Page 21 of Come Fly with Me

“How in the actual fuck is this on right now?” she asks, amazement in her voice.

I chuckle, squeezing her hand. “Fate?”

Taylor looks over at me, a brow cocked. “I seriously cannot believe it.”

Laughing, I confess, “You wouldn’t believe the things I had to do to make this happen. Come on,” I add, tugging her hand. “They even serve beer here.”

When we’re sitting in our seats, the cool darkness of a mostly empty cinema surrounding us, I hand Taylor a beer as she props a massive tub of popcorn between us.

Turning, I watch her face as the opening scene of The Fast & the Furious plays. Leaning over, my mouth brushing against her ear, I whisper, “Told you I’d won.”

Seven

Taylor

So far this is the best layover I’ve ever had, and I have yet to hop into bed with anyone. I’ve never seen this much of a city in all my time as a pilot; it’s generally spent staring at the ceiling of a hotel room or getting familiar with the hotel bar.

We’re pulling out of the theater parking lot, Jake’s hand now resting on my thigh, its weight heavy and comfortable. I turn to him, struggling to keep myself from smiling, as I ask, “How did you know that The Fast and the Furious would be playing?”

“It wasn’t playing,” he replies but doesn’t elaborate, a self-satisfied grin on his face.

“What does that mean?”

“Can’t you just let things be, Taylor?” he asks, but there’s nothing malicious or judgmental in his words.

“While I know we haven’t known each other very long, I’ve spent more time with you in the last two days than I have with most of my friends.” Not only have I spent more time with him, I’ve enjoyed it far more than what I used to end up doing on a layover, but like hell if I’m telling him that. His ego doesn’t need any more stroking. “And you should know by now that I can’t let something go without question.”

He chuckles a little, his hand giving my thigh a bit of a squeeze, but he doesn’t respond right away.

“Don’t you just like a little mystery in life?”

Mystery? To me, that just screams lack of control, and the last time I had a little mystery in my life was when I found my ex-husband Trent had been cheating on me. Mystery can go fuck itself.

I’m not sure why it even took me by surprise in the first place. He was never the faithful type, and honestly, I’m sure he thought the same thing about me. But when we said, “I do”, I took that shit seriously or at least I tried to. I’d spent most of my life jumping from bed to bed, and then suddenly I was tied to one man for the rest of my life, a man who it turns out was an egotistical asshole. What I saw in him I’ll never know. I don’t even think he knew when my birthday was. He certainly never knew me.

“No,” I reply, my memory reminding me what it’s like to be blindsided by life.

“Well then, if you must know, my friend owns the theater. I put in a call.”

I look over at him, suddenly overcome with emotion. I feel like a jerk for forcing him to give up his secret, a little choked up over his kindness and his ability to set something like this up so last minute, but more than all of that, that he paid attention when I said it was my favorite movie.

Suddenly, I’m hit with something he said to me when we first met. Your coffee is black, but if you tell me how you like it, I’ll remember from here on out.

He wasn’t kidding when he said he’d remember. But then a part of me, the part that is always there reminding me that happiness is fleeting and people lie, cuts in. It tells me he’s the same as all the others. And underneath all this bullshit— the cheeky smiles and the kindness— is someone who will eventually fuck me over for someone younger, prettier, smarter, someone who hasn’t slept around.

“Why?” I ask, my need to question everything taking over. Because when I failed to question things in the past, I was left in the dark and made to look like a fool.

“Why what?”

“Why’d you call in a favor?”

He looks over at me, one eyebrow rising at my question, the corner of his mouth quirking up along with it. But he doesn’t say anything. Ignoring my question, he changes the subject. “Where do you want me to drop you off? The hotel?”

I shift a little in my seat, hating the idea of spending the rest of my time in Sydney alone. I chew my lip, trying to figure out how to word what I’m about to say next without Jake realizing that I kind of do want to continue hanging out with him.

“Where are you headed?” I ask, almost as if I’m just trying to make conversation. You know, breezy and casual.

“Wherever you are.”

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