One Up: Up Series Book 4

by Robin Leaf

  I reached in my pocket and pulled out the blue box, opening it to show her the contents. “Tell me, do you think this will do?”

  She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing the ring. “Wow.” She beamed at me. “That must have been some deal.”

  I turned the box toward me examining it once again. “It was my grandmother’s. So, you think it’s okay?”

  “Yes, it’s beautiful. It’s classic and elegant with a vintage quality, not too over the top. If the equally-adorable-and-sexy-Dr.-Spencer-Reid-nerd vibe you got going on isn’t enough to get her to say yes, that ring should certainly solidify the deal.”

  I stared at it for a few more minutes, hoping Heather would agree with my super-cute plane neighbor’s assessment, before I closed the box and put it back in my pocket.

  “So how do you plan to do it?”

  I turned to her and blinked. “Do what?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Propose, silly.”

  The expectant look on her face suggested I probably ought to say something better than I was thinking.

  “I am going to get down on one knee.”

  “And…” She rolled her hand encouraging me to give her more.

  “Say, ‘will you marry me?’”

  She pursed her lips. “Okay, that’s a little unoriginal. So just where will this simple proposal take place?”

  I shifted in my seat, sure she would hate the next part of my plan.

  “In my living room?”

  Her jaw moved back and forth.

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow evening?” Not quite sure why I formed that into a question.

  She made a sound like a buzzer much like my dryer sounds when it’s at the end of its cycle. “Wrong answer, Slick.”

  “Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve, so I thought –”

  She moved to face me more fully and interrupted me. “You have to make this proposal romantic, one she won’t forget.”

  “New Year’s Eve isn’t romantic?”

  “You need to personalize it for her.” I must have looked confused because she laughed. “Don’t hurt yourself there, Slick. It’s not that hard. Tell me your whole plan.”

  “I, uh, well,” I stammered before I took a deep breath. “I thought I’d give her a rose made –”

  She grunted. “Is that her favorite flower?” I just stared, unsure how to answer. She grunted again and asked, “Do you even know what her favorite flower is?”

  I felt my brow furrow.

  “You don’t, do you?”

  “I can’t go wrong with this rose. It’s –”

  She rolled her eyes. “Lame. And so cliché. Not every woman likes roses. It might be good if you are picking her up for a date, but not for when you are asking for her hand in marriage. No. This requires some finesse, something well thought out. You can’t just go home and shove some dying, plant-version of genitalia in her hand and say,” she deepened her voice and switched to a horrible imitation of a southern accent, “‘Hey baby, wanna get hitched?’” She huffed and switched back to her normal voice. “No matter how beautiful your ring is, you gotta try a little harder. You gotta charm her… woo her. She should swoon at your feet. Make her want to jump in your arms, stick her tongue down your throat, and dry hump you in public.” She reached over and touched my arm and softened her voice. “You gotta make this special so she has no choice but to say yes.”

  I blinked, a little turned on at the warm tingles from her hand on me, and a little pissed that she assumed I didn’t know what I was doing. “And how would you suggest I do that.”

  After removing her hand from my arm, she smiled at me. “Well, I obviously don’t know your girlfriend, but it’s a good thing I came along, Slick, otherwise you would be doing it all wrong.” She took another drink. “I’ll help you plan out an elaborate proposal. I’m thinking flash mob. I have connections that we can make work. You can thank me later.” She pulled out her phone and began typing.

  I shook my head skeptically. “Yeah, she’s not really a flash-mob type.”

  “Oh, don’t kid yourself. Every girl secretly loves flash mobs.” She held up her phone with the flair I expected from the flight attendant. “There. I just sent out an all-call. I should hear back from everyone before we land.”

  I grunted. “Look, I appreciate that you are willing to help me, but I think I know my girlfriend a little better than you. She is… reserved.”

  “But I know she’ll love this.” Her phone buzzed in her hand, which diverted her attention. “See, responses are already coming in. But if you think she won’t like it, I know a singer who owes me a favor. He’s mostly blues, but I bet he has a romantic song or two in his repertoire. He might be willing to serenade your…”

  I reached over and grasped her forearm to get her attention. “Oh my goodness, woman, do you ever stop and listen? Or do you just barrel through everything?”

  Her eyes widened as she looked down at my hand and then up to my face. Her jaw ticked right before she swallowed roughly. “I’m just trying to help you.”

  I removed my hand and ran it through my hair. “And I said I appreciate it.” I sighed. “But I think I can handle proposing to my girlfriend. I come from a long line of men who know how to care for their women.”

  “Care for her?” She scoffed. “Well, that’s not a bit condescending or misogynistic.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Okay, well then, Mr. Machismo, please, tell me what you mean.”

  “I bought a plot of land in her hometown. I had a house built on it, and I plan to surprise her with it tomorrow.”

  “Wait, she doesn’t know you built this house?”

  “No, but…”

  “So you are going to force a house on her that she hasn’t even seen and didn’t get to choose?” She crossed her arms over her chest and sat forward. “So far I’m standing by my misogynistic assessment.”

  I took a deep breath. “I’m not forcing anything. I took the plans of the dream house she and I designed one night a year ago when she mentioned that she always dreamed of raising a family in her home town. She thought we were just playing around, but I took the plans to an architect friend of mine. He drew it up, and I had it built.”

  She dropped her eyes to her lap. “Oh, well, that’s… different.”

  “Yeah, it is. After I show her the house, I plan to drop to one knee in the middle of our brand-new living room. I think that’s pretty damned romantic, if you ask me.”

  She glanced at me quickly and nodded her head. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe? No. I think the word you’re looking for is definitely. Trust me, I’ve learned from the best. My grandfather and grandmother were married for fifty-six years. On each major anniversary, he gave her a letter he wrote the year before. At their one year, he gave her a letter he wrote on their wedding night on the honeymoon hotel’s stationery. Every year thereafter, he presented her with a new letter. Then he framed the letters with pictures and keepsakes from those anniversaries.”

  She blinked. “That’s so… wow.”

  I smiled. “Yeah, it is. And my dad brought my mother a rose every day of their life together, starting on the day he asked her to marry him. Every single flippin’ day. Even through the cancer.

  “And when she was crying one day, looking in the mirror at her hairless and breast-less appearance, my dad pointed to her head and heart, and then he said, ‘The packaging only served to get my attention. I fell in love with what’s up here and in here. It’s you, babe. Never forget that. I love your soul… who you are as a person. That will never change.’”

  She made a little grunty whining noise.

  “He never left her side. And he continued to bring her roses every day, even when it was the end and she was pretty much unconscious. He held it next to her nose and swore she smiled when she smelled it. I’m certain she did.”

  She whimpered and went to say something else, but I kept on.

  “So that’s
why I chose to bring a rose to my girl, for the significance to me. It’s how the men in my family show love. And, as I tried to tell you before, it’s not just any rose. I had one made out of the pages of a romantic scene from her favorite book. And I figured New Year’s Eve was the perfect time to propose, since we are starting the new year beginning our life in the house she designed and I had built where we will raise our family together.”

  She open-mouth stared at me for a few seconds. “Jeez, now I want to shove my tongue down your throat and dry hump you in public.”

  Three

  Kaelyn

  Fuck, I think I said that dry-hump thing out loud.

  “I second that,” Dr. Bourgeois, who I had forgotten was there, said quietly, confirming that I did, in fact, say that out loud.

  “Me, too,” the formerly discourteous flight attendant added.

  “Sorry, ladies. Please, restrain yourselves,” he winked and smiled. “I’m a one-woman man.”

  I rolled my eyes, although I really secretly wished he wasn’t attached. I needed to do something to distract me from my attraction to him.

  “You said you signed a deal. Can you tell me about it, or is it some big, super-secret high-tech agency thing, like a contract to create cyborgs for the government? Did you figure out a way to reanimate cryogenically-frozen hamsters? Or maybe you volunteered for some gamma radiation study?”

  He smiled. “Nothing quite like that.”

  “Are you sure? Maybe I should make you angry just to test my theory.”

  Chuckling, he rubbed his face. “If your theory just happened to be correct, don’t you think that’d be dangerous on a plane?”

  “Hmmm,” I tapped my chin. “Probably, especially since security confiscated my tranq gun.”

  “See now, you just proved your ignorance as to all things Hulk. Tranquilizers are ineffective when he’s hulked out.”

  I turned to face him fully, twirling my ponytail around my finger. “Shows what you know. I bought the super-dart package. Comes with Vampire, Werewolf/shifter, dragon, and special-bonus Hulk darts.”

  He narrowed his eyes playfully. “Right. Because you run into them so often.”

  “I am going to New Orleans. Legend has it that supernatural beings are drawn to the city. I lived there in college. I am pretty sure a few of the guys I dated fit into those categories.”

  “Well, legend also says they are drawn to the pretty girls.”

  I giggled. “Watch the cheesy lines, Mr. Romance. You’re a one-woman man, remember.”

  He smiled shyly and swallowed, looking down at his hands. I watched his face turn from slightly pink to “flame on.” Was he simply embarrassed, or did he feel bad for what he said?

  I had to change the subject and divert his trip from shame-landia, a place I knew quite well.

  “Well, tell me about the deal,” I offered, trying to get his mind off his apparent guilt.

  He flashed a relieved smile and turned toward me. “LuckJoy Games liked the idea of the video game I developed, so last night, I met with their CEO, Nic Eastman. LuckJoy will beta test it and then let me work out the bugs. Nic says they have an amazing graphics specialist at my disposal who will enhance the aesthetics. And if all goes well, they will produce and market it for me, too.”

  I sat up straighter in my seat. “Holy shit. Congratulations.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck and shifted in his seat. “Thanks,” he said so quietly, I almost missed it.

  “Don’t be shy about it. That’s amazing.” I took a drink of my water and noticed out of the corner of my eye how he watched my movements, his eyes lingering on my neck as I swallowed. A rush of heat engulfed me, so I took another drink.

  I cleared my throat. “Tell me about the game.”

  His brow furrowed. “You really want to hear about it?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” I asked, cocking my eyebrow.

  His face turned pink again. “Most people get bored hearing me talk about it.”

  “Not me. I love video games. My brother let me play with him growing up. Is it fantasy, like World of Warcraft? Military/war based like Call of Duty? Is it Mario-Brothers-y or Mortal Kombat-y? Are we killing things, solving problems, stealing things, or saving people?”

  “Honestly, that depends on the user. You choose a world, create a character, and solve quests based on your choices.” He became more animated as he spoke. “All of the quests are merit based, and those rewards are used for the subsequent missions. Each world has its own journey and mini games to earn whatever is needed to do whatever you choose to do.”

  “Wow, intriguing. So is it like a virtual reality game?”

  “Kind of. If you get bored in one world, you can create a portal to another world. I suggested to Nic that people have the option to buy the whole game with all the worlds for one price, or for those gamers on a budget, they could buy one world at a time with the option to purchase the other worlds later if they choose.”

  “Do you play by yourself or with online players?”

  “Both. I hate those games that are limited to only online play, but it can become a different game when others play with you.”

  “So, they can choose whether their character is good or evil?”

  He frowned. “That’s such a relative concept. I don’t believe people are all good or all evil. They choose a character and get to make their own choices of what the character does. Right or wrong, good or evil, those are judgements the person who is creating the character gets to assign.”

  I took another drink of my water. “That sounds quite existential.”

  “It is. I based it on Jean Paul Sartre’s philosophy that our purpose in life is up to us to define.”

  “I always liked him better than Nietzsche. All that ‘life is meaningless’ bullshit always depressed the hell out of me. Although I never understood why Sartre thought we were ‘searching for answers in an answerless world.’ It’s only an answerless world if you don’t really want the answers, or …”

  “…if you’re not asking the right questions.” he finished for me.

  We smiled at one another, locked in this staring contest of attraction, and I felt myself become even more drawn to him. I was not imagining the heat in his stare, so I dropped my eyes and let him win this one.

  “So, teaching philosophy through video games. You are kind of a visionary.”

  He chuckled. “Hardly. All games have some sort of philosophy or lesson to be learned.”

  “My favorite growing up was Mario Cart. I’m not sure I learned anything from that other than my brother cheated by running me off the course. I practiced every day after school until I finally beat him. I celebrated for a week after that.”

  “So your hard work and practice paid off?” He lowered his voice and held my eyes hostage with the sparkly heat in his. “Sounds like a lesson to me.”

  Damn. Those eyes. I had to break his spell. I shook my head quickly. I had to turn the direction of this conversation or else I’d jump in his lap and lick his face.

  Upping my interest (probably a little too much), I asked, “So, your characters are the masters of their fate and the captains of their souls?”

  “Yes. I believe life is directed by choices we make, not by fate. Like Cassius said, ‘The fault, dear Brutus, is not in the stars, but in ourselves.’”

  “Lover of philosophy and Shakespeare. Not leaving things up to fate.” I winked at him. “Plus, you know Ricky Bobby. I really like your style.”

  I winked? What the hell is wrong with you, KaeKae?

  Just harmless flirting, right?

  “Yeah, well, I’ll let you in on a little secret. I designed the game where those who choose to be helpful and not destructive get better rewards. I didn’t make it obvious, but it is there, and the rewards grow exponentially for each act of good the player performs. I truly believe in karma and throwing kindness into the world. I tried to get the game to teach, ‘If nothing we do matters, then all that matters is what
we do.’”

  A laugh bubbled out of me. “Wait. Did you seriously just quote Angel?”

  He scratched his face. “You got that, did you? I figured you were too young to have watched the show.”

  “Netflix, baby. And I love that show, and Buffy.”

  “Joss Whedon is kind of a hero of mine.”

  Jesus. Who is this guy?

  Oh right. Taken.

  Four

  Brody

  Holy shit. Who is this girl?

  She asked about my game. Her eyes didn’t glaze over when I talked about it. She asked the right questions and got the existential nature of the game and knew philosophers… by name. She knows comic book heroes and got my Angel reference. And she fucking quoted Ricky Bobby.

  Now I kinda really want to shove my tongue down her throat and dry hump her in public.

  Damn. Why did I just think that?

  I just hope she can’t see my hard on.

  Leave it to me to meet the girl of my dreams the day before I’m to ask another to marry me.

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  Danger, Will Rogers.

  Abort mission. I repeat. Abort mission.

  Eject! Eject! Eject!

  “Well, congratulations again on the deal. Your game sounds pretty cool.” She smiled tightly and held up her phone. “Sorry, but duty calls. I need to do some more research for my meeting this afternoon before we land.” She started to put in her ear buds, but paused and turned to me once more. “And happy birthday.”

  I know I decided to back out of this conversation, but the way she obviously brushed me off made me feel like I got kicked in the junk.

  Ouch. Way to kill a hard on.

  I nodded to her and looked to my phone, opening my messages. Five new texts arrived while I spoke to my neighbor from friends wishing me well today, but only one new text from my girlfriend. I sent Heather several in the past two days, and she had returned only two. I noticed her “happy birthday” when I sat down, so I thanked her. She added that she would be super busy today so she could be ready to celebrate with me this evening.