Page 68 of Fake-Off with Fate
He rolls over in bed before sitting up.Great, he’s not wearing a shirt.My Pavlovian response is to start salivating. “Good morning,” he says in a gravelly and very sexy morning voice.
“I’m heading back to LA,” I tell him. “I’m going to try to save some of my stuff.”
Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he says, “I’ll go with you.”
“You can’t,” I remind him. “Your first game is coming up in a couple of days.”
He runs his hands through his hair which causes it to stand on end in a comical way. “Shoot. I don’t think you should go alone.”
“I’ll be fine,” I tell him. “I’ve lived there for over a decade. I know how to navigate the dangers.”
He grabs a t-shirt off the nightstand and puts it on. “At least let me drive you to the airport. When does your flight leave?”
“I don’t have one yet,” I tell him. “I was just going to get there and find one.”
“Go make some coffee. I’ll be right down. You can book the flight while I drive.”
“Jamie.” I start to tell him that he doesn’t have to take me, but I stop myself because I really want him to. “Thank you. It seems we’re always coming to each other’s aid, huh?”
“That’s what good friends, do,” he says. His voice is tinged with something that, if I didn’t know better, I might call longing.
With a small smile, I turn and leave his room. Once I’m in the kitchen, I start a pot of coffee brewing before putting a couple of bagels into the toaster. After they pop up, I smear them with cream cheese and wrap them in paper towels to take with us. Then I fill two thermoses with coffee. To mine, I add my favorite hazelnut creamer and a stevia packet.
Jamie walks into the room moments later looking like he’s just stepped off the cover ofGQmagazine. Seriously, he looks effortlessly gorgeous. I point to his thermos. “It’s just coffee, but you can add whatever you want to it.”
Screwing the lid on, he tells me, “I like it black.”
I hand him his bagel and lead the way out of the house. “You want to take my car or yours?”
“Let’s take mine,” he says.
Once we’re situated inside, he pulls out of the driveway and heads toward the outskirts of town. I open up my phone and start looking for a flight. “There’s one that leaves in an hour and a half,” I tell him after a short search. “That ought to be enough time.”
“It’s a good thing you don’t have to check any luggage.”
“Yeah.” It’s not that I don’t love talking to Jamie, but right now, my head is so full of fear, I don’t have much to say. He seems to sense this because he stays quiet, as well.
An hour later, he turns onto the airport road. “I wish I couldgo in with you, but as it is, you’ll have to run if you’re gonna make your flight.” He pulls up to the curb and puts the car into park. Then he turns to me and says, “Be careful.”
Faking bravado I don’t feel, I tell him, “I will. Fate didn’t let us become friends only for me to burn up in a fire.” The look of horror on his face is immediate. So, I assure him, “They won’t even let me near my house if there’s a threat.”
That information seems to calm him. Opening his door, he gets out and runs around the SUV to open mine. I take his offered hand and let him help me down the high step to the ground. He doesn’t let my hand go once I’m standing in front of him. Instead, he takes my other hand and pulls me toward him. “Call me as soon as you can.”
I don’t dare look up into his eyes or I’ll probably never be able to leave. “I better go,” I tell him, staring up at his hairline.
He still doesn’t release my hands. Instead, he leans his face down toward mine and very gently kisses me. On the mouth. It’s only a peck but molten heat starts to make its way through my nervous system. I’m pretty sure I’m about to spontaneously combust.
I force myself to give his hands a quick squeeze before releasing my grip. “I’ll be fine,” I assure him again. Then I turn around and make a run for it.
The line at security is longer than I was expecting, so I do the thing that I hate. I ask people if I can butt in front of them. Most are lovely and I wind up getting to my gate just as they’re about to close the doors.
Handing my ticket to the agent, I tell him, “Sorry for being late.”
He rolls his eyes. “Lady, no one wants to go to LA right now. I’m surprised you’re even here.”
After finding my seat, I look around the plane at all the faces. I wonder how many of them are hurrying home to do the same thing I am. Oddly, most people appear impassive. I usually admire that in my fellow Angelinos—you know, the ability toovercome any adversity without showing fear. We’re a people known for meeting any challenge with a stoicism others might find shocking.
Having said that, I don’t currently find my fellow travelers’ inexpressiveness particularly appealing. Instead, I view it as almost robotic, as though emotion is something they’re not capable of. I spend the entire flight wondering at this change in my perception. Maybe it’s because I’m in a fight-or-flight frame of mind. But then again it might be that I just don’t relate to them anymore. I shelve that thought for later evaluation.
