Page 66 of Britta & the Beach Boy
Rhys’s eyes narrow and Archie and I look at each other, both holding our breath. Then, to our surprise, Rhys unbuckles his seatbelt and follows Stella’s order.
Britta scoots by Rhys in the aisle, clinging to the back of the seats as she moves. She’s wearing loose jeans and a Taylor Swift concert tee, but not from the Eras tour. Something older. Probably from before Britta started taking care of her mom.
Her legs brush my knees as she slides by me on the way to Rhys’s seat, and her shaking is visible. Suddenly, the plane hits bumpy air, and she ends up in my lap instead of her seat, her long legs dangling over the armrest and my arms wrapped around her waist. Her shirt is soft and worn, and her hair—pulled up like usual—smells earthy and citrusy.
“You okay?” I should help her stand, but I keep my arms around her. Who knows when I’ll have the chance again once we sayI do,and the no touching rules are in effect.
“Fine,” she force-laughs, her cheeks pink. “Sorry about that.”
Archie offers her a steadying hand until she sits in her seat, and a rush of jealousy hits me with the force of a surprise windstorm. Before I can stop myself, I’m shooting a glare Archie’s way. He gets to touch her, help her, settle her in, but I can’t for fear I’ll break one of her rules.
In a matter of seconds, his expression shifts from confusion to surprise before landing on a smug smirk, like he knows something I don’t.
“Are you as nervous as I am?” Britta leans close to ask. “I mean, it would be weird if we weren’t, right? Even if this isn’t for real.”
Archie raises an eyebrow. We’ve known each other long enough that I can read the question on his face. He’s wondering if I want this to be real.
I’m not going to answer that, but I will answer Britta’s question.
“I’m a bit toey.” I catch Archie holding back a laugh, and my face heats.
“I should have added another condition to our agreement: you have to explain what all your Australian words mean.” Britta nudges me with her elbow while clutching the armrest, and I’m reminded how hard it’s going to be to follow her no touching rule.
“Toey means nervous or anxious,” I say.
“That’s one definition,” Archie mutters under his breath, and I send him a warning to keep his mouth shut.
Luckily, Britta either doesn’t hear or ignores him, because she doesn’t ask what the other meaning is. My face would be even warmer if I had to explain the innuendo. Totally inappropriate for what else I might be nervous about on our wedding day, considering we won’t be having a typical honeymoon.
Unfortunately.
Britta is a stunner. I hadn’t really thought through what the next three years will be like married to her without any of the benefits of marriage. And I won’t be dating anyone else, not that I want to.
Suddenly, the reality of what we’re doing hits me hard. A year of no-dating was difficult. But three years of celibacy? No kissing even, while I’m married to a woman I’m seriously attracted to? That might be harder than training for the Olympics. It might be an Olympic event itself. If I win, I should get more than a gold medal. I should get a Vibranium medal.
My heart pounds harder than it has since the seconds before my score was announced in the last heat of the Finals. I reach for an airbag. I might yak.
“Are you alright, Li—Dex?” Britta puts her hand on my back as I stick the bag over my mouth. “You look a little green.”
She rubs my back, which doesn’t help with my hyperventilating. She’s already breaking her own rule, and we’re not even married yet.
I take the bag away from my face and between heavy breaths blurt, “We’re not supposed to touch, are we?” The bag goes right back over my mouth when I finish. Depending on her answer, I may actually puke.
“It seemed necessary.”
My back goes cold when she pulls her hand back.
I take a few more breaths before I sit up. “It was. Thanks.”
This is what both of us want—no distractions. If I’m going to make the Olympic team, this is the perfect arrangement, and not just so I can become an American. With Britta as my wife—even in name only—I won’t be tempted by other girls. I won’t get sucked into relationships that would shift my focus away from training and winning.
And knowing Britta isn’t interested in anything but friendship, with me or anyone else, will keep me from falling for her. No kissing. No touching. No feelings. It’s exactly what we both need right now.
The rest of the hour flight to Vegas is pretty quiet, except for Stella outlining for Rhys all the things he could do differently with his social media accounts to combat some of the negative press he’s had.
Unsurprisingly, the more Stella talks, the deeper Rhys’s scowl grows, but he doesn’t stop her, which is interesting.
We land at McCarren airport where we’re met by a black Escalade with tinted windows whose driver takes the five of us to the MGM hotel, and through a secret entrance to one of the most-exclusive hotels in the world.
