She began toward the front of the plane without making further eye contact. Feeling the heat of his presence—his body—right behind her as she said a smiling goodbye to the flight attendant and began making her way up the jet bridge. Not once did she look back at him as the terminal grew nearer, but she felt his eyes on her back. Felt them running all over her body. So powerfully it almost felt like they were touching her.
It wasn’t until they entered the bustling terminal of Salt Lake City International that Viola understood what was really going on.
She wasn’t feeling shy.
She was feeling scared.
After leaving the gate, she finally looked over her shoulder. Sure enough, he was right behind her, his blue eyes right there to catch hers the moment she looked back at him. He felt taller, grander, more powerful than ever before as he came up in front of her. Close enough to start make-out round number two if he chose. She wondered if she’d be able to stop him.
No longer cocooned in the safe little nest they’d built on the plane, silence fell. Viola held her breath as she searched his eyes. Had it all been a fluke? The strange little connection they’d made in that metal tube up in the sky? A connection that had never been real, but simply a condition of circumstance? Was Viola Rice a woman worthy of knowing the feel of Jon Baca’s tongue in her mouth on solid ground? Or only at 30,000 feet?
Back on the ground—back in the real world—would he even look twice at her?
“I’m—” He cleared his voice when it broke, motioning behind him with rosy cheeks. “I’m going this way. Gotta—gotta get to the rental cars.”
“Yeah—” Her voice broke too, lips still tingling with the memory of their kiss, vision beginning to blur when she realized this was it, and motioning behind her at the moving walkway. “Yeah, I gotta go meet my friend at baggage claim, so…”
Another long silence.
Her entire body hit a standstill. This was really it, wasn’t it? He wasn’t going to ask for her number. He wasn’t going to make any attempt to see her further. She’d just been a little bit of fun up in the air.
He opened his arms for a hug, and her stomach hit her feet because now she knew it was goodbye. Still, her body belonged to him, just like it had on the plane, and she stepped into his open arms, wrapping her own around his waist. He pulled her in tight, his hammering heart tickling her ear. His long torso making hers rise with it as he drew in a deep breath.
“It was really…” He pulled out of the hug and reclaimed the handle of his suitcase. “Really nice to meet you.” A coy smile spread on his lips.
Just when she was sure her heart couldn’t sink any lower, it did. Lower still as he began a slow trek backward, his eyes never leaving hers, not even to look where he was going, forcing irritated passengers behind him to go around.
“It was really nice to meet you too.” Had she said those words? She couldn’t tell because the blood gushing through her pounding ears had rendered her nearly deaf.
“Bye.” He smiled coyly. “Viola fuckin’ Rice.”
“Bye,” she whispered, her heart officially at rock bottom, being eaten alive by flames in the burning pits of hell. “Jon fuckin’ Baca.”
He was the first to turn his back, still holding her eyes over his shoulder as he began away, giving her one last wave.
Viola didn’t wave back. Not because she was rude, but because she didn’t want him to see the tears burning her eyes. So she turned away before she had a chance to wave. Before he could see her glistening orbs. She made her way toward the moving walkway that would begin what she knew would be a perilous, mile-long journey to baggage claim. Thankfully, the walkways at that airport were very long, making it a much more bearable journey. She sniffled as she stepped onto the walkway, ignoring the friendly faces of the passengers moving in the opposite direction on the walkway beside hers. She knew if she tried to smile back at them through the tears still building in her eyes, it would only make them multiply.
It appeared several planes had landed at the same time, since dozens of other passengers were suddenly gathered on the walkway all around her, packing in tight like sardines until it was jam-packed. Standing room only. She had half a mind to remind the passengers on the left that common courtesy dictated it was polite to walk on the left and stand on the right, but she bit her tongue. No reason to look for drama where there didn’t need to be any. Especially since the drama going on in her heart had already damn near taken over her entire body.
As she leaned on the railing of the moving walkway, her phone dinged. She nearly spat when she looked at the screen and found a picture message from Gleb awaiting her. A picture message that made her wish her earlier suspicion that he’d dropped dead had actually proven to be true. A picture message containing a close up shot of his curved, erect penis, appearing to have been taken in what looked to be a dirty public restroom stall.
Gleb: You like?
“For fuck’s sake.” She nearly threw the phone, clutching it so tightly she worried her taut fingers might shatter the glass.
Milo had been right all along. He’d been right about all of it. She was the problem. All she wanted was to find a man who cared for her and who she could care for in return. Who wanted to get to know her as a person and not just in the bedroom. She’d made a mistake talking to Gleb about sex too soon, and she’d made the same mistake with Jon. Not only had she admitted that she fantasized about him, she’d let him stick his tongue down her throat before he’d even learned her middle name. She’d ignored Milo’s advice and her instincts too. Now she wasn’t just stuck with a picture of Gleb’s crooked penis, but also what felt suspiciously like a totally broken heart.
Once upon a time, she’d have paid good money to be used for a make-out session by Jon Baca. Now that it had actually happened, though, she wasn’t so sure it’d been worth it.
Did you honestly believe you could hold a rock star’s attention for longer than a five-hour plane ride, Viola? How delusional could you be—
She was torn out of her thoughts when the passengers on the moving walkway next to her—not quite as jam-packed as the one she was on, but still full—began to shout and complain. Her eyes darted over the grumbling crowd, curious as to what all the fuss was about. It was only when she looked over her shoulder, about five-feet down the walkway, that she saw Jon, shouldering his way through the crowd, walking forward on a walkway that was moving backward, pushing his way through travelers left and right.
Her mouth fell open.
Jon kept his eyes locked to hers as he continued charging ahead, apparently having abandoned his suitcase at the end of the walkway just to have the full freedom to crane and angle his body through the thick throng of people. The task of moving forward on a backward moving walkway was hard enough on its own without having to navigate a crowd of people as well, and his gasping breath proved that the exertion was real.
Still, he managed to make it to her, taking up a slow jog to keep up with her since she was technically moving twice as fast as he was. He held her eyes across the space, only looking forward every once in a while to avoid a run-in with the irritated looking traveler’s moving opposite him.
Just like that, the tears in Viola’s eyes dried, the obnoxious dick pic on her phone ceased to exist, and all that mattered was him. She tried to speak, but no words would leave her lips.
“I don’t know what that just was.” Jon gasped. “But I liked it.”
She hardly contained the urge to hop up and down shouting me too, me too, and finally found her voice. “You did?”
He smiled softly through heaving breaths, giving the railing of the walkway all his weight while offering her a piece of paper. “I want you to call me.”
She reached for the paper just as he collapsed onto the railing, grabbing hold of it in the nick of time, just before their walkways pulled them too far from each other to reach.
“Call me,” he demanded once more, raising his eyebrows.
Viola sputter
ed out a laugh of disbelief, keeping her eyes on him until their walkways had pulled them too far away to see, more passengers piling on every second until they’d swallowed her view of him whole.
Stunned, her eyes fell to the paper in her quaking hand.
Jon Fuckin’ Baca
(310) 283-3845
Four
“Kiss me.”
“Excuse me?”
“Kiss me. We have to practice.”
“I don’t recall there being a kissing clause in the fake girlfriend contract, Milo.”
“I don’t recall there being a contract at all. Know what I do recall? My grandmother. Forcing me to go to church every time I come home. A church where the sermon is curiously always about the wickedness and perversion of homosexuality. She’s already got her suspicions about me as it is. If we can’t even pull off a believable kiss, how the hell are we going to pull off three whole weeks as a couple?”
“Okay, fine, kiss me, anything to shut you up—”
He cut her off by leaning over the console of their rental car—parked on the gravelly road about a mile outside of the log cabin he’d grown up in—and pressing his lips to hers. She frowned through the closed mouth kiss. Upon opening her eyes, she found the same pained expression on Milo’s face.
He pulled away first, suddenly looking very worried as he cringed through the windshield.
“Hey, your family is uber religious, right?” She tried to find a silver lining. “They’ll probably be thankful if we aren’t the type of couple into heavy PDA. We’ll just tell them we don’t like to kiss in front of people. Lots of hugs and cuddles, but no lip on lip action.”
He snapped a finger and pointed at her. “Brilliant.”
“I try.” She shrugged as he restarted the car and resumed the slow drive up to the log cabin, tucked away in the trees, nestled deep in a mountainous terrain just outside Salt Lake, which greeted them from the distance. She took in the expanse of tall trees, the cold weather leaving them naked and stripped of the colorful leaves that had once lived on their branches but now littered the forest floor. Not another house was visible from all around. Just a wall of thick, green forest and what sounded like a stream trickling faintly in the distance. The clear blue sky gave no clues to the bitterly cold air that would await them once they exited the car, but they were already dressed in their New York winter gear, more than ready for the nippy weather that awaited them.
Viola sighed as the cabin grew closer, pulling a folded piece of paper from her pocket. Jon fuckin’ Baca’s phone number still greeted her after unfolding it, confirming for the millionth time that, yes, the best plane ride of her life had, in fact, actually happened. She’d already memorized his sloppy handwriting, tracing every dip and curve with stars in her eyes.
“Why didn’t he ask you for your number? Men only give their phone numbers to women they think are easy or desperate.”
Her eyes shot to Milo just as he parked the car. “I told you. He chased after me on the moving walkway. There was no time to ask for my number. You should’ve seen it, Milo. It was like something out of a romance movie.”
“If a man really likes you, he’ll make miracles happen. If he really wanted your number—” He made a swipe for the paper, but she snatched it away in the nick of time. “He would’ve made it happen. Why settle for some guy who’s willing to risk never hearing from you again?”
She hid the paper in a fist.
“All this secrecy,” he accused. “I just wanna know his name so I can help you stalk him on social media later.”
“No stalking necessary.” I already know his star sign, his favorite food, his worst fear, and the middle name of every girlfriend he’s ever had. “And you’re wrong on this one. You don’t even know him.”
“Was I wrong on Gleb? Or do you now have an HD snapshot of his crooked penis contaminating your phone?”
“This one’s different. You wouldn’t understand.” Protecting Jon’s phone number—as well as his name—at all costs, she shoved the number back into her pocket.
Milo grumbled something about what an easy mark she was while throwing open the driver’s side door.
She went to open her door as well.
“Hold on,” he said. “Mom’s probably peeking out the window. I’ll get your door.”
Viola chuckled as he raced around the car, opening the passenger door and offering her his hand.
“I can’t decide what’s more terrifying,” she said. “The memory of your lips on mine or watching you attempt chivalry.”
After helping her out of the car, Milo gave her his arm and began leading her up to the rustic, two-story log cabin that awaited them, their boots crunching on the grass and gravel at their feet. Viola drank in the thick brush of trees, gasping when they eventually cleared to reveal that the home sat alongside a trickling stream, sparkling under the sunlight. Coupled with the stunning mountain views—all of their peaks dotted with snow—the small home became downright delightful in her eyes. The earthy scent of pine and old fallen leaves filled her nose with each breath, reminding her for the first time in years what fresh air actually smelled like.
“So this is the cabin my Milo Moore was raised in, huh? I think I love it already, just because it grew you. A more amazing flower has never been bloomed. It’s adorable.”
“It’s on its last leg. Been in the family for generations and it shows.”
“Looks nice and cozy to me. Nothing says Christmas like a warm, toasty log cabin. I bet the inside smells like nutmeg and candy canes. All that’s missing is a few inches of snow.”
“A few inches of snow on that old ass roof? It’d be a miracle if the house doesn’t cave in on itself.”
“Okay, you’re determined to be negative. I quit.”
Thankfully, Milo was the only one determined to be negative, as evidenced by the middle-aged brunette who threw open the door of the house before Milo and Viola had even made it halfway across the yard. One look at the shoulder-length brown hair—curled at the ends—slender body—encased in mom jeans with a long red sweater—and a smile that lit up her entire face and Viola instantly knew it was Milo’s mother, Mary Moore, lingering in the doorway with her smiling mouth hanging open. She’d know Mary’s kind blue eyes, slightly wrinkled at the corners, anywhere, all thanks to her both hilarious and adorable presence on social media. Milo hadn’t had the heart to decline his mother’s Facebook friend request, years ago, seeing as Mary only had 39 friends of her own, a number that hadn’t much budged over the years. Sometimes it felt like Mary spent more time on Milo’s Facebook page than Milo himself, leaving adorable comments that only a clueless middle-aged mother could manage, on each and every one of his posts—regardless of context.
Photo of Milo bent over a toilet after chugging from a beer keg at spring break: “Hey, honey, it’s Mom. Great picture!”
Milo mooning Manhattan from a rooftop bar on a drunken night in Times Square: “Hey, hun, it’s your mom, please bundle up, it looks cold!”
Milo flipping off Trump Tower during a walk down 5th Avenue: “Your mother loves you.”
There was no photo too offensive, too foul, or too grotesque that would stop Mary Moore from popping in on her beloved son’s Facebook feed with a sweet word. Her postings never failed to kill the vibe. Directly responsible for the rapid deaths of too many sarcastic and perverse conversations to count as his friends went running for the hills at the sight of someone’s mom. The braver of Milo’s friends sometimes stuck around: “Aw, Milo, your mom is so cute! Hey, mom!”
He’d never unfriended her though. Instead, he kept her account restricted. She didn’t know she was restricted since Facebook didn’t send notifications, but there were many postings—most of which alluded to Milo’s sexuality—that Mary would never see. Seeing her smiling face right then, Viola understood why Milo couldn’t find the heart to just unfriend her. If her mother were as adorable as the one charging across the porch with a squeal, arms wide open as she raced toward
them in glee, she wouldn’t have the heart to do it either.
Mary’s long, willowy limbs raced across the yard, and she threw her arms around Milo’s shoulders, pulling him into a half-laughing, half-sobbing hug. “Oh, honey, I’ve missed you!”
“I missed you too, Mom.” Milo rubbed her back.
“It’s been way too long.” Mary pulled away and cupped his face, frowning softly at him like a dermatologist searching for irregular moles. “Have you been eating right? You’re looking thinner than I remember.”
“I’m fine, Mom.” Milo motioned to Viola. “This is—“
“Viola!” Mary abandoned him to draw Viola into a bear hug as well. “Of course, I’d know Viola from a mile away, hun. She’s all over your Facebook. And all this time I thought you two were just friends.” Mary pulled away and cut a playful look at the two of them.
“The heart wants what it wants, Mom, what can I say?” He could barely say it with a straight face.
Viola cut a look at him, fighting her own amused smile.
“I feel like I already know you.” Mary squeezed Viola’s arms.
“Likewise,” Viola teased. “I feel like I’m meeting a celebrity. Your comments on Milo’s photos light up my world more than you’ll ever know.”
“His father always tells me to just leave him alone. Says I’m embarrassing him. But you don’t mind, do you, hun?”
“No, Mom. I don’t mind.”
“Do I embarrass you? I just wanna know you’re okay, that’s all.”
“You don’t embarrass me.”
Viola was in the midst of searing Milo with a knowing squint from the corner of her eyes when the feeling of being completely off balance suddenly overtook her body and stole a startled cry for her lips. Like a bulldozer had just hit her right in the shins hard enough to take her off her feet.
Refrain (Stereo Hearts Book 3) Page 5
