Pants On Fire

by Lacey Black

  “No thanks, Todd. I’m good,” I state loudly. Then, I reach for the lock and make sure my can’t-take-a-hint co-host doesn’t come barging in.

  Finally, I’m alone and drop into my chair. Todd is a nice guy and all, even though he’s slept with nearly every woman in the building, but he’s not my type. I don’t want the egotistical man who finds photo ops around every corner. Not the guy who “accidentally” lets his penis fall into other vaginas when he’s working late. (I’ve heard all about his late-night booty calls.) Not the one who sees women as arm candy to help boost ratings when you’re seen at a mayoral luncheon or a charity dinner.

  If I wanted that, I’d date Harris again.

  Or worse, Danny.

  Shaking off the images of both exes, I head over to my luggage and double-check that I have everything. I grab the small bag from my counter that Penny left me and shove it in the open suitcase. I’d been fine with just a swipe of a hazelnut eye shadow and mascara, but when Penny heard about it, she threw a fit. Five minutes later, I had a small travel bag filled with enough product to keep me dolled up for the next three years. As she was applying my makeup for today’s show, she even taught me how to do it myself.

  I’ve never been a big one for wearing it. In college, sure, but since then, I was always the girl behind the scenes. You don’t need makeup to stare at television monitors at six in the morning and talk to the producer through the headset. Even when the co-host position was thrown in my lap, I didn’t see the need for all that makeup. I leave it to Penny for the show and stick to the basics outside of it. It’s how I like it.

  Simple.

  I shove the rest of my stuff that’s making the trip to Illinois into the suitcase and zip it closed. My anxiety starts to climb as thoughts of this weekend’s festivities parade through my head. The game, the dinner, the brunch. I haven’t attended a homecoming game since I left Southern, but here I am, getting ready to fly home, the invitation practically burning a hole in my purse.

  When the invite arrived, I was prepared to throw it in the trash. In fact, I did. Then I read the accompanying letter and realized this was more than just an alumni event. This was so much bigger. This was an invitation to give one of two keynote addresses at the Sunday brunch. The alumni are celebrating my graduating class, as well as that of the twenty-five year class. Being invited to speak is a huge deal—one I’m not sure I was really qualified for, or wanted, for that matter. But I couldn’t ignore it.

  Believe me, I tried.

  Two days later, I found myself emailing the alumni foundation and accepting the offer to give one of the keynote addresses.

  No going back now.

  Even though, again, I tried.

  I’ve talked myself out of it a thousand times. Everything from a random bout with the flu to a plane crash has crossed my mind, though that last one can’t be corroborated with facts. Every time a new excuse would pop into my head, I’d see my parents. They’re so excited I’m finally coming home. It’s been three years, and even then, it was a short weekend visit. At the end of the day, I just don’t want to hear the disappointment in their voices when I tell them I’ve changed my mind.

  That’s why I zip up my luggage and set it beside the door. That’s why I verify I have my travel documents and my wallet ready in my purse. That’s why I wave goodbye to my co-workers (grateful that Todd isn’t anywhere to be found) and make my way out to my awaiting Uber ride. That’s why I tuck in my big girl panties and prepare for a weekend of handshakes and fake smiles.

  Of seeing former classmates.

  Of dealing with Danny for the first time in a decade.

  FML.

  ***

  “Welcome to St. Louis Lambert International Airport. We hope you enjoy your visit.”

  I watch for my luggage as the carousel slowly moves, suitcases thrown haphazardly on the belt. Mine, of course, is on the bottom of a pyramid, and the moment I pull at my handle, they all tumble down. A woman comes barreling toward me, speaking in a foreign tongue, as she gathers up one of the fallen bags. I’m pretty sure she’s cursing me out right now if the side-eye is any indication.

  “That one’s yours,” I hear over my shoulder. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as familiarity washes through me.

  I spin around and come face to face with a smiling one from my past. He’s still wearing glasses, though these are a black frame that, for some crazy reason, only make him hotter. He’s a little beefier than he was in college, though mostly in the shoulders and chest. You can tell he puts a little effort into his appearance now, especially with his designer jeans and pressed button-down shirt.

  “Rueben!” Before I even realize what I’m doing, I throw myself against his chest. He catches me easily, barely stumbling under my unexpected body slam, and pulls me tightly against him.

  Against his chest.

  His very nice, muscular, toned chest.

  I gasp at how nice it feels, and the fact that I’m enjoying this hug a little too much.

  “Hey, Crick. Long time no see,” he whispers against my ear, sending little shivers of something I don’t want to think about racing through my body. I’ve never had this sort of reaction to Rueben, and I can’t start now. He’s a friend, plain and simple.

  I pull myself off his body and take a step back. Awkwardly, I pat his upper arm, only to find that just as defined as the chest I was just plastered against. “It’s so great to see you. It’s been…a long time.”

  Ten years, to be exact. Even though there were a few text exchanges, I haven’t seen Rueben since the day after our college graduation. He showed up to get Danny’s things and helped me load my stuff in a rental the following day. He offered to drive out with me, but I refused. My dad was ready to make the trip. At that point, I was determined to do it myself, to prove to Danny he didn’t break me. We parted ways on the front step of my former apartment with a hug and a wave, and bid each other luck in the future.

  Now, he’s standing directly in front of me.

  And hotter than ever.

  I run my hand along my hair, wishing I had done something a little different with it. After the broadcast and my bags were packed, I just pulled it up with a hair tie I found on my dressing table. With all the hairspray and goop in it, at last look, it resembled something of a football helmet rather than a ponytail. And that was before a four-and-a-half-hour flight, sandwiched between an elderly woman and a businessman who claimed the armrest as his own, in which I power-napped for a good two hours of the air travel, thanks to my trusty earbuds and old school Paula Abdul.

  I probably have sleep crusties in my eyes and drool marks on my chin.

  Typical.

  “It has been,” he replies, pulling me back to the now. Rueben rocks back on his heels and shoves his hands in his pockets. His dark chocolate brown eyes do a quick head-to-toe scan, probably noting all the not-too-flattering things wrong with my sudden appearance in the airport. Finally, after a few seconds, he adds, “You look good, Crick.”

  I clear my throat, thankful that he’s still polite and isn’t calling me on my sleep-head, racoon eyes look, and reply, “Thanks. You do too.”

  And he does.

  Real good.

  Rueben grabs the remaining bag that toppled at my feet. “This one yours?” he asks, taking my well-worn suitcase in his other hand.

  “It is. But I can carry it,” I quickly assure him, making sure I have my computer bag and purse secured on my shoulder before I reach for my bag. His bag is half the size of mine and doesn’t appear to be bursting at the seams the way mine does. He tosses a garment bag over the top of his and gives both suitcases a pull.

  “I can help. I don’t mind.” And then he offers me a smile. A smile that makes my heart tap dance in my chest and the air in my lungs evaporate. Then, he turns around and gives me a view of his ass. His perfectly defined, round ass in a pair of dark jeans. Apparently, dark jeans and a firm ass are my kryptonite.

  Quickly sidestepping and
walking around him, I head toward the car rental counter. I can feel his eyes burning into my back. Well, specifically, my ass. My suspicions are confirmed when I glance behind me and find Rueben’s eyes locked on my rear. Apparently, black leggings are a guy’s kryptonite.

  As I approach the counter and get in line, I tell him, “You can leave my suitcase. I can take it from here.”

  He sets it down, and his bag as well. “I’m actually waiting to get a car too.”

  We stand in awkward silence for a few seconds. There’re so many questions I want to ask him, but then, I know he’ll want me to spill all the details of my life in the last decade too. And frankly, I’m just not that interesting. Sure, I can brag about my career, but won’t I be doing that Sunday at the brunch? And heaven knows my social life has been a bit lacking these last few years, so it’s not like I want to offer up any of those boring details.

  Fortunately, the line moves quickly, and when it’s finally my turn, I set my bags aside and pull my wallet from my purse. “Reservation for Cricket Hill,” I offer politely.

  The young woman taps away on her keyboard, pulling up the information. Her smile faulters though as she reads the screen. “I’m sorry, Miss Hill, but it appears there was an issue with your reservation.”

  “Issue? What type of issue?” I ask, feeling the eyes of everyone waiting behind me in line.

  “Apparently, your card was declined after the reservation was made. You should have received an email to update the card information,” she says, the sad look on her face replacing her earlier smile.

  “Email? I didn’t get an email. I haven’t had any card issues,” I start, but then stop in my tracks. My card. It was compromised a month or so back, probably around the time I booked my rental car. Someone in New York went on a shopping spree with my hard-earned money, and the bank cancelled the card and reissued another. I didn’t even think about the possibility of my rental car transaction not going through.

  “There was an issue with my card,” I confirm. “I have my new one though. We can put it on that,” I add, pulling my newer debit card from my wallet.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the reservation was cancelled completely. We don’t have any vehicles available today to rent. If you can wait until tomorrow, we have a few that will be coming back, and I’d gladly rent you one tomorrow,” she offers, tapping away on her keyboard.

  “Actually, that’s not necessary. I have a reservation. Miss Hill can ride with me.”

  I glance over my shoulder at Rueben. My face burns with mortification, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, he produces his reservation number and hands the lady his credit card. “That’s not necessary,” I stammer as he steps up beside me.

  “No? You’re going to wait until tomorrow to drive up? And miss the game?” he asks, searching my face with a raised eyebrow. It’s as if he knows he’s got me.

  And he does.

  Exhaling, I shove my own card back in my wallet and toss my purse over my shoulder. “Fine. But I’ll pay for half of the rental.”

  “Not necessary, Crick.”

  “Maybe not, but that’s the only way I’ll accept the offer,” I tell him, standing my ground.

  “Fine. You can pay for half,” he says, shoving his own card back in his wallet after they swipe it. “As long as you let me buy dinner.”

  That makes me stutter a breath. “What? No.”

  Rueben grabs his bag and the car keys the rental attendant offers him and gives me a shrug. “Fine. Then I guess I’ll see you sometime tomorrow? Whenever you’ll be able to get a car and drive the two hours to Carbondale.”

  Huffing out a breath, I go to grab my own bag, yet find it already in his hand. It’s as if he knows he’s got me right where he wants me. Jerk. “Fine. But dinner isn’t necessary.”

  “It is. I’m a growing boy and need nourishment,” he replies with a grin and a wink.

  I’m left standing there, watching him go, rolling my bag in his capable hand and his butt flexing behind snug denim.

  And there go my panties.

  Chapter Two

  Rueben

  I know she’s behind me. I can feel it. It’s like her presence envelopes me, wrapping around me like a hug and refusing to let go.

  I noticed her in the airport way before I spoke to her. She was standing there, her hair all crazy from her flight, and staring at her cell phone. Long, nimble fingers flew over the screen, her teeth nibbling at her plump bottom lip as she read whatever was displayed. It was the first time in nearly a decade that I saw her, and I wasn’t prepared for my body’s response. First, the sexual desire that struck like lightning, and then the overwhelming sense of right. It was as if I were finally home.

  And that’s crazy talk, considering I never saw Cricket like that before.

  Sure, she’s always been gorgeous with her long, dark hair and hypnotizing green eyes. Hell, you might say she’s always been a step above gorgeous, not that I ever said it aloud. In fact, I never said anything at all. She was my friend. My friend, Crick.

  And she was dating my buddy.

  I never so much as felt a stir in my pants around her before today. Well, hell. That’s not entirely true. The day I helped her load up her shit into the rental car to drive to San Francisco, I felt something—something strong (and hard, if you know what I mean)—but I blamed the emotions of goodbye. She was leaving. Danny had already left, and Cricket was off too. I was left behind, anxious to start my new career in computer forensics and melancholy that my friends were off to parts of the world I’d probably never see.

  Now here I am, headed to my rental car with Cricket just a few steps behind me. I slow down and let her pass, but that doesn’t help the substantial erection concealed in my pants. Her ass is framed by a pair of sexy black leggings. My eyes seem to be glued to it as if the key to world peace is hidden there.

  Shit, don’t get me started on finding peace with Cricket’s ass.

  I glance back up just in time to see her head swinging back around. Great. Now she just caught me staring at her delectable ass and is probably ready to run screaming from the parking garage. No doubt she’ll be more comfortable catching a ride to Carbondale tomorrow. She never really did care about the football games anyway. Cricket only went because of Danny.

  Danny.

  Another wild card in this weekend’s festivities.

  I’ve talked to my former roommate a few times over the years, but this’ll be the first time I’ve seen him in a decade. You know, after he sent me a text that he left town and asked me to go get what was left of his shit from the place he shared with Cricket? He begged me to drive it out to him too, which I ended up doing. Why, I’ll never know. Especially since he never actually went to San Francisco and ended up in LA instead. Los Angeles really wasn’t my thing, which is why I’ve never went back. Part of me wanted to tell the asshole that if he would have stayed and broken up with his girlfriend the right way, he would have been able to collect his shit himself. But no, the dumbass grabbed a few things, the keys to the car they shared, and sent texts when he was a state away.

  I double click the unlock button on the keyfob, lighting up a new model SUV. No, I don’t need it for the luggage space, clearly, but more for the body space. No way was I interested in cramming my six-foot-two inch body into a compact. Instead, I spent the extra hundred bucks for a more comfortable ride.

  Cricket’s already at the hatch, popping it open and setting her laptop bag inside. When I get to where she’s standing, I catch a trace of something fruity with a hint of floral. It’s familiar, yet so foreign at the same time. All I know is it’s very Cricket, and I only want to smell more. Fuck, do I want to run my nose along her neck and inhale.

  Assuming the request to whiff her will probably freak her the fuck out, I toss my bags and hers into the SUV and shut the hatch. “Let’s roll,” I holler, heading over to the passenger door.

  Cricket looks at me like I’ve grown a second head as I pull it open for her. H
er eyebrows shoot skyward in question. “What’s this?”

  “What? I’ve always been polite,” I state as she climbs into the seat.

  “Polite, yes, but I believe the last time you held the door open for me, you intentionally closed it on my ass.”

  “You were taking too long,” I tease, recalling exactly when she’s referring to. One night, the three of us were going to grab a burger. Danny was driving their car and I refused to get in the back seat for fear that I’d never be able to climb out again without extraction assistance. Cricket was whining about having to sit in back and taking her sweet-ass time, so when she was bent over and crawling behind the front seat, I pushed the door so that it whacked her in the butt. She went flying into the back seat and the profanity spewed like hot lava, but I smiled the entire way to the burger joint.

  “It wasn’t easy getting into the back seat of that two-door.”

  “And you wonder why I never wanted to ride back there?” I ask, propping my forearm on the roof of the vehicle and leaning in just a bit. Again, I catch her scent and it makes me a little dizzy.

  “Not my fault you’re giant-sized.”

  “Nope, that would be my dad’s fault,” I say, shutting her door and heading around to the driver’s side. I take a deep, cleansing breath before opening my door and sliding into the seat. I buckle up quickly before pushing the button and starting the SUV. We’re silent as I pull out of the garage and head toward the highway. It’s been a while, but I’ve made the trip from St. Louis to Carbondale and back a few times, so finding my way shouldn’t be too hard.

  When I finally merge onto I-64 East, Cricket cuts through the silence. “How is your family?”

  “They’re good. Mom and Royce moved to Tennessee a few years back.”

  “To be close to you?” she asks. I can feel her smile from here.

  “Yeah. Royce is working for some zipline company in Gatlinburg and Mom works at a bakery.” Royce is four years older than me and has been out of the Army for some time now. He manages one of those tourist zipline companies, which is right up his thrill-seeking alley. And Mom? Well, she’s happy anywhere she can bake cookies and breads. They’re a stone’s throw away from Pittman Center, a small town of about five hundred, and the place I call home. Of course, home to me is a fifteen hundred square foot cabin in the Smoky Mountains with only a single access road to get there.