by Whitney G.
I expect him to try and make a move on me, to hit me with one of his over the top sexual comments, but he doesn’t. He simply turns on the TV and leans back against the couch.
“What’s in Boston?” he asks without looking at me.
“I’m not sure.”
“Are you going there for business, or for pleasure?”
The way he says pleasure makes my heart speed up a bit. “Neither...It’s just a trip to get away and have some time to myself.”
“You don’t have any concrete plans?”
“You ask a lot of questions.” I look at him. “Do you know that?”
“It’s the trait of being a good lawyer.”
“A good lawyer? There’s no such thing.”
He lifts his head up. “You have something against lawyers?”
“My ex-boyfriend is a lawyer.”
“I’m not your ex-boyfriend.” He looks offended.
“Yeah, well. You know what they say. All lawyers are practically scum, the only difference is some fuck you over worse than the others.”
“You don’t have to keep insulting me to get my attention.” He puts his arm around my shoulders. “You’ve had it ever since I saw you on the plane.”
“What?”
“You can stop trying to act like you’re not intrigued by me.” He grins and his eyes light up. “I know you want me.”
“What the hell are you talking about? You still think sex is going to happen between us, don’t you?” I immediately stand up. “You know what? I knew hanging with you was a bad idea.”
“Sit down.” He pulls me back onto the couch. “I just wanted some company,” he says. “It’s been a while since I’ve talked to anyone outside of my clients and my family, so I thought it would be nice to get to know someone new.”
“How sad. I know a therapist, if you need one.”
“Okay, Paris.” He pulls me close and whispers against my lips, “I need you to stop being so fucking sarcastic. Right now. It’s not having the effect on me that you think it is, and the next time something smart comes out of your sexy ass mouth, I’m going to show you exactly what that effect really is.”
I blush and almost close the gap between us, just so that I can taste his lips, so I can see if kissing him will feel as good as I think it would, but he moves away.
“I don’t think so.” He smiles. “You shouldn’t start things that you can’t finish.”
I feel my cheeks heating even more and stand up, but he pulls me down again.
“It’s A Wonderful Life?” he asks.
“What?”
“It’s a Wonderful Life.” He points at the TV. “Do you want to watch it?”
“Sure...” I say, even though it’s hard to pay attention to the movie when his fingers are lightly caressing my shoulders, when I can feel him staring at me.
After several scenes have played, and I’ve failed to feel his eyes turn away from me, I clear my throat.
“Is there a problem?” I keep my eyes glued to the TV.
“No.”
“Then stop staring at me.”
“I’d rather not.” He gently cups my chin and turns my head to face him.
Looking into my eyes, he brushes his thumb against my bottom lip—instantly making me wet.
“Since I need your permission, am I allowed to kiss you?” he whispers.
“No...”
“Why is that?”
My breath hitches in my throat as he presses his mouth against my neck. “Because...”
“Because what? It’s just a kiss.” He kisses my neck again and looks up at me. “Do I have to give you my whole life story before I get your permission? I can do that, if I need to.”
I have no idea what he just said. I can’t focus because he’s currently running his fingers through my hair and staring into my eyes—giving me that same, lusty smile from earlier today.
“Paris?” He leans close so we’re lip to lip. “What do I have to do to be able to kiss you?”
“Nothing...”
Within seconds, his lips are on mine and his tongue is slowly slipping into my mouth. His hands are caressing my back and my body is giving in.
I let out a soft moan as one of his hands gently threads through my hair, as he whispers something against my mouth that I don’t understand.
Shutting my eyes, I murmur as he continues to thoroughly kiss me—directing my tongue with his, not letting me set the pace.
Before I can kiss him back, and suggest that we just continue doing this for the rest of the night, he pulls away.
“Goodnight, Paris.” He kisses my cheek and stands up. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“What?”
“Goodnight,” he repeats. “I’ll see you in the morning.” And with that he walks away, leaving me wetter than I’ve ever been after a kiss, and ultimately frustrated.
Maybe I should’ve suggested sex after all...
I don’t bother going back to my room. I bring my legs up on the couch and stretch across the cushions, watching the final frames of the movie before drifting to sleep.
Chapter 5
“It’s the start of a new day! It’s the start of a new day! It’s the—”
I hit dismiss on my cell phone’s alarm, groaning when I look at the time. Eight o’clock.
Sitting up, I realize that I’m not in the living room anymore. I’m in Blake’s room, tightly tucked underneath a soft blanket.
There’s a plate of fruit and a Belgian waffle on my nightstand—along with a glass of orange juice, and behind them is a medium sized box.
Intrigued, I pick it up and quickly unwrap it—laughing once I see what’s inside: A white silk slip and a note:
THESE are pajamas...You’re too beautiful to sleep in anything else...
I smile and quickly eat the food he’s set out before taking another shower.
Today is the day that I’ll finally be completely alone and able to think about what I’m going to do with my life. I’m definitely going to have to call David and tell him that nothing happened between me and Blake. And when I’m sure that I have the right words to say, I’ll call Adrian.
I put on the same clothes I wore yesterday—silently cursing myself for not making better preparations. I’m about to walk out of the room and look for Blake, but my phone rings. Adrian.
Don’t answer it...Don’t answer it...
It’s the fifth time he’s called me since yesterday, and I want to send it directly to voicemail, but I can’t help but pick up.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Paris...” His voice is low.
“What’s up?”
“What’s up?” He scoffs. “I call you over and over and leave a voicemail and all you have to say is, ‘What’s up?’”
“Do I need to repeat it?”
“No, I’ll tell you what the fuck is up. My girlfriend of six years randomly decided to ditch me on the same night that she knew that I was going to propose.”
“Aren’t proposals supposed to be a surprise? Maybe she was disappointed in your approach.”
“Come home now, Paris. We need to talk.”
“We’re talking right now.”
“Seriously?” He sighs, and then he changes his tone. “Look, I’m so sorry for saying all that stuff to you last month...And I’m sorry for being so selfish about my career, but you’ve got to understand. What’s two more years? I’ll still pay for you to go to journalism school, it’ll just be a little later than we planned. I’ve made sacrifices for you, too. You know? I chose the cheapest law school so it wouldn’t be that big of a burden for you and I graduated early, Paris. Early. I could’ve stayed for another year, but I was thinking about you. Wasn’t I?”
“Adrian...” My heart is hurting. “Just stop... It’s over. I don’t want to be with you anymore.” I can feel tears welling in my eyes. “I know I should’ve handled this better, but—”
“You don’t really want to do this, Paris.” He cuts me off.
“I know you better than you know yourself...And I really do appreciate all you’ve done for me. That’s why I want to take this next step in our lives and show you just how much I do. I’ve talked to one of the partners here and he said he’d be happy to give you a clerk job. It pays twice as much as what you’re currently making so...You’d be able to support me in getting my PhD. That’ll move me up to partner faster, allow you to have money for yourself, and who knows? By the time I get out of school, you may realize that you don’t really want to be a journalist, that you’ll be happy being my wife and raising our kids...In fact, most of the wives here at the firm don’t have master’s degrees, so it may be a bit strange if you had one.”
“You are so fucking selfish, Adrian.” My voice cracks. “Do you know that?”
“I bought you a two carat ring and I’m selfish?”
“I have a flight to catch. Is this all you called to talk to me about?”
“I said I was sorry.”
“And I said I was done. Anything else?”
He hangs up and I let out a sigh of relief, but I know it’s only short-lived. He’ll call back like he always does and I’ll answer. We’ll get into another argument until one of us hangs up, and then we’ll repeat this process until I crack and run into his arms again.
Except that last part isn’t happening this time...
“Paris?” Blake calls from the other side of my door.
“Yes?”
“We need to leave in ten minutes if you want to make your flight.”
I wipe a tear away and open the door. “I’m ready.”
I’m sure he can sense that something is wrong, but he doesn’t mention it. Instead he walks past me and picks up my bag, motioning for me to follow him out to his car.
We don’t speak on the way to the airport. In fact, I barely look his way.
That amazing kiss from last night is long forgotten; all I can think about is Adrian’s phone call and the two texts he’s sent since: “I find it so ironic that I’M the selfish one, when you almost depleted our savings account for a random trip to nowhere. Is the real reason for your trip to meet someone else? Is that it? You want to fuck someone else before you marry me?” “I’m sorry for that last text, Paris...I didn’t mean that...I understand you wanting a break. Just call me when you’re feeling better and aren’t as upset...”
“Paris?” Blake’s voice gets my attention and I realize he’s holding my door open. “You are catching a flight today, right?”
“Right. Sorry.” I climb out and take my bag from him. “Um...Thank you so much for letting me—”
He slips an arm around my waist and kisses me, making my knees go weak. “You’re welcome.”
Holding back a smile, I murmur “thank you” and head inside.
I look over my shoulder to get one last look at him, but I realize that he hasn’t gotten back into his car. He’s following me.
“What do you think you’re doing, Blake?”
“I’m making sure you get there safely.”
“There’s really no need for that. I think I’m perfectly capable of getting on a plane myself. There aren’t too many ways that I can fuck that up.”
He crosses his arms and I know this is a lost argument, so I ignore his presence and walk up to a desk agent.
“How may I help you today, Miss?” She looks up.
“I’m here for my rescheduled flight to Boston.” I slide my license across the desk. “Paris Weston. Would it be possible to have a window seat?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. That flight was canceled fifteen minutes ago.”
“Fifteen minutes ago?”
She nods. “You should be receiving a phone call or a text notification any minute now.”
As if on cue, my phone vibrates and I hold it up to my face. It’s a text: “This is a message for all passengers who have flights booked out of Reagan International for the next five days. All flights have been indefinitely grounded due to concerns from the National Weather Board regarding the snow storm that is set to move to the area over the next week. Please check with your specific airline regarding refunds, rescheduling, and hotel affiliate reservations.”
“Five days?” I glare at her. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Ma’am...”
“No, are you fucking kidding me?” I notice a security guard walking over, and lower my voice. “I’ll still have seven days left after the weather passes, right? Can you book me on the next available flight, please?”
“Did you purchase flight protection?”
“No.”
“Well, in that case...It’ll depend on the number of passengers that are already scheduled for that flight and open availability. Customers with flight protection will receive the first tickets.”
I try to stay calm. “Well, can I fly somewhere else then? Somewhere that costs the same amount?”
“All US Airways tickets are nontransferable, Miss Weston. Would you like a refund for that portion of the trip?”
“Are you saying that I’m stuck here?”
“I didn’t personally say that but...Given the number of stranded passengers and the fact that you didn’t buy flight protection...” Her voice trails off. “Your return flight to Nashville won’t be affected at all. In fact,” she says, tapping on her keyboard, “I changed it so you won’t have a layover in Atlanta this time. It’s a direct flight now. Would you like a refund for the Boston portion of your trip?”
“No, I would not like a fucking refund. I would like for you to—”
“She’ll take the refund.” Blake covers my mouth with his hand and gives me a look of sympathy.
I bite my tongue, preventing myself from telling him to stay out of this.
“Here you are, Miss Weston.” The agent hands over a voucher. “I also refunded your first flight in light of the circumstances. I really am sorry for the inconvenience.” She has the decency to look halfway sincere.
“Thanks.” I sigh and let Blake lead me out to his car. There’s not a single fucking snowflake falling from the sky and I’m tempted to run inside and demand to speak to the CEO.
“Are you really that upset about missing your flight?” Blake speeds onto the highway.
“Of course I’m not upset. I buy flight tickets with no intention of flying all the time.”
“I meant to imply if you were upset about spending more time with me.”
My eyes widen as far as they can go. “Excuse me?”
“You’re more than welcome to stay with me until after the storm passes.”
I burst into laughter. He’s out of his mind.
“Is my hospitality that funny?”
“It is.” I take a deep breath. “No offense, but I don’t really trust you.”
“You could, if you wanted to.” He smiles. “Stay with me.”
“No, thanks.” I shake my head. “I mean, we were only together for a few hours yesterday and you were assaulting me with your tongue, so I can only imagine what you would attempt to do with even more days.”
“I assaulted you?”
“That’s what I said.”
“I don’t recall you asking me to stop.” He looks over at me. “As a matter of fact, you looked disappointed when I did. And if I was sensing things correctly, I think you wanted me to take things further—a lot further.”
My cheeks redden and I focus my attention on the buildings that are whirring past my window. Staying with Blake for over a week would definitely be the most spontaneous thing I’ve ever done in my life, but I can’t bring myself to admit that out loud.
“Can you take me over there, please?” I point at the hotel park that’s up ahead. “I’m going to get a hotel room.”
“I’m pretty sure they’re sold out already.”
“I’m pretty sure you want me to believe that.”
He laughs and pulls off onto the next exit ramp. Instead of heading straight for the park, he coasts into a Starbucks drive thru.
“I have a fe
eling that this is going to be a very long and eye-opening day for you,” he says. “Would you like anything to drink?”
“Caramel Frappuccino...” I hold out my credit card, but he doesn’t take it.
“My pleasure.”
After handing me my coffee, he turns to face me. “I won’t attempt to do anything you don’t want to do, Paris. I’m just being nice and trying to save you some money. And I wasn’t joking about needing new company. Stay with me.” He brushes a hand against my cheek.
“Um...” Say yes...Hell fucking yes... “Can we stop at the Marriott first?”
He rolls his eyes and drives over, parking at the mid-point for all the hotels.
“Thank you.” I immediately jump out of the car, but I feel him walking by my side seconds later.
We step into the first hotel—a midscale type of place with glass elevators and a sparkling lobby, and I notice that everything seems quiet. Empty.
Before I can tell Blake, “Told you so,” I see a sign hanging a few feet above the front desk: “Sorry, We’re Sold Out.”
I frown and leave, walking next door to another hotel.
Sold out.
Then another.
Sold out.
By the time I reach the eighth one, my patience is wearing thin and the permanent smirk on Blake’s face is driving me insane.
“Shall we go to the next one?” He holds a door open for me. “Or have you given up yet?”
“I’m not giving up...”
“Because you’re scared to stay with me, or because you actually don’t want to give up?”
I pretend as if I didn’t hear that question. I’m sure the loud beating of my heart answered it for me.
The next hotel we enter is relatively small and quaint, and I expect to see a sold out sign on the desk, but there isn’t one. The lobby is relatively bare and the carpets could use a serious cleaning, but it looks good enough.
“Good afternoon and welcome to Eco-Suites.” A man with a scruffy beard appears behind the desk. “How may I help you two?”
“It’s just for one.” I look over my shoulder and see Blake talking on his cell phone. “I need a room until next Sunday, please.”
“Next Sunday?” He types on his keyboard. “I can do that for eighty three dollars a night—cash, ninety nine if you’re using a credit card.”
