by Sara Hubbard
Smoulder is chatting with the stewardess. I’m trying my best not to notice but curiosity gets the better of me. She’s smiling and laughing, hanging on his every word—which thankfully, I can’t hear because of the movie. I’m sure he’s full of lines. Meanwhile, he’s calm, cool and collected. It’s not long before he gets up and heads for the bathroom, and she follows, glancing once over her shoulder to see if anyone is watching.
Yes, lady, I am.
He emerges eleven minutes later. Not bad. Hero. Not ninja style or anything, but I suppose eleven minutes would be forever to a lot of women. I roll my eyes as he stops to tuck his polo shirt in before sitting down.
I snatch my ear buds and pull them out. I can’t help myself; I have to say something now. “Really?”
He turns to meet my smirk. “I’m sorry? Did you say something?” His lips curl into a smile, the same cheeky smile I’m sure he’s turned on many unsuspecting females—only I’m prepared for it. It would take a lot more than his smile and his chiselled cheekbones and abs to make me lose my panties for him.
“The flight attendant? Could you be anymore cliché?”
He grins. His parents must've spent a fortune of those beautiful white teeth when he was growing up. He leans in when he speaks, his voice quiet and his speech calm and thoughtful. “Well, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“And the lady in the airport? Was she a flight attendant too, or do you even know?”
He tilts his heads to the side. “My name is Sullivan. And you are?” With a wave of his hand, he motions back and forth between us. “Because I figure if we’re going to start talking about my sex life then we should at least be introduced.”
I attempt to put my ear buds back in. None of my business. My prying should annoy him, but instead he seems genuinely amused. Have to give him credit for being consistent, I suppose.
He reaches out and gently clutches my ear buds, pulling them free, his fingers lightly brushing by my ears and forcing the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end. “I thought we were getting personal?”
I snatch my ear buds back and study his face: the tiny dimple in his left cheek, the slightly crooked cheeky smile and the mischievous eyes that promise to break hearts…but not mine. I have his number and no flash of his pearly whites will break me down. I just find him funny; maybe a little sad. As far as I’m concerned, guys like this are compensating for something—or a lack of something. Maybe his mother didn’t hug him as a child.
“Okay. Let’s get personal,” I say.
“Why were you watching me in the airport?”
I shrug. “I like to watch people. It passes the time.”
“Watch people do what?” He slowly enunciates each word.
I groan. “Easy, tiger. No innuendo intended.”
Crinkles form around the corners of his eyes. “I don’t know what the woman from the airport does for a living. I didn’t catch her name while she was calling out mine."
My jaw drops and he renders me speechless. When I snap my mouth shut and clear my throat, I have to count to three to work through my thoughts. He meant to silence me, to shock me, and he effectively accomplished his mission. It irritates me that I gave him exactly what he wanted.
“I…I knew you didn’t know her name,” I say, mostly because I don’t know what else to say, and I feel the need to say something.
He looks at me, feigning confusion, because he and I both know he’s in the driver’s seat of this conversation. “You seem awfully interested in my business, Miss…Wait, you haven’t even told me your name?”
“You don’t seem particularly concerned with getting names. Maybe I should remain anonymous.”
He licks his lips and leans in, whispering, “Does that mean you’re going to accompany me to the bathroom?”
I lean back, sighing. “Not in this lifetime, Romeo. I’m sure your charm works pretty consistently, but in my case, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“You prefer women?”
“What? No. I’m just not into…” I wave my hands up and down in front of him, “guys like you.”
“Oh. I see. Well. I love a challenge.”
“You wouldn’t even make it to first base.”
“Challenge accepted.”
Although I try to stop myself for fear of encouraging him, I burst out laughing. “You’re awful, you know that?”
“That’s what people tell me.”
“At any rate, I highly doubt our paths will cross. So I think I’m safe from your charm.”
He lays his hand over mine and I pull it away, not ready for the heat or ache between my thighs that accompanies it.
“You think I’m charming?” he asks, although I’m certain he’s well aware of the affect he has on the opposite sex.
I suppress a groan and train my eyes forward.
“How do you know our paths won’t cross? Banff’s not that big. Which hotel are you staying at?”
“Stone Cliff Resort.”
He rubs his chin and chuckles. I can hear the scratch of his stubble against his fingers. His grin grows from barely there to all consuming. “What a coincidence. I just happen to be going to the same resort. Must be fate.”
I swallow the uncomfortable lump in my throat. I can handle his smoulder. Besides, he’s only flirting with me right now because he's exhausted the other options; he already screwed the only attractive female attendant, and the woman on the other side of him is at least twice his age. I hope, at least for his sake, he has limits on who he’ll screw. But then again, maybe he likes grandmothers. Sometimes guys just need a hole and a sign that says, insert dick here.
“How long are you in Banff for?” he asks, licking his annoyingly kissable lips.
“Ten weeks.”
“I’m there for three months. If I was a betting man—and I am—I'd bet by the end of the summer, you’ll be begging me to taste you.”
I stare him and take a deep breath. I don’t even try to argue with him. He knows who he is and what he’s capable of; I’ve only just met him, and I can't deny the charisma he oozes. Only problem is I don’t like him being so cocky about it. I’ll prove him wrong. He’ll see. I’m leaving in ten weeks, my almost-virginity intact.
“How about we be friends instead?” I offer.
He pretends to stab himself in the heart. “No! She put me in the friend zone.”
“Oh, come on. You and me are never going to happen, and I don’t know a single person in Banff. I mean, I don’t know you either, but you’ll be a familiar face, at least.”
“But I don’t even know your name…” He grins.
Tricky, tricky. He’s fishing. “Abby. Abby Claire.”
We’re about to shake hands, but I frown as I look at his tanned fingers.
“Don’t worry. I washed after.” He flashes me a wink.
“Ugh.” I debate taking his hand, but he laughs as he snatches mine, gripping it tightly. His hands are soft but strong; much bigger than my own, but then I’m barely five two and he’s pushing six feet. I can’t help but notice the fat veins along his arms, the cords of muscle. He’s not a beefcake or anything, not like he crazy works out, but maybe he’s an athlete? All the same, Mr. Smoulder is a ten. Or an eleven. How perfectly annoying.
He scrutinizes me, rubbing his thumb along his chin. “I don’t do friends well—especially when it comes to women.”
“There’s always a first. And I’m actually really good at friends. Maybe I could teach you.”
He shakes his head, his eyes a touch amused.
“You said you like a challenge,” I say, throwing his words back in his face.
He chuckles. “I guess I did, didn’t I?”
“There you go. I'll be your biggest challenge yet.”
He nods, a hint of a smile on his full lips. “You might just be right about that.”
Two
SULLIVAN AND I talk non-stop during the flight. Our conversation is easy. He makes me laugh with
his flirty backtalk and crass humour, and I'm surprised to discover he’s a good listener. I suppose he doesn’t have much of a choice in listening to me, though.
I’m attracted to him. How could I not be? Any girl with the slightest amount of estrogen couldn’t deny that. So even though he’s not my type, talking with him makes me nervous, and whenever I get nervous my mouth goes a mile a minute. I swear he knows everything about my hometown before we reach the skies over Manitoba.
“I’m so sorry.” I momentarily bury my head in my hands before glancing back up at him. “I need to stop talking so much.”
He smiles at me with his eyes. “It doesn’t bother me.” His voice dips lower. “Surprisingly.”
Surprisingly? I don’t think he’s being rude, although I’m not sure that’s a compliment either.
Not long after, while in the middle of watching the romantic comedy What’s Your Number? and wondering if Sullivan is in the triple digits, I fall asleep. I don’t wake until the plane jolts as it hits the runway, making me sway in my seat. My head rests on something firm and when I open my eyes, I discover it’s a shoulder. I look up and Sullivan responds by tipping his head and tilting it to the side, as if he’s trying to get a really good look at my face. It makes me self-conscious and curious about what the hell he’s looking at—or looking for?
I carefully wipe the drool from my mouth. “Sorry.”
“You’re fine.” His voice is a little husky and completely serious, a curious change from the playful man he’s been for the duration of our flight.
I’m a little lost. Something about him…it’s like I know him, although I know it’s not possible. Maybe he just reminds me of my brother, Dylan, or his jerk-off friends. I hate them as much as I love them.
We’re in step as we head to baggage claim. His hair is a little messy on top, and I wonder if maybe he slept on the plane as well; everything else about him is neat and tidy, from his collared polo shirt to his must-be-ironed jeans.
After we get our baggage, he turns to face me. I suck in my lips and rock on my heels, unsure of what to say. Part of me wants to see him again, but another part is screaming, run away!
“So, it was nice meeting you,” I say. “I’ll probably see you around.”
“You have a ride to the resort?”
I wave my hand through the air. “I’m going to catch a cab, so…”
“I was going to rent a car if you want a ride.” He responds quickly, making me think that it’s no trouble. Otherwise he would have hesitated.
But…alone in a car with a guy I barely know? Not smart, Abby. What would your dad and brothers say?
“Um…” I look everywhere but at Sullivan’s face. Fiddling with the strap of my backpack, I frown before staring up at him and getting lost in his eyes. “You’re not like a serial killer or anything?” I ask him with a straight face.
“And here I thought we bonded on the plane.”
My gut tells me this is fine. I can trust him. But then my brothers always tell me I’m too trusting. “You could drive me to the middle of nowhere and have your way with me, before wrapping a noose around my neck and dragging me behind your car.” Could totally happen.
He raises his eyebrows. “I’d probably just put you in a ditch. Dragging you behind the car might attract too much attention.”
It takes a huge amount of energy to resist the urge to punch him, like I'd do to my brothers and their friends.
“You realize I probably wouldn’t tell you if I were a serial killer, right?”
“Is this your attempt at convincing me to take the drive?”
He groans at me like I’m the most infuriating person the planet. “Come on. I swear I’ll be a gentleman.”
“No more flirting?” I ask, concerned not just for my safety but also for my attraction to him. More time alone with him is probably NOT GOOD.
“You do expect a lot, don’t you?”
“Can I have your ID?”
He chuckles, but reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. It doesn’t escape me how rich he must be when I see the platinum credit cards and the crisp hundred dollar bills. He pulls his driver’s license free from one of the inserts and hands it to me, his face bright with a shit-eating grin.
I’m glad I amuse him. Sullivan Mason Hope. Birthdate: January 14, 1990. So he’s twenty-four. And he’s a donor. Hmm.
I glance up at him before pulling out my cellphone camera and snapping a picture of it. Then, I pretend to text it to my brother. No way would I send it for real—my brothers would be locked and loaded and on the next flight. Plus, they’d background check him. But just in case this guy really isn’t what he appears, I want him to at least think he needs to behave.
“You know, if you like my face so much, you could have just taken a picture of the real thing.” He poses for me, turning on the smoulder.
Sigh.
“My dad’s a cop,” I say. “And so is my oldest brother. I texted your picture to my brother in case you try anything funny and I fail to call them before midnight.”
I can’t tell if Sullivan’s blank expression is from surprise, or if he’s just plain old speechless.
“You’re joking?” he says after a beat.
“’Fraid not.”
After securing a car rental, we wait outside for one of the agents to drive the vehicle around front. The car ends up being a black four door Jeep with harnesses for seat belts. Sullivan attempts to help me with my luggage but I don’t let him. My brothers try to baby me when they do stuff like this—it makes me feel weak. “I don’t need someone to heft my luggage,” I say, tossing it into the back seat.
“I didn’t think you did.”
We climb in the car and Sullivan ties up the soft top, which I'm grateful for. The sun is shining down from the cloudless deep blue sky. Dylan has a Jeep and he lets me borrow it when he’s away with the military. I just love driving with the top off so I can feel the wind in my hair. It makes me feel so free.
The Jeep is a nice ride but a little noisy, which means I practically have to yell to talk to Sullivan as we drive around the snaking mountainside. Everywhere I look, there are trees and wild flowers in shades of yellow, purple and red. Snow capped mountains punctuate the land and sky in the distance.
“I’ve never been here before,” I say. “It’s gorgeous. Look at the colours! The mountains!”
He glances around but doesn’t comment. On the plane, he told me he’d been here so many times that he'd lost count, so I suppose it isn’t as magical for him.
“You don’t see any of this in Nova Scotia,” I say.
“Whereabouts did you say you came from?”
“Muskrat. It’s about an hour away from the city, give or take. There’s not much there. It’s more of a village than a town, but it sure is pretty. Everyone’s real close there so it means I won’t just miss my family but the other 3,403 people—well, maybe 3,402 because there’s an old woman who lives on Skylark Road who likes to tell me I dress like a bag lady. And that I’m nurse because I wasn’t smart enough to be a doctor.”
He glances at me, his eyes sparkling with amusement. I seriously need to shut up before I stick my foot in my mouth or say something embarrassing, and I know it’s coming. I say things like that all the time.
“I’m sorry. I just can’t stop talking! I’ve pretty much told you everything about me. What about you? You said you’re from New York?”
He nods, but refuses to elaborate. Our conversation so far has mostly been casual. He’s flirty and fun but the moment I ask him anything personal, other than sex-related stuff, his face changes. It’s like all the playfulness inside of him evaporates and he’s left with a cold, indifferent mask. It makes me curious to know more about him. Or at least to know why he doesn’t like to share.
“Do you go to plays on Broadway?” I ask, trying to think of a lighter subject.
He chuckles. “Yeah, I’ve been to a few.”
“Wow. That would be a dream for me
, but I’ll never go to New York.”
“Why’s that?”
“Leaving my family to come here was hard enough. I doubt I’ll travel again. Besides, when you have everything you want all rolled up into a small package of a town, you hardly need to go elsewhere, you know?”
“But you just said you want to go to Broadway. That makes no sense.”
“Of course!” I say, talking to him like he’s a little bit touched. “But that doesn’t mean I’d hop a plane to do it.”
He shakes his head at me.
“Anyway, how did the conversation get back to me? You’re suppose to be telling me about you.” I narrow my eyes at him and try very hard to hold back my smile.
“Am I?”
My hair blows all over the place and lands in my face with a break in the wind. I grab my wild hair at my nape and hold it over my shoulder. It’s too long, longer than I’ve ever had it before and I probably should have cut it before I left Nova Scotia. “You were about to tell me your deepest, darkest secrets.”
“I lived in Jersey until I was fourteen and then I moved to New York to live with my grandfather. Went to private school in LA. Stayed there to do my degree in Business at LAU.”
“Why did you go live with your grandfather? Did you have problems with your parents?”
He clears his throat and focuses on the road. I can tell he’s evading me again and I can take the hint, but the suspense is driving me crazy. Except for talking about my mom I share everything with everyone. My life is practically an open book; it’s hard for me when I come across people who are the complete opposite, which Sullivan appears to be.
“Silent treatment,” I say. “It’s okay if you don’t want to share. Everyone has their demons, I guess.” I watch for his reaction—he’s smart enough to know I’m goading him.
“Demons? Because I don’t respond, you assume I have demons?”
“Don’t you?”
He runs a hand down his face before shaking his head. “Perhaps I’m just private.”
“Maybe. Or maybe you have demons.”
He groans. “You ready to be dragged behind the car yet?”