Page 5 of Where She Belongs
I drain the last of my gin and tonic, the ice cubes clinking like tiny, broken promises.
“Anything else from the bar, Dr. Vasquez?” The flight attendant’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts as she collects my empty glass. “We have a few other choices up front I may have missed listing for you…. Gabe.”
The familiar way she says my name makes me look up and study her face.
Who…?
Then it clicks.
Denver. Snow storm. Hot tub.
“Not right now, thanks, Valerie,” I say, catching her name tag just in time. It’s been a few months since that layover during the medical conference when a snowstorm stranded me for an extra night. The memories flood back: the empty hotel bar, the too-strong cocktails, the warmth of the hot tub cutting through the winter chill.
She smiles, a knowing look in her eyes. “Maybe later then.”
As Valerie walks away, Andrea slaps my arm.
“What was that for?” I whisper as she glares at me, her eyes flicking between me and the retreating flight attendant.
“Did you and her—?” she starts, then pauses, waiting for my denial.
I flash back to that night, to the easy laughter and the way Valerie had pulled me into the hot tub, to the kiss that lingered longer than it should have. “I can’t say.”
Her eyes narrow to slits. “You totally did, didn’t you?”
“A gentleman never tells,” I say, attempting a virtuous tone.
“Oh, please.” She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Mile High Club, by any chance?”
I pause, letting her wonder. “She’s a professional, Andie,” I say, sidestepping the accusation. “And so am I.”
Andrea crosses her arms, but I can see the wheels turning in her head. “Gabe, you dog.”
I shrug. “It was a lonely conference.”
She raises an eyebrow, and for a moment, I think she’s going to scold me. Instead, she leans back in her seat and smirks. “Well, at least someone’s getting lucky.”
I should deny it and play innocent, but I’ve missed that curl of Andrea’s lips, that spark of mischief that’s been too rare lately. Maybe this trip will actually help her get back to the old Andrea I know. “I can’t say either,” I add, leaving just enough ambiguity to keep her guessing.
She laughs, a genuine burst that cuts through the recycled air of the cabin, and for a moment, it looks like we’re back in the old days, before Simon’s betrayal. “Seriously, Gabe, the bathroom’s so tiny. How can you even fit?”
I shrug, playing it cool. “You just can.”
“But really, how?”
“There are a few techniques.” I lean in, lowering my voice conspiratorially. “At least five different ways.”
Andrea’s mouth drops open, her eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and intrigue. I fight back a grin, trying to look serious. She always says she tries to be curious, not judgmental—something she picked up from Walt Whitman orTed Lasso.
Well, her curiosity’s about to make this flight a lot more interesting than I anticipated.
“And you’ve tried all five?” she asks, her tone half disbelieving, half impressed. When I shrug again, she persists, “Well, I guess she could stand facing the wall and you’re behind her. That’s doable, right?”
I can’t believe she’s actually going there. Usually, Andrea is the one to steer us back to safer, more comfortable topics when things get too personal, too loaded, too real.
“Or,” she continues, and I’m stunned she’s not stopping, “she could sit on the sink and you could?—”
Jesus. Are we really doing this?I nod. “Hmmm.”
