Playing for Keeps: Book 2 (Playing the Game Duet)

by Gina Drayer

  "Are you from Chicago?" she prompted, trying to get the conversation moving.

  "Yes."

  "Have you always lived there?" she asked, coaxing him a little more.

  "I was born there," he said. "But I left for a few years during college."

  He wasn't making this easy, that was for sure. It was obvious he was uncomfortable carrying the conversation. No wonder the woman he was sitting with ran roughshod over him.

  "But you live in Chicago now, right?"

  As if a light bulb went off, Matt finally caught on and started filling in the gaps. "Yes, I came back after school. My whole family lives in Chicago. I thought about staying on the East Coast after college, but I had the opportunity to start a business with some friends. We—"

  The plane did a quick drop, and Beth grabbed his hand. She didn't care that he was a stranger. She needed human contact. To her relief, Matt didn't pull away. Instead, he squeezed her hand gently and continued talking.

  "We started a marketing company several years ago. We focus mainly on web design, social media marketing, and other online strategies. At the time we opened, there were only a few marketing agencies that offered anything like that, so it wasn't an easy sell. For the first few years, it was hard to convince large companies that they needed to have an integrated strategy that included an online and social media presence."

  Matt continued to talk about his company with real passion, and Beth began to relax. She didn’t even notice the weather change until the captain's voice came over the intercom.

  "Looks like we've finally cleared that storm. I'm going to turn off the seatbelt light, and your flight attendants will be by with beverage service in just a few minutes. The weather put us behind schedule, but I'm hoping to make up some of that time. It looks like we'll be landing at noon local time."

  Reluctantly, Beth let go of Matt's hand. She rubbed her palm absently. The residual warmth from their joining was a lingering reminder of their physical contact.

  She took some time to study the man while he was ordering his drink. She had noticed him at the terminal. It was hard to miss those broad shoulders and lean, athletic build. But she'd dismissed him out of hand. And he wasn't anything like the men she dated these days. Matt was handsome. He looked like he just stepped off a “GQ” or “Men's Fitness” cover. His dark shaggy hair was messy, but not in the forced way that was so popular these days. It came to him naturally. But what stood out most were his striking blue-green eyes that seemed to shift color in the light. She could get lost in those eyes.

  But after Robert, Beth tried to avoid men like Matt: smart, sexy and driven. Men like that wanted something different than she could give. It was best to steer clear.

  "And what about you?" he asked after a long period of silence. "Are you a native Chicagoan?"

  She'd been staring so long she hadn't even noticed the flight attendant had moved on.

  "I'm a transplant," she said. "My mom's from the area. She moved back after my parents divorced. But I spent most of my childhood in Africa."

  "Africa?"

  From the expression on Matt's face, you would have thought she said she grew up on Mars. "Yes, Africa. My father is a doctor and worked for an organization that helped train midwives in African villages."

  "That's different. Is that where the necklace came from? Is it some kind of protective charm or something?"

  She fingered the necklace again and smiled. "I doubt it. But my father had it made for me before we left Africa. He said since it was carved out of ebony, it was like carrying a little part of Africa back home with us. That was a long time ago."

  "But you do live in Chicago now? What is it you do for a living?"

  "Cause trouble," she said with a wicked grin.

  "What?"

  "Sorry, that's what my mother always says. She doesn't approve of my life choices. But that's a whole other conversation. I don't actually work in Chicago. It's just where I hang my hat. I'm with a nonprofit, and travel out of the country a lot."

  Beth started to tell him about her work with the Clean Water Project. Now it was time to see where Matt fell on the patriarchal scale. The minute she brought up her job, most guys fell into one of two categories—and sometimes both. They either thought she was an environmental zealot and backed away very slowly, or they tried to tell her the places she traveled weren't safe for women. It was almost like a game with her. And it was an easy way to weed out the bad ones.

  "So you've been living in the jungles of Brazil for the past year?" he asked with a bewildered look on his face. He shook his head slowly.

  Beth sighed, disappointed. He fell into the "that's too dangerous for a woman" camp, and she couldn't help the pang of disappointment.

  But then he surprised her. "What a fantastic job. I bet you have some great stories. Do you stay in the same place for long?"

  "A month or two in each village. As a project manager, I travel between different teams. I had a base camp in a village outside Imperatriz."

  "Just you? You didn't have any problems with armed militants or whatever?"

  "I had Alejandro. He was my driver, but he also protected me."

  "A driver? That's it?" Matt asked.

  "He wasn't just a driver. I'm not completely stupid. I contracted him through a private security firm." Plus, it was the only way she could appease her mother. Beth may have stretched the truth a little and let her mother believe there was a whole security team traveling with her, and not just one guy in a beat-up pickup truck. But the less Mom knew, the better. "We play it safe, and for the most part they leave us alone. The locals are happy for the help. These well and sewer systems save lives."

  "And you do all this traveling, but are afraid to fly?" he said with a laugh.

  "I'm not afraid to fly. I just get motion sick, and…okay, I do get a little nervous. But you shouldn't let fear hold you back from something you love. Don't you think?"

  "A hero and philosopher," he said with a slight bow of the head. "So tell me a little about Brazil. I've always wanted to go."

  Matt had retreated back to captive listener, but unlike with Poppy, he seemed genuinely interested in her stories. The conversation continued, and the next hour flew by. She'd completely forgotten about her motion sickness until the captain came on again, announcing their arrival. Landing was the worst part. The change in altitude always caused her stomach to turn.

  Matt must have caught on to her shift in mood. Without fanfare, he reached down and entwined his fingers with hers. She looked to their hands and back up to his face as he smiled reassuringly. It was a sweet and surprisingly intimate gesture from a man she'd met a couple hours ago. And she thought, not for the first time, about how easy it was to like him.

  "Just a few more minutes and we'll be back on the ground," he said, giving her hand a firm squeeze as if he routinely held hands with sick women.

  Maybe she was reading too much into it. Most likely he was trying to distract her because he didn't want her hyperventilating or hurling on him. And it worked; she could almost forget they were encased in two hundred tons of steel plummeting toward the ground, until the wheels made contact.

  "That flight sucked, but I'm glad you sat next to me. I'm not sure I could have made that entire trip without the flight attendant duct-taping me to the seat. Maybe I should bring you along for all my trips."

  She meant it as a joke, but Matt frowned. "I won't be flying back to Chicago from this airport."

  God, he was the sweetest guy ever. He didn't even know her and seemed ready to act as her flying companion at the drop of a hat. Without thinking, Beth leaned over and kissed him.

  It was a big mistake. What was supposed to be just a platonic gesture of thanks quickly morphed into something else. Beth had to fight the urge to crawl into his lap and take more. His lips were firm and tasted of the bourbon he'd sipped during the flight. And damn if he didn't smell like sex on a stick.

  Reluctantly, she pulled back and smiled, hoping the heat
she was feeling all over her body didn't show in her face. "You've done more than enough. Thank you."

  Matt didn't say anything. Instead, he unbuckled his seatbelt and retrieved a bag from the overhead compartment. After rifling through it, he handed her a card. "When you get home, call me. If I'm not back yet, my assistant will get the message to me. I'd like to see you again." He looked down at his watch and sighed. "I'd love to get a drink now that we're back on the ground, but with the delay, I'm running late."

  "Oh." She looked down at the card. Matt Carver, Chief Creative Officer. "Well, thanks again for sitting with me, Matt. I hope the rest of your trip is good."

  "It was my pleasure, Beth. I'll look forward to hearing from you." He turned and shuffled off the plane with the other first-class passengers.

  As she collected her carry-on and made her way downstairs, Beth hoped she'd see him. She wanted to let him know she'd be out of the country for a month. She wanted… Hell, she wasn't sure what she wanted.

  But by the time she made it to baggage claim, Matt was gone.

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  Copyright © 2018 Gina Drayer

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  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form be it electronic, mechanical, photocopied (I’m not sure how you could photocopy an ebook…but still), used in supernatural wards, recorded on audio tape, mp3, preformed in a one man play, or distributed in any form or means, including but not limited to genetic, chemical, optical, holographic, stereophonic, telepathic link, or distributed by Midi-chlorians (No. Never mind. I refuse to consider that canon) is strictly prohibited unless you are Bill Murray. No live broadcast of this book may be performed, lip-synced, or used during sexting your Tinder date.

  In other words, this work belongs to me and you can’t use it without my written permission.

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  This is a work of fiction*. It is neither an accusation nor a confession. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. If the incidents or people in this book resemble your life, I’m glad things worked out. Good luck in Philly. And as always, please practice safe sex.

  *Thanks Rasputin!