Page 18 of Raine Out (Grand Slam 2)

“Sorry, brother,” Butch says in his deepest Southern drawl. He has a pronounced accent from his Georgia roots, but he only turns it up this much when he’s trying to act folksy. “I was trying to fit this bag under her seat. Guess I’m going to have to put it in the overhead.”

I sit down and smile at the guy. He doesn’t smile back.

“Good work,” I whisper to Butch as he sits down. “You’ve already made your first enemy on this trip.”

“Naw, I’m pretty sure the TSA guy at security didn’t like me much either.” He tries to slide his enormous legs under the seat, but ends up hitting his knees hard on the seatback in front of him. The woman sitting there turns around and shoots daggers at him.

“That’s number three.”

He shakes his head. “If you want to count something this weekend, how about you count the number of ladies who make it back to my room?”

“Eww!” I say, slapping his arm. “No one wants to know that number.”

“You’re just mad because you know you can’t beat me at something.”

“I don’t want to beat you at that.”

“Bullshit. You want to win everything. You’re the most competitive person I know.” He stops for a second and looks at me—a scary twinkle in his eyes. “Maybe we should have a little bet on who canentertainthe most new friends when we get to the island.”

“I’m not making a sex bet with you,” I say, shoving his hand away as he tries to shake on the bet. “You’re such a practiced whore. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“I’m not a whore,” he says, laughing when he sees my eyebrows shoot up. “I’m just an expert at my craft.”

“Whore.” I turn away from him toward the window. Our seatmate is suddenly wide awake and listening to our conversation.

“You’re just jealous,” Butch says, nudging me on the shoulder.

“Shh. Lower your voice.” I nod my head backward. “Not everyone needs to hear this conversation.”

“When’s the last time you’ve been with a guy?” he says, not lowering his voice at all. “Like for a date or anything.”

I cross my arms and frown at him. “You’re not dating anyone either.”

“I don’t want to be dating anyone, but I’m damn sure having sex.” He pulls a toothpick out of his T-shirt pocket and starts chewing on it. “I’m just saying, there’s nothing wrong with letting loose a little bit every now and then. You’re always wound so tightly. This weekend might be the perfect time to relax and have some fun. When are you going to see these people again?”

“I’m going to see you again,” I say, sinking into my seat.

“And I’ve already told you, I’m the best wingman ever created, and part of that is keeping my mouth shut. You know, the whole “what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” rule. I’ve got you. No judgment. Let it all hang out. And let me tell you, that little dress you’re wearing is a great start to that.”

I punch his leg as I pull the ends of my hair over my cleavage. “Stop looking at my boobs.”

“Don’t show them to me if you don’t want me to look. I’ll make sure no one else is looking, though. Unless you want someone to look. Maybe we should have a signal, like pat your head or something if you want a guy to look.”

“I hate you.”

“There’s a fine line between love and hate, Raineth.”

I push myself back up as the plane starts to move. “And what signal should I use if I want you to leave me alone?”

“Patting the head is good for that, too. It says, ‘Butch, please leave me alone so I can get with this guy.’” He starts patting his head to demonstrate. “And you didn’t answer my question from before. When’s the last time you’ve been with a guy?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“That long, huh?” he says, tapping his chin. “Do you not like sex? Are you anti-sexual?”

“I think you mean asexual and I’m neither asexual nor anti-sexual, thank you. I’m just not a whore, like you.”

“Girl, just because I like to have sex doesn’t make me a whore—”

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