Page 106 of Hot Shot

I’m doing this.

After my visit with Grandma Garner last night, I’ve come to terms with what I need to do.

Marco only wanted something short term and fun. And that’s okay. Well, it actually hurts like fuck, but I can’t make him fall in love with me if it’s not meant to be. I have to make decisions that are best for me and my life.

I sip my coffee, watching the gate agents check boarding passes and smile as people file through.

I’m going to Madrid. It’s going to be amazing.

It’s my turn to board. I shift my coffee to my other hand and grab the handle of my carry-on to move into the line. Soon I’m trudging down the jet bridge toward the plane. A flight attendant greets me with a bright smile as I enter. I find my seat and pause to juggle coffee, purse, and carry-on. A male flight attendant appears and helps me lift the carry-on on into one of the overhead bins.

“Thank you.” I smile gratefully at him. I want to be independent, but sometimes help is nice.

Before boarding, I made sure I have what I’ll need for the flight to New York, where I’ll spend a few hours at JFK: my e-reader, my earbuds, a muffin I purchased. I pull these items out of my purse and tuck them into the seat pocket in front of me, settling into my window seat.

The two seats next to me are empty. Probably too much to hope they’ll remain empty for the flight so I can spread out a bit.

People continue to board and fill the plane as I flip through the airline magazine, looking at beautiful pictures from around the world. I pause and smile when I see the ad for LeRoux Perfumes—it’s a picture of me. Super glam with tons of Photoshop work, I’m almost unrecognizable in the photo.

That part of my life is done. In some ways it’s sad . . . I’ve made a good living from it and have met some great people, many of whom are still friends. They threw a going-away party for me Thursday night. It was fun, but a little poignant. Then Hayden and I had lunch yesterday, which was even sadder. Hayden was visibly upset, which disturbed me.

“You’re not leaving because I’m married, are you?” Hayden asked, almost fearfully. “I know after Beck and I got together, we didn’t see each other as much, but I’ll still have time for you even though we’re married.”

“We didn’t see each other all that much before that,” I reminded her. “You work long hours.”

“Have I neglected you?” Hayden asked. “Am I a bad friend?” Her eyebrows sloped down as she stared at me. “Is that why you’re leaving?”

“Of course you’re not a bad friend!” I laughed. “You’re my best friend and I love you. And it’s totally natural that you’d want to spend time with the man you love.”

“Just because I’m married now doesn’t mean things will change between us.” And Hayden started to cry.

“Hayden, stop!” I grabbed my friend’s hand. “I’m doing this for me.”

There was some truth to Hayden’s concerns, though. But I wouldn’t admit that. Hayden apparently feels guilty enough.

I sigh and flip another page in the magazine. Someone stops in the aisle and sets a bag on the aisle seat. Damn. Someone is sitting here.

I glance over to smile at whoever it is. And my heart slams to a stop.

Marco.

My mouth falls open and the magazine slides from my lap to the floor. I can only stare at him as he hoists the bag into the compartment above the seat.

Damn, he looks good, wearing softly worn jeans, a gray plaid shirt left untucked, and a casual black sport jacket, his usual stubble darkening his strong jaw. The flight attendant stands behind him, the expression on her face hilariously eager and lustful.

He lowers himself into the seat and proceeds to flip up the two armrests between us, then shifts over to the seat right next to me. His big body takes up substantial room in the narrow space. “Hi.”

I blink, my mouth still hanging open.

I feel his energy. I breathe in his cedar and lime scent. I swallow, my skin hot everywhere, my heart racing so fact I might have a heart attack. “What are you doing here?” I finally manage to say.

He smiles and reaches out to smooth a strand of my hair back. “I’m coming to Spain with you.”

22

CARRIE

My world spins. I gape at Marco, sitting next to me, close enough that our arms touch. I want to put a hand out and feel him . . . is this real? “What?”

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