying out loud. Nope, not affected. Not affected. Sigh.

  “Thank you,” the man said as he gracefully perched himself onto the bar chair beside me. How anyone his size could be graceful was beyond me; he made me look like a bumbling fool when I’d gotten into mine and for a second I hoped he hadn’t seen me.

  What do you care, Ryen? You’re leaving in, I thought, glancing at my watch, an hour and a half now. You’re going to the big city and you’ll never see this guy again. Go back to reading. I started to do just that, taking a final glance at the nice specimen of man beside me before turning back to the book in my hands. He cleared his throat, obviously trying to get my attention, but I continued reading a
bout Simon Wallbanger and how I wished he was real and moved in next door to Elle’s place in New York. Alice Clayton was a new author to me, but Elle had demanded I read it and gifted it to me on New Year’s when I was spending the evening alone. I’d been depressed and I’d put the book on the back burner for a while … Now I was questioning my sanity on why I’d done that.

  “What are you reading?” the man beside me asked, interrupting my concentration. I looked up, clearly annoyed, giving him my best dagger glare.

  “A book,” I answered, turning my attention back down, hoping he’d get the message I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to read, obviously, or I wouldn’t be doing just that … on an e-reader … that has books.

  “Is it good?”

  “It would be, if I could actually read it.” This time my words came out incredibly sarcastic with a hint of ire to them that I couldn’t have hidden even if I wanted to. Yes, he was yummy and normally I would be all over him like a bee to honey, but not today. I was irked, I wanted to get on my flight, and I wanted to get the hell out of Georgia. The last thing I wanted was a man who was sex-on-a-stick to keep me here. I had plans!

  “I wouldn’t have any idea why that’s a problem; it’s awfully quiet in here, especially for a bar. Not something I’m used to, actually,” he remarked, his voice smooth and even, completely void of any acknowledgement to my snark.

  Setting my reader on the bar, I clutched my drink tightly and took a sip, praying for patience and the strength to deal with this man. He was probably the type, he looked it at least, who rarely got shot down in a bar, quiet or otherwise. First time for everything - kinda sad, really, because if I’d met him in New York a week from now I’d probably have entertained the idea of a date or something. Or white-hot sex in the apartment, you know, all the good stuff. But now just wasn’t the time.

  “Look, Mister Good-Looking,” I scolded him, finger pointing and all, his eyes following it. “Just like Peter, Paul and Mary sang: ‘I’m leavin’ on a jet plane, don’t know when I’ll be back again.’ Since my flight is delayed, I was looking for a little peace from the reoccurring noise of the loudspeaker so I could read and drink some booze. Instead, here you are, interrupting the hot times I’m reading.” I stopped for a moment, deciding to get off the path of what I was reading quickly – he didn’t need to know. “Why are you here, for that matter? I’m not a blonde pinup girl looking for a man who can buy her drinks … I can buy my own.”

  “Well, wow. Here I thought you were a pretty woman alone in a bar. I, too, am waiting on a flight – we are, after all, in an airport, you know. Most people here are doing the same thing. As for your drinks, good for you, I didn’t offer. I merely thought two was better than one.”

  “Now you sound like a Spice Girls song,” I mumbled grumpily. Okay, maybe he hadn’t offered me a drink … and I quashed the feeling that I wished he had. Stop it, stop it, stop it.

  “What was that?” he asked, eyes narrowing at me. I’m pretty sure he heard me, but with that look trained on me? No way was I going to repeat myself. See? Told you I’m smart, most of the time, anyway.

  I was saved by the loudspeaker informing us all that despite the previously repeated message, flight fourteen-sixty-two would be boarding in fifteen minutes. Glancing down at my watch I was pleasantly surprised to find that though we were still delayed from my original arrival time in New York, we were going to be an hour ahead of the later schedule. I danced a little on the inside. Finally.

  “Never mind,” I told him, climbing from my chair and throwing a ten on the bar to pay my tab. I hollered at the bartender to keep the change as a tip, scooped my bags up from the floor, and sashayed my way out door, hoping that the hottie was watching me go. Realizing I’d left my Kindle on the bar, I turned, finding the man holding it and glancing at the screen. I blushed a little, snatched it from his hands, and once again strolled toward the gate for my plane. Allowing myself one look back, I found his eyes on me and I warmed. Too bad I’d had to go back in - I’d killed the first perfect exit.

  When I’d bought my ticket, I’d purchased a first class ticket, mainly because all the other window seats were taken, which was a must for me and flying. I just couldn’t fly and ride in the middle or aisle seats without a chance of getting sick. At the time I’d felt bad, spending money that didn’t really need to be spent on an upgrade, but I’d bit the bullet and decided to live with my choice. Now I was very grateful I’d done it.

  One of the best parts about first class? You get to board first. That probably doesn’t sound like a huge selling point, but this was a super big plane, and it was at capacity. Capacity for a plane this size meant a lot of passengers to fight with, getting bashed in the face a couple times as the guy next to you tried to put his too-big-to-be-a-carry-on bag in the compartment overhead, and getting stepped on more times than a rodeo clown. Instead of all that hassle, I was greeted by a nice flight attendant named Lucy, who dutifully showed me to my seat, stored my bag for me, and handed me champagne along with a promise of hard liquor once we were in the air. See? Definitely a better choice.

  First class is spacious, too, and I couldn’t help but squirm in my seat, feeling out the extra room there was. Plush, memory-foam seating made the chair almost illegally comfortable and for the first time in my life I decided to take a nap during the flight. Elle had pulled some strings and put me on the guest lists for some A-list events while I was in the city, and I knew, knowing her, even more would be coming. The first was an event at Radio City Music hall later tonight – some white-carpet event for charity. There would be some high-profile names there and I was excited to get to go, not at all nervous about going stag. The best part of white carpet to red carpet was the fact that it wasn’t quite as dressy, quite as couple-like, and I appreciated my friend’s thoughtfulness. She’d probably meant it as a way to find a guy – one with money, no less – but that was fine. I got to go be pretty, schmooze with some people I wouldn’t normally get to, and live my first night up.

  Pulling a provided eye mask over my face, I reclined back, belted in of course, and closed my eyes. I was given a blanket by Lucy, who interrupted my almost-sleep for only a moment to ask if there was anything more she could get me, and then it was almost complete blissful silence. Why was first class so much quieter than coach? Not that I was complaining … It was heavenly. Relaxing.

  Two hours later, Lucy woke me, handing me another glass of champagne. She winked as she took my blanket and eye mask and I smiled back at her. I was downright chipper after my nap, and hearing the pilot come over the loudspeaker announcing we were landing in just a few moments made my mood soar even higher. I looked out the window, staring in awe at the sky scrapers that looked so small from such heights. It was dusk and lights twinkled from everywhere, shining like a beacon for an adventure. I felt like the city was calling to me, begging for me to explore it and myself, enjoy some time out of the norm. I didn’t want to live here anymore, despite how good it felt to be back, but I’d stayed away entirely too long.

  “Hello, old friend,” I whispered to the ground far below us, smiling. Elle and I had many great moments while living at Central. I couldn’t wait to get there, to unpack. Me, the one who hated doing chores, looking forward to unpacking – it must be a miracle occurrence. That never happened.

  As the ground rose to meet us, I clung tight to the armrests, holding my breath as I had every landing I’d ever been a part of. It was tradition. I knew I was smiling like a loon, my knuckles turning white from my grip and my face turning red from the lack of air, but I was elated. I couldn’t hide my happiness. I knew I needed to get a grip – as much as I loved this place, most of the natives here weren’t the smile-like-you’re-nuts types – it would just take me a few minutes.

  The second best thing about riding first class? You’re the first let off the plane as well. Lucy passed me my bag, which she’d retrieved from the overhead storage, and I thanked her before passing her a tip for her help. It floored me that mo
st people didn’t tip their flight attendants. To be honest, I was never sure if it was legal, but my father had always done it, so I carried it on in his memory. When she shook her head, I merely shrugged and left through the side door, making my way down the ramp, on a mission to find the baggage claim.

  Luckily, JFK airport is much easier to maneuver than the Hartsfield-Jackson airport in Atlanta, and it took me no time to find the right color and number that coordinated with my plane. The other passengers had been released from coach when the baggage started to round the conveyer belt and I fidgeted. This, for me, was probably my least favorite part of flying. Once, when Elle and I were on summer break during the time between our sophomore and junior years of college, we’d decided we were taking a trip to Cozumel for a week. Basking in the sun off the coast of Mexico had sounded fantastic … until my luggage had been ‘misplaced.’ We’d only gone for two weeks and I didn’t get my things until day eight of our visit. It had been awful and I’d worried the whole time that my stuff was lost forever. Elle had packed enough for a full month, and since we were the same size, I was lucky I could wear what she had, but the whole experience had soured me on storing my bags where I couldn’t see them. Freeloading wasn’t something I was good at, and I’d hated that I’d had to constantly ask if I could wear her things. She’d yelled at me so often during that trip. “If I didn’t want you wearing my things, I wouldn’t have offered, silly,” she’d scolded. Even now, just imagining the look of complete indignation on her face made me smile.

  I could have jumped for joy when I saw the first two of my bags rounding the belt, the emerald green ribbon I’d tied on them bright and easy to spot. Of course, it probably helped that the bags were bright pink with zebra stripes, but I was sticking with the ribbon making them easy to see. Snagging them off quickly, grunting a bit as I pulled them down – jeez they were heavy – I took a few deep breaths to keep from panicking. I had one more to wait for; I refused to think the worst. After what seemed like bloody forever, my third and final suitcase came rounding the curb. I was celebrating inside as I grabbed it, pleased that it was also the lightest of them all. Carefully piling it on top of one of the larger cases, I pulled the grips and awkwardly got them outside where a slew of cabs were waiting.