Page 77 of Drilled (Dad Bod Contracting 2)
He twists to smile at me. “Imogen, what’s up? Doing okay?”
I smile back; I don’t have to force it, because a smile from Jesse is pretty infectious. “Excited for Imogen’s little impromptu vacation plan.”
He nods, and something unspoken ripples between us. I gather from his tense expression that Franco is on his mind, but I don’t ask, and he doesn’t offer. Instead, he plugs a cord into his phone, hunts through Spotify for a moment, and then switches the music to a yacht rock playlist—all fabulous and fun and lighthearted, which he must somehow know is a perennial favorite of Imogen’s and mine—as long as it’s not the overly synth-laden pop stuff. It starts off with a Bon Jovi tune, and my spirits immediately lift. Imogen is in the front seat, and after she closes the door and buckles in, she leans across and kisses Jesse on the cheekbone, and then claims his right hand, twining her fingers into his.
He grins at her as he puts his truck into gear and backs out. They immediately start bickering in an adorably earnest way about whether Bon Jovi, Guns ’N Roses, or Poison is better. I can’t help a rush of hate/love at the way they are together. It’s so sweet it’s almost saccharine, but it’s totally real and deep and true, and the hate just may be jealousy in disguise.
The drive isn’t too long—we’re headed to O’Hare. I settle in, listening to the music and watching the familiar scenery out the window, and half listening to Jesse and Imogen’s quiet, easy, ever-shifting conversation.
We reach the airport departure line, where Jesse pulls to a stop, parks, hops out, grabs both of our suitcases and props them upright on the sidewalk. Then, without warning, he grabs Imogen around the waist, yanks her up against his body, and kisses the shit out of her. By the time he lets her go, she’s clearly breathless, horny, and a little shaken.
“Ohhh—okay,” she mumbles, touching her lips with two fingers. “Um. Hi? Wow.”
Jesse just grins at her. “Had to make sure you remember me while you’re gone. Don’t want you leaving me for any of those cute cabana boys.”
“You heard that, huh?”
He grabs her by the ass and clutches her up against him again. “I eat cabana boys for breakfast, and don’t you forget it.”
She giggles breathily. “You eat me for breakfast, or have you forgotten already?”
He growls. “Forget? Why do you think I didn’t brush my teeth this morning? I can still taste you.”
“OKAY!” I shout, and walk away, grabbing both rolling suitcase handles. “AWAY WE GO!”
“You’re not jealous, are you?” Imogen says, her voice full of teasing humor.
“You bet your fine ass I’m jealous.”
“Jesse, you know I’m just being silly. Don’t be insecure.”
He rumbles again. “Ain’t insecure. You’re mine, and I know it, and I’m fine with you going and having the time of your life. But I’m jealous as fuck, and I’m not apologizing for it.”
“I don’t expect you to apologize.” She reaches between them and rubs against him. “Remember how I woke you up? That was me reminding you who you belong to—me.”
I would be sick if it wasn’t hot and sweet at the same time. “Hey, lovebirds. Remember me?”
“I’ll be thinking of how you woke me up the entire time you’re gone,” Jesse says, and I know I’m being ignored.
Imogen lifts up on her toes and touches her lips to Jesse’s, quickly, tenderly. “I have to go.” She glances at me, grins, and then turns back to Jesse. “I think we’re going to make poor Audra vomit in a second.”
I sigh, waving a hand. “It’s sweet. Just don’t get carried away. I’d tell you to get a room, but that’d take too long, and I need like four sugar-free mojitos, stat.”
“Plus, our flight leaves in an hour.” She pecks him one last time. “Bye. I’ll call you.”
“How about you FaceTime me naked from the hotel room instead?” Jesse mutters.
Imogen rolls her eyes as she pulls away. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Imogen gets two steps away when his voice stops her. “Hey, Im—guess what?”
She pauses, turns around. “What?”
“I love you.”
She sighs, visibly and audibly melting. “I love you, too.”
“You’re going to be apart less than a week,” I huff. “Get a grip.”
Imogen shoves me playfully. “Don’t be hating on our honeymoon phase.”
“I’m not hating,” I say as we head to check-in. “You’re just being ridiculous.”
“Yeah, well…” She shrugs, and her smile back at me is…weird. “Love is ridiculous, sometimes.”
Both our suitcases are carry-on size, so all we have to do is check-in and go through security. Imogen gives the clerk both our boarding passes, which she printed out at home it seems, and I give her my ID. The clerk is bored and listless, checking our IDs, scrawling something on both boarding passes, and then repeating our gate assignment in a monotone voice as she hands the passes back to Imogen.
