by Alexis Angel
But I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again.
I would. Every fucking second of it.
I learned so much about life and love with Evan. About myself. Things I never knew.
So that’s all part of it. And Evan will always be a part of me, even if we aren’t together.
But now, I have to figure out what’s next for me. Where I’ll go from here.
And try to deal with the fact that it’s going to be really fucking painful without him.
I remember the look on his face as I walk slowly toward my gate. When I told him I couldn’t keep doing this.
“So that’s it then?” he asked.
I nodded, tears falling freely.
“Em, come on. Don’t do this. It doesn’t have to be like this.”
“Doesn’t it?” I asked, hope swelling in my chest even as I knew it very much did.
“We have a good thing here. A fucking great thing. Why does that have to change?”
I shook my head sadly. He just didn’t get it.
I changed. He changed me. Made me want more out of life than I realized was possible.
Yet he wasn’t willing to give it to me.
I’m smart enough to know that I can’t waste my life on a guy that may or may not ever be where I’m at.
So that leaves me here. Escaping to another hemisphere. And leaving my heart in New York City.
Two
Evan
“Come on, you motherfucker, get out of the fucking way,” I practically growl as I jump out of the cab and try to field my way through the crowded streets outside St. Patrick’s Cathedral.
“Yo, buddy!” the cabbie yells through his rolled-down window. “You have to fucking pay.”
I push back over and pull three bills out of my wallet and shove them at him. “Just wait here, okay? I’ll be two minutes.”
His eyebrows fly up to his hairline. “Whatever ya say, buddy.”
Jesus Christ, it’s like this dude is straight out of every movie ever featuring a New York cab driver. But I don’t have the time or the fucking energy to laugh.
I’m on a mission.
I race through the front doors and look around for my friend Charles, one of the priests here at St. Pat’s. I called and told him earlier I needed him for something urgent. A matter of the soul.
Yeah, I’ll probably burn for that one, but right now, there’s only one thing that will save my soul.
Emilia.
And I’m almost out of fucking time.
I pull out my phone to call him and bite out a furious, “Goddammit.”
Someone clears their throat behind me. Fuck. Normally, I might care that I’m swearing in a cathedral, but right now I just don’t have the patience to be bothered.
I spin around. Thank fuck. It’s Charles.
“Come on, man. Let’s go.”
I grab him by the arm and start hauling him toward the door.
“Woah, Evan. What’s gotten into you, man?” He looks genuinely concerned. As he should. I’m a fucking madman at the moment, and anyone who gets in my way will be collateral damage.
I don’t stop walking. “Just come on. I’ll explain on the way to the airport.”
“Airport?”
“Yeah.” That’s all I’m willing to give him until I have him in the cab and know that at least one part of my plan is in place.
The rest? Well, if I were a more religious man, I might say it’d be in God’s hands then. But more likely it’s in the hands of New York City traffic and the fucking TSA.
I almost can’t believe my luck when we get back out and the cabbie is still waiting for us. I halfway figured Louie De Palma himself would have taken off with my money.
Fate just may be on my side.
“Where to?” he asks in his thick Bronx accent.
“JFK. And if you get me there in twenty minutes, there’s a grand in it for you.”
His eyebrows fly up, and he shakes his head, but he doesn’t say he can’t do it. We’ll see just how much money talks.
“Okay, Evan, what’s going on?” Charles says when the taxi lurches forward.
I respond by pulling out my phone and sending him a text.
“There. It’s a link to your boarding pass.”
If Chuck weren’t a man of the cloth, I’m sure he’d be spewing profanity now. “What are you talking about?” he asks instead.
I let out a ragged breath and drag my hand over my face. Fuck, I should have shaved. I probably look as wrecked as I feel. And at this point, who could blame me?
I’ve been a fucking mess since Emilia broke up with me. It’s crazy, really. I mean, who would have thought that the perpetual playboy would meet his match?
But Emilia…what can I say?
She’s perfect. A goddess. She’s, well, everything to me.
And apparently, I’m the jackass that didn’t figure it out until it was almost too late.
I glance at my watch. Still could be if we don’t get to the airport on time.
“Okay, look, Charles. We have tickets to Fiji, and the flight leaves in an hour. My whole fucking life is about to leave on that plane.”
He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. He wouldn’t be wrong. I’m totally fucking crazy for Emilia. Willing to do some crazy shit to win her back, too, it seems.
“Okay, dude, I’m not following.”
We have fifteen minutes to go if Super Cabbie up there comes through for me, so I tell Charles the whole crazy story.
The night we met in the lounge in the Bradford. Our whirlwind romance. All the ups and downs we went through to get to a good place, and even then, we still had our moments.
Things with Emilia have never been easy. They’ve always been off the charts intense, whether we were fucking with wild abandon in a dark alley or proclaiming my love live on the air of a radio station. Nothing we’ve done has been typical.
Or at least it hasn’t felt that way. That’s why I was so fucking shocked when she wanted to call it off because we weren’t following some typical pattern. First comes love, then comes marriage and all that shit.
It didn’t seem like her thing.
Fuck, was I ever fucking wrong as fuck.
When I finish telling Charles the whole thing, he just stares at me, slack-jawed. Like he can’t believe it.
Then he grins. “My, how the mighty have fallen.”
“Fuck you, dude,” I say with a laugh.
But it’s true.
I fucking love her.
And I’ll be damned if I’m going to lose her now.
Which is why when Erin knocked on my door thirty minutes ago, letting me know that Em was leaving the country and she wasn’t sure for how long, I did the only thing I could think of.
I sprang into action.
I formulated a plan there on the spot.
And yeah, it’s fucking crazy.
But not nearly as crazy as I’ll be if I lose the one woman who I don’t want to live without.
For the first time in my life, nothing has been clearer.
I love her. She loves me. And I’m going to make her mine.
“So, um, Evan…I have to ask.” Charles furrows his brow. “What does all this have to do with me?”
I give him a reckless grin. “Isn’t it obvious? You’re going to marry us.”
Three
Emilia
I throw my carry-on into the overhead bin and drop down into my seat, looking around for a flight attendant. I need a drink, stat, if I’m going to make it through this insanely long flight.
Somehow, I hung around outside the gate long enough that I nearly missed the final boarding call. The plane is packed and ready go. I can’t fucking wait. I think.
And…I need that drink.
I see a brunette in uniform on the phone at the front of the plane and catch her eye, gesturing wildly.
She holds up her index finger and turns her back. Ugh. So much for first-class service.
There’s an elderly gen
tleman who looks remarkably like Hugh Hefner, complete with smoking jacket, in the seat next to me. He’s looking at me curiously, making me feel a little uncomfortable. You never know what you’re going to get in a flight companion, I guess.
Giving him a polite smile, I sit back in my seat, trying to get comfortable and close my eyes.
…then that fucking song starts playing.
What the ever-loving hell?
I swear to God, it really is haunting me. I have half a mind to stand up and look around the plane to tell whoever is playing it to put on some fucking headphones. No one wants to hear that shit.
I hunker down further in my seat and try to tune it out, but I swear to god, it gets even louder. Like it’s fucking mocking me.
“Emilia.”
The voice coming over the plane’s speakers makes me squeeze my eyes shut even tighter. Because evidently, I’m not handling the copious amounts of tequila very well. What a fucking mess of a day.
“Emilia.”
Jesus Christ, now I’m not only hearing our song, but Evan’s voice is invading my consciousness on some weird psychological level that I don’t understand. I think I need to break up with tequila, too, at this point. Maybe the flight attendant has some vodka?
I sit up straight and look for her again, but this time, the person standing at the front of the plane speaking into the intercom isn’t some flight attendant talking about flotation devices.
It’s Evan.
No. Fucking. Way.
And he’s got his phone held up to the intercom, playing that goddamn, stupid as fuck, perfectly beautiful song.
“Em…baby. I love you.”
God, does tequila have after-effects that make your eyes water thirty minutes after the fact?
“It’s you, Em. It’s always been you. It always will be you.”
Someone nearby lets out a godawful sound, like their heart is being ripped from their chest or something.
Oh, shit. That’s me.
Yeah, I’m crying like a baby right now.
Evan…is here?
But why? How? I don’t understand.
I look around frantically, realizing that everyone on the entire plane is looking at us, eyes wide, like we’re the best entertainment they’ve seen all day.
He starts walking slowly toward me, the intercom stretching as he pulls it behind him. I mean, I’m only two rows back, but apparently what he has to say, he wants the whole plane to hear.
“Baby, I love you, and I’d be the biggest fool in the entire world if I let you get on this plane and walk out of my life forever.”
I swallow hard, trying to breathe past the lump in my throat. I don’t know what’s happening here, but my heart is hammering in my chest.
“I’m sorry. For not realizing what you needed. And for not showing you that I can be that for you.”
He’s inches away from me now, and he drops the intercom and reaches up to cup my face. His thumb brushes over my cheek, wiping away the tears.
Our eyes are locked, all the love we have for each other on full display for the entire plane. I don’t know what he was thinking, coming here to tell me this on a plane, but it means everything to me that he wouldn’t let me leave without saying it.
“I love you, Em.”
I nod wordlessly, not trusting myself to speak. But words aren’t necessary. What we have transcends mere speech.
It’s timeless, primal, raw.
And pure.
My eyes drift closed as he leans in, his lips a breath from mine.
“Marry me.”
My breath gusts out, and my eyes fly open.
What?
Hang on. Am I dreaming here? Am I in some tequila-induced fever dream that looks an awful lot like an alternate reality?
Evan smiles.
No, he’s really here. I can feel the hard planes of his chest beneath my hands, the scratch of his stubble as he brushes his lips against mine and repeats, “Marry me.”
“Yes.”
One word. That's all. And my whole fucking world is turned upside down.
Evan crushes his mouth to mine, and we kiss with desperate passion like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I thought I’d seen it all, done it all with Evan.
I was dead wrong. There’s so much more ahead of us that I’m only just starting to see.
The entire plane erupts in cheers, and I laugh. I nearly forgot we had an audience.
“Stay right here.” Evan pulls away drops a quick kiss on my forehead.
I watch him in confusion as he goes to the front of the plane again, then reappears with…
…a priest.
I blink, shake my head, now wondering if I really am in that fever dream.
“Evan…” I cut my eyes back and forth between him and the priest. “What the fuck?”
He laughs. “I’ve got you here with nowhere to escape, and you’ve just said you’ll be my wife. You think I’m not going to seal the deal here and now?”
“You’re crazy.”
A wink. A grin. “You know it.”
I look at the flight attendant, certain she’s going to tell us we need to take our seats because it’s time for takeoff. What I’m not sure of is if Evan’s going along. I mean, he’s on the flight, which means he must have a ticket…
But the attendant is just smiling, watching us like she was in on the plan.
Fucking Evan.
I shake my head. “I love you.”
He gives me another kiss. “Let’s do this thing.”
Then, right there on the plane, the priest starts performing the ceremony. It’s crazy. But at least we aren’t hurting for witnesses.
It all goes by in a blur. I know I won’t remember any of it. But I don’t care.
All I can think about is how my heart—which so recently felt shattered beyond repair—has never been fuller. More complete.
What we’re doing is so totally insane—but it’s perfect for us. I couldn’t imagine it any other way.
Now I am his, in every sense of the word. And he is mine.
When we kiss, it’s like the whole world seems to shake. I’m quaking. Vibrating.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats and prepare for takeoff.”
Oh, well maybe it was just the jets. But I know one thing, I’ll be quaking and vibrating for days on end as soon as we get somewhere private. Speaking of…
“What do we do now? Get off the plane and go home?”
“Fuck no, baby. We’re going to Fiji.”
There’s no way in hell I’m making it all the way to Fiji without consummating this marriage. Marriage.
God. I’m fucking married. And I couldn’t be happier.
I give Evan a sly smile. “Meet me in the restroom after takeoff?”
Whoever said married life is boring? Our adventures are only just beginning.
Four
Evan
I fucking love my wife.
We crash through the doors of the cabana, barely able to take our hands off of each other. Emilia’s arms and neck are tangled in her dress as she tries to lift it up over her head, and I’m stumbling out of my fucking pants, tripping over my own goddamn feet.
But when we fall, we fall into each other.
Then, thank fuck, we fall into the bed.
Our marriage was consummated in an airplane bathroom, then with a blowjob and a bottle of tequila on our way here to our honeymoon suite.
The cab driver gave me a real fucking look when Em announced that she was going to baptize her mouth with my cum, but hey—she had a bottle of Jose Cuervo in one hand and my cock in the other.
I wasn’t about to argue with her.
“C’mere,” I slur, rolling on top of her.
Her body shifts beneath mine. She spreads her thighs for me and I slip between them, kicking off the last clinging vestiges of clothing from my lower half.
When I go to kiss her, I have to untangle her from her dress to do it. Prettiest little white sundre
ss you can imagine. If she didn’t have it stuck over her head, I’d have ripped it off of her.
Instead, I toss it across the room.
Won’t be needing that anymore.
My plans for our honeymoon are simple: fucking Emilia, fucking Emilia, wining, dining and fucking Emilia. If I can keep her naked for most of that time, all the better.
It crosses my mind that I should’ve slipped a baggage handler a couple hundred bucks to accidentally lose Em’s bags.
I guess locking her in our suite so I can have my way with her is going to have to suffice.
The bed is draped with a white linen canopy overhead. I’m dazzled by the gold of Em’s hair, the way it’s splayed out on the crisp white sheets.
The whole room is lit up with candlelight, and I can hear the crystal blue waters of the ocean splashing just outside along the shore of our private stretch of beach.
“I fucking love you,” I tell her. It simultaneously feels like the billionth time and the first, all at once.
Then, I kiss her before she can say it back.
Hearing her try to mumble it against my lips anyway just makes me chuckle and kiss her harder.
I don’t stop kissing her until I feel the pale crescents of her nails pressing into my back.
“Horny, honey?”
“Fuck me,” Emilia gasps.
And how can I say no to that?
We’re drunk on equal parts tequila and love. When I first got on that plane, Em was drinking to forget me. By the time we got off of it, she was drinking to celebrate.
I have a wife, I tell myself as I kiss her long, slender neck.
I have a wife, I tell myself as I worship her firm, heaving breasts with my tongue.
I have a wife, I tell myself as I scrape my teeth across her wide, wiggling hips.
“Stay still or I’ll punish you,” I tell my wife.
“Make me, husband,” she giggles.
And then I do anything but.
I can’t blame her for not staying still while my fingers are knuckle-deep in her cunt, after all.
I imagine it’s pretty fucking difficult for a woman to orgasm as hard as she is while staying completely still.
