“A lunch meeting, I guess?”
“With who? The producers usually go through Luna.”
“No, not the producers. With the . . . book guy.”
My head pops up and Brenna smiles nervously. “The book guy?”
“He’s on line one. He asked if he could make a lunch appointment with you tomorrow. You know, just like in the story.”
My face tightens. Is he for real? I drum my fingers on my desk. “Put him through, please.”
Brenna scurries away and I stare at my phone, waiting for it to ring. As soon as it does I lift the receiver and let loose. “You can’t be fucking serious?”
“Well, hello there. I don’t remember Kasey picking up the phone. I’m pretty sure she just said no.”
“This isn’t a book, Fisher, and I’m not Kasey.”
He laughs lightly. “And thank God you’re not. I had a dog growing up named Casey and that would be really weird for me.”
I try my hardest not to smile. He’s not cute. He’s not. “What do you want?”
“You didn’t really think I was going to let you walk away and never talk to you again, did you?”
“Look, I have no interest in dating you.”
He laughs. “Good. I think dating is overrated. I think we should hang out, not date.”
“I don’t want to hang out with you either.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm . . . that’s weird. I was thinking about how excited you were to see me yesterday. I’m guessing if those hulks of yours hadn’t pushed me to the floor, I probably would have gotten, at minimum, a hug. Maybe even a kiss.”
“I don’t want to kiss you either.”
“Not even a tiny little peck on the cheek?”
“No. Not even that. I don’t like you.”
He laughs again. “What’s the saying about someone who protests too much?”
“I’m speaking the truth. I’m sorry if that hurts your tender ego.”
“Ouch,” he says with a snicker. “I knew going into this you were going to be hard to crack. I’ve always liked that about you. The fact is, I really didn’t get much of a chance to talk to you yesterday. All I’m asking for is one meal. If after that you still want me to leave you alone, then I will. Deal?”
“How about if you just leave me alone now?”
“I suppose I could do that, but what fun would that be? Don’t you feel the least bit bad about the bruised ego I now have to go along with my bruised face?”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I remember his bloody nose. “Are you okay? I’m really sorry about all that.”
“Are you?”
“Of course I am. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”
“What if it would hurt me if you wouldn’t have dinner with me?”
I sigh. “Are you trying to play on my guilt to get me to cave?”
“Is it working? If it is, then yes. My nose really hurts.”
I can’t help but grin. I roll my chair around so I can look out the window. “How do I know you aren’t crazy?”
“Aren’t we all? Listen, if you had given me your real number months ago, I would have called you the next day to arrange to see you. I told you back then I wanted to see you again. Why are you surprised?”
“Because of the book stuff.”
“Was it that bad? You didn’t like it at all?”
I think for a minute. “I guess it did make me smile, up until the part where I was scared for my life.”
He moans. “Please let me make it up to you.”
I want to say no just for the sake of saying no, but if I’m honest with myself, seeing him again has been on my mind since before I even walked away from him yesterday. He’s been on my mind for months. “What did you have in mind?”
“Do you trust me enough to give me your cell number?”
“Not really but . . .”
“But?”
I rattle off the numbers because I kind of want his number too.
“I’ll text you tomorrow with the address. Just do me one favor?”
“What?”
“Let your GPS lead you. Don’t overthink it. And dress casual.”
My skin buzzes with nervous energy. “Are you always going to be secretive?”
“Always makes me think there are going to be a lot more dates. I like how you’re thinking.”
I try to change the subject. “It better be a public place.”
He laughs. “It will be.”
“I have to work. See you tomorrow, I guess.”
“Nothing will make me happier. Goodbye, Greer.”
Ending the call, my heart pounds wildly in my chest. What’s wrong with me? Before I met him I would have never agreed to any of this. What is it about him that makes me so not me?
Last night, Fisher texted me an address along with a time. It’s not quite 6:00 p.m. when my GPS leads me to a small airport just outside of town. Oh no.
I park my car in the lot and lean forward in my seat to watch a small aircraft take off in the distance. I should have known better. He couldn’t possibly still be following the book. Could he?
There’s a tap on my window and it startles me. I jump a little and Fisher grins outside my door. “Are you coming?” he asks.
I shake my head. He tries to open my car door. It’s locked.
He bends down to look me in the eyes. “I promise you, it’s going to be fine.”
He’s so sincere. Why didn’t I Google the address? Why did I trust him? I’ve made up my mind as I open the door. “No. No way,” I say adamantly as I step out.
“How about we start with hi instead of no.”
He’s wearing dark jeans and a blue shirt. He looks like he’s about to get his picture taken. I glance down at the jeans it took me forever to pick out and wish I’d dressed up a little more. Even though he said casual, and he’s dressed casually, he still looks way better than I do. “Okay. Hi. Now no!”
“Give me your hand and come with me.”
“Please tell me you don’t own your own plane like Penn? Because I can tell you right now, I’m not flying to Denver for dinner.”
“Can you let me do this? I promise you, you’ll have all the answers you need in a few minutes.”
I glance over at the terminal. What do I do? Fisher takes my hand in his and walks backward, walking me with him. “It’s going to be fun, I promise.”
My phone rings and from the sound, I know it’s Luna. There’s no way I’m talking to her now even though I promised her I’d call her the minute I arrived. I silence the ringer as I notice the time. It’s not quite six. “Are you actually early for once?” I ask, surprised.
“I’ve been here for a couple of hours.”
“You have? Why?”
“I didn’t want you to have to sit through all the paperwork and pre-flight stuff.”
“So we are flying?”
“Yes.”
I stop dead in my tracks and turn to walk back to my car.
He laughs and chases after me. “You don’t even know what I have planned. Don’t make me carry you over there.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Want to try me?”
He’s serious. Would he really pick me up? “I’m not saying yes. So we’re clear.”
“Crystal.” He holds out his hand and I place mine inside. We walk over to a gentleman standing with a clipboard. “She’s here,” he tells him.
The man smiles and holds his hand out to me. “I’m Phil.”
“Macy,” I say, shaking his hand.
“Phil is a friend of a friend. He’s going to help me out today.”
“With what?” I ask, still concerned.
“Shall we go?” Phil asks.
As he starts to walk, I pull on Fisher’s arm. “Really. I’m scared. Are we really flying today?”
He knows I’m serious. “In your book, you write that Penn is not only a millionaire, but also has his own plane. He takes
Kasey up and personally flies her to Denver for dinner.”
“I’m fully aware of my own story.”
He grins as he stuffs his hands into his pockets and glances toward Phil, then back to me. “I’m not exactly a millionaire and I don’t own my own jet, but I arranged for my first flying lesson with Phil today and he said I could bring you along. Then I brought a picnic basket and I thought we could eat dinner over there and watch the planes take off for a while. It’s the closest I could get.”
Dead. I’m dead. I’m pretty certain his words were like an ice pick shattering any pre-conceived notions about what kind of man he was. It is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done in my life.
“Are you okay?” he asks. “You’re white as a ghost. I promise you, Phil knows what he’s doing. He flies for Southwest. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”
All these memories of Florida invade my mind. Fisher’s panicked face as he lay on top of me in the sand. Fisher insisting on carrying my bag to the hotel. His hot breath on my neck asking if I wanted a taco. My undoing the zipper of his shorts in the ocean. He’s here. The guy I’ve thought about nonstop for months. The guy I based an entire book on is standing right in front of me trying to make me smile. How could I ever not follow him anywhere? “Promise?”
His returning smile makes my knees weak. “I promise.”
We walk to a small plane on a paved strip. “Patrick already did the pre-flight check before you arrived and we walked through the checklists. He said you might be nervous, so I wanted to personally assure you we’re good to go.”
I nod as he hands me a headset and I climb into the back seat of a small plane. I immediately buckle my seatbelt.
“This is a Cessna C-172. It’s a plane we use for training.”
Fisher climbs in the front seat and puts on a pair of sunglasses along with a headset. He turns back to me and smiles. “Ready?”
I want to scream yes and throw my body at him, but I’m not sure Phil would appreciate that. Could he be any hotter than he is right at this moment? Mother of mercy, if I could I’d go back and rewrite this scene in the book. Kasey should be less nervous and heavily turned on instead. No wonder the mile-high club exists.
Phil starts explaining how to start the aircraft. I had no idea it was so complicated. Next time I fly I’m going to hug my pilot after. I’ve heard people say it’s like driving a car. Umm . . . No, it’s not.
“You always want to make sure you’re lined up on the centerline.” He motions outward to look down the runway.
“Right now you’re going to apply full power. Then, at the same time you’re going to add some right rudder.”
He’s pointing to stuff and I can hear Fisher acknowledging him in my ears. I can’t believe we’re going to do this.
“You want to make sure the engine gauges are normal. That typically means in the green range. Now apply backpressure to the nose. Not fast and not slow. Nice and easy . . .”
I grip the armrests as we leave the ground.
“Woohoo!” Fisher laughs.
After a few minutes, Fisher glances back at me. “Are you enjoying our first date?”
“You could have just bought me ice cream, you know.”
“If you want ice cream, you got it. We’ll have to squeeze it between all the other stuff I have planned.”
There’s more? Mentally I race through the pages of the book. What in hell comes next?
I watch as Fisher takes a picnic basket out of his trunk. It’s a little after seven and the sun is just starting to set. It’s getting a little chilly. I’m glad I brought a coat.
“How about over here?” he asks, pointing to the grass a few feet from his Jeep.
He places the basket on the ground and starts to unfold a blanket. I rush over to help him lay it out on the ground.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, glancing at his phone.
“I’m always hungry. Plus, I’m really curious what you brought.”
He smiles. “In your story, Penn takes her for Italian. I didn’t think it would hold up in a basket very well, so I improvised.” He gazes down at his phone once more.
“Am I keeping you from something?”
“No, I’m just waiting for . . . Oh, there he is.” He dashes off toward an approaching van. I lean back to read the writing on the side. Luigi’s.
He runs up to the driver’s window and hands him some cash. The driver hands him a very large bag.
“Did you buy one of everything?” I ask as he returns.
“I got a variety because I didn’t know what you’d like.” He places the bag next to me on the ground, opens the basket, and removes packs of ice from inside along with a bottle of wine and two glasses. I peek into the paper bag. It smells amazing.
“Go ahead,” he says, motioning with his head as he starts uncorking the bottle.
I pull out three containers and put them on the blanket. The first one is lasagna, the second is mushroom ravioli, and the third is chicken fettucine alfredo. I hear a pop and Fisher hands me a glass of wine. He pours himself a glass and proceeds to take out two plates, silverware, and napkins.
I’m in awe.
“Have anything you want. I hope I chose well.”
“You chose very well, but before we eat, we need to talk.”
“Your nose is doing that little twitching thing it does when you’re serious. Lay it on me.”
I rub my nose. What twitch? He takes a sip of his wine and watches me closely. “You need to stop this.”
“Stop what?” he asks.
“All of it. Following my book. Trying to make it real. It’s amazing and unbelievably sweet, but it has to be costing you a fortune.”
“Don’t worry about that.”
“I am worried and it’s not necessary.”
He sighs. “Let me ask you a question. All this stuff you’ve written about . . . the concert at the office, the dress and dinner, the being taken away for the night . . . is that based on actual events or is it all fantasy?”
“It’s fantasy. Everyone knows that stuff never really happens. It’s why so many women read books about it. It’s nice to think that it could happen, but it’s never happened for me or anyone I know.”
“That’s the thing, Greer. It should be happening for you. You deserve all this and more.”
My head tilts to the side as I regard him. “You don’t know me. How do you know what I deserve?”
He opens the container of lasagna and starts putting some on my plate. I watch him do the same with the other two. He opens the bag and hands me a breadstick. “Butter or no butter?”
I take it from him and get up on my knees. “If I seem the least bit unappreciative, I’m sorry. Honestly, it’s been amazing. This whole day. But I don’t expect any of it.”
“And that’s exactly why you deserve it.”
“Fisher . . .” I sigh in frustration.
“Your dinner’s getting cold. Let’s eat and watch the sunset.” He snaps his fingers and pulls out a jar candle. He feels around in his pocket and pulls out a lighter.
“Is there anything you didn’t think of?” I ask, taking a large bite of my breadstick.
“Probably. Good thing your stories are so descriptive. Penn’s got game.”
“Penn isn’t real.”
“I need to live up to your standards.”
“Dear God, Fisher! No, you don’t.”
He takes a big bite of ravioli and moans lightly. “Did you try this yet?” He holds out a fork of ravioli to me and I eat it. I nod in approval as I chew.
He puts another on his fork and hands it to me. Before I take another bite I ask, “Did you really read the whole book?” I’m guessing he must have to know what he knows.
“Twice. The second time I placed tabs at the parts I thought I should remember.”
“Like what?”
“One of my favorites is the beach.” He winks and my face heats.
“I’m sorry I asked.”
“Di
d I really make your toes curl?”
“Oh my God! Stop.”
“What? I need to remember what I did right in case I get the chance to do it again.”
I put my fingers in my ears and stare at the checkered pattern on the blanket, silently willing him to drop it.
“I also liked the part where you said you’d follow me anywhere.”
I shake my head and start to hum lightly.
“And that whole thing you said yesterday about never thinking about me? Come on. The whole book is about me.”
I hum louder. I can still hear him laugh, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“And when you said you thought I was a professional kisser? Man, what an ego boost that was.”
Jumping up from the blanket, I shout, “Okay! You made your point. But I didn’t think all those things. I just wrote them like that because we writers need to embellish things to make them better than they are. Like I said . . . fantasy.”
He takes another sip of wine. I can tell he’s amused. He pushes up from the ground and steps over to me. My stomach flips when he brushes a piece of hair away from my eyes. “Prove it.”
I place my hands on my hips. “And how would I do that?”
“Let me kiss you. If you seriously feel nothing, I’ll never do it again.”
“I don’t need to prove anything to you!”
He smiles. “Okay, I’ll just go on thinking I was right.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“I’m a right asshole.”
“You’re totally wrong, but you can just go ahead and think whatever you want. I don’t care.”
He shrugs and sits back down, leaving me standing there. He takes a bite of the lasagna. “So good. You should eat it while it’s warm.”
“You’re not right, you know. I thought you were okay, but I made up the rest just like I made up the whole book.”
“Okay. I believe you.”
“No, you don’t!”
“Really, Greer. If you say you felt nothing then I believe you. You don’t have to prove anything.” He winks at me again and grins cockily.
My teeth and fists clench at the same time. “Stand up.”
“I’m eating right now. Maybe later.”
“Dammit, Fisher, stand up right now so I can prove it to you!”
Book Boyfriend Page 7
