by Rissa Brahm
The tall blonde smiled then twirled toward the bar.
But the woman didn’t make it three steps before spinning back around on her heels, and hip-shook her way back to Preeya’s side. “Hey, when you talk to the doctor next and…you know, if he ever happens to ask about me, maybe just text me his number, or give him mine? I thought he was so yummy—clean-cut, tall, and a doctor. I would’ve called him myself, but I didn’t wanna freak him out, calling outright with no reason or excuse other than…you know, because…” She giggled. “Well, he didn’t strike me as the pick-me-up, ready-to-play type, which makes him that much yummier.” She licked her lips and waggled her brows.
Jesus.
“Well, as it turns out, Kelly,” Preeya died to say, “he is that type.” And, God, would they go too well together, both married with children and pets and hidden rings.
You don’t know that.
I’ve seen pictures of Kelly’s model fam.
And Ben?
I sense it with Ben.
Maybe Gigi’s “powers” are starting to rub off on you.
Shut up. In her gut she sensed it. Though she hadn’t sensed anything but pure bliss when she’d felt his cock’s pulse and rippling release and length and girth and power in her last night.
Or when she’d been swimming in his arms.
She suppressed a growl and through gritted teeth pasted on her friendliest FA-to-FA smile. “Yeah, Kell, sure thing. I’ll try to put a word in for you.” And try not to cram the damn napkin with Ben’s blessed fucking number on it, down Kelly’s ultra-deep, well-used throat…to choke on!
Preeya! Blow job, Ben, last night. Judgy bitch.
Fine, I’m a slight hypocrite. All fueled up about Ben again and taking it out on Kelly…Though she is a cheating—
Stop. Just stop.
Preeya sighed, her internal back and forth ending in exhaustion.
As she watched Kelly shuffle back to her men in waiting, she let the remnant anger ripple through her, down her, and out her toes. No more thoughts about the dickhead who’d obviously fucked around enough to have some other woman’s name on his lips. Some Jamie. A fucking Jamie.
Had to call his sister.
Exhale bad, inhale good.
And no more thoughts about him tricking her into believing she was all he had on his mind. All that mattered in his damn world. For the night, at least.
She looked down at her purse, where the napkin with Ben’s number lay, which she’d inadvertently crunched up into a tight, sweaty ball when Kelly wiggled away from her corner of the lounge. She chuckled—wadding up men’s written messages of bullshit was getting to be a thing.
But her smirk fast became a frown. Severing ties, sitting there on her own, alone. Alone time was coming, and coming fast. Her lungs were already constricting, whispering their hatred of the idea of landing in Vallarta solo. For three whole days. She swallowed the fast-developing ball of angst with no success as she reached for her phone.
Call someone. For distraction. Gigi for sure wanted to know why and what ended their last call so abruptly. Nuh-uh. She couldn’t rehash that right now. She’d splinter into tears. Instead she tapped out a quick Call ya when land. All okay, and then went back to brainstorming while her breathing became shallower still.
Amy? Not Amy. God, her college roommate was already married by this time, throwing a fucking bouquet or dancing drunk with cake on her nose and about to get on with her honeymoon cruise and the rest of her perfect marital life.
Her family was of course out, except for Prana—Prana always made her smile—but it was too late to call SafeHaven. God, she missed her sister. Always loyal, always lit up to see her. She should’ve rerouted herself to northern Cali for an extra visit this month. That’s what she should’ve done.
But it had already been too late. She was scheduled to work this leg. And two days off wouldn’t give her enough time to possibly catch a standby flight and drive to SafeHaven.
She powered up her phone screen to think. Some missed calls from her aunt and from her cousin, Asha. Oh God, don’t think about that wedding. She winced, went to shut down the phone…when a text rolled in.
From Evan?
Hope you’re good, just thinking about you. No need to reply. Just wanted you to know. Ev.
She looked out the window. Still sweet as sugar. Even after she’d dashed his life plans. Their life plans.
She remembered her words to him that day, a month ago. She’d told him she needed to venture out. “To really get to know myself,” she’d said.
God, she talked a lot about getting to know herself, and did not a damn thing about it.
You are now, Pree. This trip.
Yes, this trip. Here she was stressing over the next three days she’d be alone in paradise. By herself. No company, no distraction. And it terrified her.
Pathetic.
More pathetic were the words of truth that she could never formulate in her head, let alone say to her almost-fiancé: “I don’t love you, Evan. Never have. Just didn’t want to be alone…” God, it would have murdered his heart, and just because she hadn’t loved him enough to marry him, or even to stay with him another day, didn’t mean she wanted to hurt him like that. Evan was a good, sweet man. Eager to please her. Eager to love her.
While she, well, just wasn’t ever satisfied. With anything. So maybe there was truth to the breakup words she had spouted to him. She did need to venture out. And she definitely needed to find out who the hell she was. Because although she had no fucking clue what she was seeking—what she wanted—she knew in her heart what she didn’t want. And that, at least, was a start, right?
Her phone buzzed again, the same text, still marked as unanswered.
She hit Reply. Hey, saw you on anchor desk. Congrats, Ev, you so deserve it! TYL.
She sighed, picturing him signing off the news desk every morning at 11:00 a.m. sharp. Every single morning. “Make it a great one, Seattle,” or whatever phrase or tag he’d snagged for himself. Yeah, she was really glad for him, proud of him, and impressed with him. He’d carried on without her, moved on for the better. And she wouldn’t have had it any other way.
She stood up, threw her phone in her purse, jerked her carry-on handle up, and strode to her gate. She’d kind of liked the adrenaline rush of being early on her last leg, getting the checklist done before the other girls arrived. And she liked surprising the hell out of Jessica and Kelly. She liked that a lot. Because, screw them.
*
Ben sat in the extremely uncomfortable seats at the gate and closed his eyes—with only four hours of solid sleep because of the vodka-induced sex-fest all-nighter after the adrenaline-rush emergency after the hearing, and now the crash-and-burn with Preeya—it all finally hit him. He fell into a light doze. Deeper and deeper he drifted, despite the chair, the PA’s random announcements from some far off gate, and the obnoxious video game music from the teenager behind him. His exhaustion conquered it all. And when Preeya’s eyes floated through his mind, her expression sweet and sensual, the same look she’d given him at his hotel room door last night, he knew he was officially out and dreaming.
Until a child pulled on his pant leg, shocking him awake. The next second, the toddler’s mother issued a slew of apologies in Spanish. He rubbed his eyes to focus, then told her not to worry and gave the kid his famous—but just scary enough—thumb-disappearing trick, which sent the kid back to stay with his mother for good. He felt a little bad because there it was, his disconnect with kids. Ben sighed, then caught the child watching him from afar. To make it right, Ben held up his hands and wiggled all ten digits, proving everything was in working order. The child, in awe, giggled and ran behind his mother again. Ben laughed, winked at the toddler, then giving up on the nap— or maybe escaping Preeya’s inevitable in-dream gaze—he turned on his phone to call his sister, Stacy, to tell her he was due in at 9:30 p.m.
“Looks like the flight’s on time.”
“The kids are excited�
��they get my famous mac and cheese every time Uncle Ben comes home.”
“You turn me into a damn kid on Christmas morning when you bring up your mac and cheese!” He grinned hearing his sister laugh, fake modesty mingling in between her chuckles.
Then the first-class boarding announcement met his ears.
“That’s me, Stace—see you in a few hours.”
“Wait, how long are you staying, Ben?”
“For three days. Then I travel with the vaccination team through to Tula, an hour north of Mexico City.”
“God, I hate that you’re doing this. Puerto Vallarta is safe, a paradise, but a Gringo Americano crossing the damn country, I just—”
“I’m taking precautions, Stacy. Listen, I’ve really got to go. You can play mom when I see you in a few hours, okay?”
“Fine. Fine. Oh, customs takes forever. Have a protein bar with you!”
“Got it. No worries,” he said, fingering not a protein bar but his DWB badge—that magic ticket through the short line. “I love you. See you soon.”
He hung up smiling, glad now for her nurturing ways. It hadn’t always been that way. But age and time had made him appreciative of the only family he had. When Jamie died, Stacy had never been more vital to his well-being and to his sanity. She was solid, unconditional—always. Even while raising two kids on her own, she never let him down.
He handed his boarding pass and passport to the male flight attendant at the podium, got and gave the obligatory smiles, and headed down the ramp. He knew Preeya would be on board, but had decided not to bother her.
Though he really wanted to make things right, damn it.
Just sleep; focus on seeing Stacy and the kids. Then on to the Central Mexico mission. For more soul-cleansing work.
When he boarded the plane he spotted Preeya immediately, there in the first row of coach. She stood on her tiptoes, helping a passenger push, more like shove, a bag into the overhead compartment. Her long, jet-black ponytail highlighted the curve of her back, her hips, her bottom. He felt an uncontrollable shiver shoot up his spine.
But he sat quickly to shake it off. “It’s done, Ben. All done.”
He sighed, closed his lids gently over his eyes, and hoped that his pretend sleep would become real sleep as soon as humanly possible.
*
When she turned to answer Bobby, the flight’s lead host in first class, she spotted those damn illuminating amber eyes as Ben turned to sit in his cozy first-class seat.
Had he followed her, maybe even changed his flight? No, not likely. I mean, get over yourself, Preeya.
But such a coincidence? Nice try. There are no coincidences, Pree!
And was it really that crazy? How many connections did Jetta Air have from Houston, anyway? Like, five? A twenty-percent chance wasn’t all that mystifying.
Either way, she was safe in coach again, and by the time they’d land, he’d deplane and be stuck in customs for an hour or more, and she’d shoot through the express crew lane and she wouldn’t have to face Dr. Ben Trainer ever again.
She took out her phone to send Prana the ritual takeoff text and then power down, but a new message stared up at her, one that was too all-caps-angry to ignore.
THE GALL, MISSING YOUR FATHER’S WEDDING. Your father is crushed. So is Sylvia, your stepmother. Right, Sylvia—her father’s goddamn tit-enhanced patient? God, how cliché?
But the worst part of her aunt’s message made her gut wretch. The one most crushed by your absence is Prana.
What—they’d gotten her sister from SafeHaven?
Screw Champa. The hell with all of them. Using Prana. Like they knew her sister from a stranger on the street. To people like Champa, her sister was a burden, an alien, a leper.
This was nothing out of the ordinary for her aunt. Or her father. Maybe an East Indian thing, the tool of guilt? Convenient and at no cost to the user.
She flung her phone in her purse, then clicked her seat belt buckle with unnecessary force. She inhaled a lungful of recycled air. Puerto Vallarta. Alone. Here I come.
CHAPTER 15
After customs and immigration, she walked with the other flight attendants through to the exit. And there he was waiting. For her? Damn it, she hoped not. And how did he get through so fast?
“Hey, I’ll catch up to you guys…seven sharp, in the lobby,” she said to Bobby and Janet, glad that at least for tonight she wouldn’t be eating alone.
“Isn’t that the doctor from yesterday’s flight?” Bobby asked her of Ben, who leaned against the wall in a casual, totally out of character pose just past the time-share hawkers.
“Yeah, but how did you know that?”
“The company intranet had a photo of you and him with the boy at the ambulance yesterday.”
“Oh.” God, she hoped it hadn’t spread beyond that. “Well, he must have a question for me about the medical reports we filled out,” she told him, again keeping her business to herself.
She waved to them and veered reluctantly over to where Ben stood. His eyes were narrowed, searching hers, but not drawn to hers like the past looks he’d given her. Not even raising his eyebrows as she approached. Not even standing taller. Was he even waiting for her at all?
A spark of some leftover rage tore through her then. And a touch of embarrassment, a pinch of insecurity. But she was already a few feet from him and couldn’t turn away now.
“Were you wanting to speak to me again?” To say some fucked-up, judgmental generalizations that don’t apply to me because you don’t know me from Bobby or Jan or Jessica or fucking Kelly?
“I’m actually waiting for my sister, but I am glad to see you… I want to apologize.” He shifted his stance and stood taller. “I am sorry, you know, for what I said. To you. I was angry. It was uncalled for.”
She was listening.
“You were just so flippant about…us and…well, I hadn’t been with another woman since—”
“Since who? Jamie?”
“How did—”
“You called me Jamie this morning…when I woke up in your fucking arms.”
“Jesus!”
“That’s right, you actually said ‘Jesus, Jamie.’ That’s exactly what you said.”
Ben sighed and shook his head, cheeks flushed like he’d seen a ghost. “I am so, so sorry. Listen, Preeya…Jamie—”
“Don’t bother, Ben. I’m totally over it.”
“She is, was…shit! Jamie is my late wife, Preeya. She passed away a year ago…from cancer.”
She swallowed, but with her heart lodged in her throat beating triple time, she felt like she was choking, impending death by airlessness and horrifying stupidity.
“I should’ve told you, but…the mood, the timing.” He stepped closer to her, as if he wanted to take her hands, but instead he shoved them in his pockets and lowered his chin to his chest. “Anyway, you’re the first woman I’ve been with.” Eyes down at the floor, cheeks now hot red, he was a man in the net of embarrassment, like a teenage virgin in the locker room with his all-too-experienced buddies.
Preeya was struck in the heart. And sick to her stomach at the same time. Like she had the sudden weight of the world on her shoulders. She’d been cruel, left him at the hotel without a word. Raked him over the coals in Houston.
And she’d taken the re-virginity of a goddamn widower! Fuck, he should have really said something, right? Because she couldn’t have known. He was too damn confident, diligent, masterful with her body—and with his body—in bed. For God’s sake, she would never have known. She was led to the peak of pleasure too many times to think such vulnerability existed in this man.
Now she felt ill. She had become a landmark in time for this man, this good-hearted, well-meaning, perfect-soul of a man. A doctor. Without borders. Who’d lost his fucking wife.
Wait, wasn’t he too young to have lost a wife, for God’s sake?
She just stood there and shook her head. Speechless.
“Again, I apologize for
saying what I said to you…it was screwed up…just not okay.”
She believed his apology. It was disgustingly authentic. Gut-wrenching.
She was the asshole. And he was the saint.
Damn it. She had even sensed—and ignored—his immediate regretful look when he’d spat those words at her in Houston, when the shock in his wide eyes stared back at her even before she shot her biting words back at him and stormed into the crew lounge. His words didn’t even fit his mellow, professional albeit slightly arrogant doctor persona. Even the newer addition of swear words to the man’s vocabulary was almost too weird for her to hear. But it was also refreshing. More real. Like he was admitting he was less perfect than maybe he was. But hardly imperfect at all.
“It’s fine,” Preeya said. “I mean, I get that you were pissed. I understand now. And I assumed something about you first. I was the one who was totally off base. The whole thing, a crazy mess of assumptions…which I started.” She looked down, almost too embarrassed to meet those eyes again.
“Preeya, it’s okay. Really,” he said while leaning into her as if to make sure she caught his follow up smile backing up his words.
She nodded and gave him a half grin back. “You know…what you said about flight attendants, well, although I don’t sleep around…” Yes, she wanted him to know that, “I have plenty of female FA friends who definitely, you know, are out to have a good time. Just like plenty of guys are—no matter their professions. And except for one or two FAs I know who cheat to play”—she paused to sigh, thinking solely of Denver Kelly—“why shouldn’t women who work their asses off and travel for their jobs get to explore and enjoy?” She nodded, proud of her stance. Dawn from the guest room would’ve been proud, too.
He nodded back. Like he understood. “Fair enough.” He cleared his throat and shuffled his right foot. “Still, nice to know I wasn’t one of an army.”
She met his eyes and smiled. “No. You were anything but.”
More like one of a kind.
The next moments of lingering silence could have been awkward, but they weren’t. Pensive or mind-clearing, but not awkward. She laughed to herself—maybe she and Ben both just needed to get out of their own tiny boxes, away from their habitual assumption-forming, line-drawing, and judgment-making.
