Page 7 of Fake Coral and Keys

I swallow down bile as I step from the cab. He wasn’t lying. Twenty minutes after he peeled away from the curb at the park, tires screeching like Satan was chasing us, we pull into the parking lot of the airfield. The guy didn’t just speed. I’m pretty sure he broke more than a few laws and the sound barrier. I lean in the window and hand him another hundred. “Thanks for the ride. I almost vomited.”

A satisfied grin splits his face. “Anytime.” He snatches the bill to inspect it, along with the other two from his pocket.

“It’s as real as you and me.”

He smirks and puts the car in gear as I pull my bag from the seat and shut the door. Taking a second to stop the roiling in my stomach, I suck in a few deep breaths, inhaling the deep scent of warm asphalt and dry earth, trying to not only calm my stomach but the frantic beating of my heart at the thought of seeing Daisy.

Tires screech behind me and I turn to watch as the cabbie skids around the curve like a drag racer, cutting off an oncoming car. And I thought I was reckless.Me.The man whostole an old convertible and drove it over a hundred and fifteen miles an hour down the freeway, high on the adrenaline of…

Fuck. If I could go back to that night and change every detail, I would. I would never have…

Okay, stop, Blake. No use with would, shoulda, coulda’s. What’s done is done.

I pick up the bag and shake the thoughts from my head. There’s no point in regretting my choices. All my choices, whether they are good or bad, have led me right here. At the airfield where Daisy waits with her family ready to take a five-day trip. If I hadn’t gotten caught speeding in a stolen car, I wouldn’t be in the position I am now. I never would have met The Psycho and I wouldn’t be about to board a jet with Daisy. Hell, I would never have seen Daisy because I’d never have been in the library that day. Instead, I’d have been traveling to all those places I had written on that napkin the police confiscated. Tahiti, Thailand, Cancun. Names of places I promised myself I’d travel with all that money I had in my possession. The cops who arrested me swore the list of names were actually aliases for drug lords somewhere. They spent hours trying to get me to confess to being involved in a drug trafficking ring. Idiots. If they only knew.

I check my watch and walk towards the hangar. A man in a security suit with a large badge sewn on the arm and a shiny name tag walks out as I reach for the glass door leading to the office.

“Blake?” he asks, his voice raspy like a lifelong smoker, except he looks somewhere in his thirties.

“Yes?”

“You’re late.” His eyes move from my face to the large rolling duffle at my side.

Is he judging me? Should I have more luggage? As his eyes travel from my bag over to the gated entrance where a few minutes ago the cab squealed out, I knew I should have rented a car to bring me rather than taken a taxi. Super rich people hire private cars, right? To take them to private jets? The fake security job pays me a pretty penny, but not as much as what I’ve stashed in the offshore accounts. If I could get my hands on all of that money, I could get out of the position I’m in. Then I’d be able to keep the promise I made myself to be a better person.

“Traffic?” he asks, shaking me from my jumbled thoughts.

“Traffic,” I agree. “And my driver was late, soI had to take a cab.”

His mouth twitches, and I’m sure he knows I’m lying. I clamp my mouth shut. Rich people don’t make excuses. People wait for them, no questions asked. Schooling my face into a mask of indifference, I stare at the door, waiting for him to open it. He dips his head, then opens the door and I feel like an ass, but the surge of guilt gets washed away. The small office is empty. My heart shudders with disappointment when I don’t see her in the lobby.

“They are boarding,” he says, no doubt reading my expression.

I silently follow the man towards another door. A big swoosh of air pulls at my light button-down shirt, sucking it forward, and I’m hit with the scent of fuel. The door opens to a massive hanger with a small jet sitting at its center.

It’s like she’s a blinking beacon. My eyes find her within seconds. My chest squeezes. I grip the bag with my few changes of clothes tightly, trying to keep my face even.

It’s been five months. Five long, agonizing months.

Daisy stands near the opening of the hanger, her back to me, watching the tarmac. The early morning light leaks in, framing her in a brilliant, almost blinding glow. A warm breeze moves the pink dress around her thighs. It takes everything in me not to fall to my knees. I didn’t think I was going to see heragain. I’d hoped, but after a few months, I didn’t think it was going to happen. After month four, I resigned myself to having to move forward in life with just the memories of that weekend and let her go. No more stalking her at the coffee shop. No more long scrolls through her Instagram feed. No more Daisy.

But she’s right here. Right now. And I’m the luckiest asshole alive that she asked me to be here today.

“Finally,” I hear George call from somewhere to my left. I swivel toward his voice, echoing off the metal walls. He waves from the foot of the stairs pulled up to the jet’s open door. “We thought you wouldn’t make it.”

I raise my hand in greeting but drop it as Daisy spins. The little pink dress swirls around her thighs as she comes to a stop, her hand at her throat. For a split second, I can barely focus on anything other than her delicate hand touching her neck, like she’s trying to apply enough pressure, so the air escapes. My mind, my eyes, my center-of-gravity, shifts in and out of focus as I’m utterly lost in her presence.

She’s just as beautiful as I remember.

Her perfect mouth opens in a small circle, like I’ve appeared out of thin air, surprising her. I release the handle and drop the bag. It thuds on the concrete floor. Daisy moves forward an inch. I take long strides—one, two, three — towardsher, feeling my heart beating against my ribs. I know I have to look crazed. Starved. Like I’m rushing towards water after wandering in the desert. Her eyes lock onto mine. One more step, then another. The second I reach her, I weave my fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck and pull her to me, crushing her against my chest.

“Blake,” she breathes my name, making me think of her lightly moaning my name, just like this, as my tongue flicked over her perfect cunt.

“Daisy,” I whisper, wrapping my other hand around her waist until there is no space between us. Her fingers twist into the fabric of my shirt, tugging slightly. Her eyes glitter and seem to turn darker as her pupils dilate. Fuck, she’s going to kill me. This is how she looked right before she told me to fuck her. No,beggedme to fuck her.

She opens her mouth to say something, but I grip her hair tightly in a fist and tilt her head back, enclosing my mouth over hers. She lets out a soft moan, making me wish I could take her right here. Every sensible thought leaves as I taste the sweetness of her mouth, feel her tongue gliding over mine, hear her heavy breaths. I’ve missed the taste of her. The feel of her lips. The heat of her.

I’ve wanted her so badly, it’s physically hurt. Resisting going to the coffee shop drove me crazy. Even though I wanted to see her, I respected our agreement and stayed away. Daisy had promised she’d come to me when it was time for another family Gathering. It was torture waiting for her to show up. Pure and utter torture, not knowing for certain if she would. I had feared that once she returned home, she’d forget. She’d change her mind. Whatever I’d done to convince her, or whatever bravery she’d found on our quick trip, would disappear and Daisy wouldn’t want to see me again. I was worried she’d realize she got caught up in a fantasy getaway, and once she regained her senses and fell back to reality, she’d…

---