by M. E. Carter
“That was incredible. I’ve never had airport service like that before,” I say as I fasten my seatbelt and explore all the amenities in the lavish area they call first class. Not only does the tray table fold out from the arm, there’s a phone charger right next to me. And the seat lies almost all the way back! I need to save up more points on my credit card because this is definitely the way to travel from now on.
“It definitely makes traveling a lot nicer, that’s for sure.”
“I bet if we were running any later they would even hold the plane for you.”
Shaking his head, he adjusts the cap on his head and twists in his seat, facing me. The plane begins to fill with passengers, the volume increasing tremendously. I lean forward, the movement shifting my shirt and sending a stabbing pain through my shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” Hunter asks me, concern written all over his beautiful face. Or I assume so. I can’t really see much of his face with that damn hat.
“Sunburn. I kind of forgot about it for a minute. Have no fear, it has reminded me.”
Reaching over, he grabs my hand, holding it in his much larger one and leans his head back, eyes closed. “Next time, I’ll remind you to wear sunscreen.”
He said next time. Like we’re going to frolic in the ocean again. Together. Obviously, I’m delirious. Who uses the word “frolic” anyway?
• • •
“Hunter Stone, you have spoiled me.” I may or may not be wiggling in my seat. I don’t think I can ever go back to sitting in basic economy. Who could after experiencing such plush seats?
Laughing, he adjusts the overhead air blower not bothering to respond. I think it’s actually called an air vent, but it blows air so hard and loud I like calling it a blower. Our layover was long enough for us to grab a drink and eat a leisurely lunch in the private airline lounge. This time, I didn’t have to beg for entrance. Nope, being on Hunter’s arm and with a first class ticket meant I was greeted with open arms.
Okay, not actual open arms. They weren’t handing out hugs. This has been one heck of a bonus to an already awesome long weekend in the tropics. A girl could get used to this life.
“I can’t believe we’re both headed to New York,” I comment as I fasten my seatbelt. Hunter, on the other hand is taking his sweet time getting settled. “What do you have there? An interview with Kelly and whoever her current co-host is or something?”
He looks up to the ceiling and puffs out a breath. “Shit. I’m so sorry, Celeste. I keep forgetting about that interview I promised you.”
I wave him off. “It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s a very big deal. I don’t want anyone to scoop you.”
I flash him an incredulous look. “I’d hardly say one of the most popular talk shows on television interviewing the biggest and, if I’m honest, hottest actor is “scooping” my little blog. It’s what they do. I’m just an opportunist,” I joke. “But seriously. I’m truly not worried about it right now. We’re still in vacation mode so just relax. Do you want to watch a movie?” I ask him as I scroll through the screen to find something we’d both enjoy watching.
Hunter doesn’t respond, just digs around in his carry-on, looking for something.
“What’s wrong?”
“Hmm? Oh nothing. I just feel a headache coming on. Here it is.” He pulls out a Tylenol bottle and shakes it at me in victory. “The cabin pressure will make it worse if I don’t take something now.” He opens his prize and shakes some pills out into his hand. Only that’s not Tylenol.
“Um… what exactly are you taking?”
“Tylenol. I have a headache.”
“But there are four different kinds of pills there.”
He looks down and smiles. “Oh that. Yeah, it’s a bad habit I picked up from my mother. Instead of taking a bunch of different bottles she just keeps them all in the same one. Don’t worry, I know what they are.”
“None of them are illegal are they?”
He purses his lips at me like I’m the one engaging in strange behavior right now. I don’t think he’s dependent on any drugs, or at least I didn’t see him partake in anything this weekend. Well, he likely drank all the whiskey at the bar at the wedding reception but other than that, he didn’t seem to have any vices. I’m going to be really pissed if I missed him slipping pills. I may have engaged in a one-weekend-stand with an almost stranger, but I still consider myself an excellent judge of character. I better not be off my game.
“I can see why you might think that, but I promise it’s only over the counter meds. Don’t worry. My headache is already going away.”
In four seconds? Unlikely. But I have no reason to doubt him, so I let it go and focus on the joy of flying first class. It really lives up to its name. Almost immediately upon taking off, a flight attendant comes by and offers us free alcoholic beverages. Not wanting to disappoint her, I take her up on the offer and enjoy a lovely mimosa. Why it tastes better coming from a tiny bottle into a champagne flute on an airplane, I’ll never know. It’s almost too bad Hunter fell asleep before the wheels left the ground. He’s missing out.
Enjoying my drink and a paranormal book Carrie recommended about a haunted house and the ghost that lives inside it, pining for the one she loves, I’m startled when Hunter moans next to me.
Dropping my device, I turn toward him. “Hunter?”
He moans again. This time he opens his eyes but there’s something very strange about his expression. He looks almost blank. Like the lights are on but no one is home. Probably the lights in the ghost house I’m reading about.
Holy shit, did my book just come to life?
“Carrie put you up to this, didn’t she? She’s trying to scare the bejeezus out of me by making me read this scary book and then having you act the part of the walking dead. I knew I shouldn’t have told her about my neighbor coming home drunk while I was reading a book about zombies. I just handed her the idea. I’m right, aren’t I?”
He looks around, but I’m not sure what he’s seeing. He’s not all there, and I’m almost positive he’s not understanding a word I’m saying.
“You better not be playing, Hunter. This isn’t funny.”
The flight attendant who has been keeping a close eye on her passengers and making sure we’re all happy approaches. “Is everything okay, Miss?”
“Um… I’m not sure. He’s acting really strange. He said he was taking a Tylenol but he must have taken the wrong thing.”
“Do you know what he took?”
“I don’t know. He said none of it was illegal, so maybe a pain killer or something?”
On cue, Hunter stands up, takes one look at me and climbs onto my lap.
What the hell is happening here. Is he… ohmigod is he purring like a cat? It’s a damn good thing this man is incognito. I have a feeling Eddie wouldn’t be too pleased about Hunter ruining his image by pretending he’s a feline. A lion might be okay, but this is definitely not that. He’s way too docile.
Our flight attendant seems suddenly less concerned about Hunter and more irritated. “Oh boy. I hate it when people take Ambien on airplanes.”
“You think that’s what it was?”
“He’s licking his own hands. I guarantee that’s what it was.”
Well shit. She’s right. Now he’s grooming himself. If he sticks his leg up in the air and goes for his balls, he’s on his own.
“So what do I do?”
“Just let him be,” she advises. “As long as he’s not irritating the other passengers, taking off his clothes, or trying to break into the cockpit, he’ll be fine.”
“Great,” I say through gritted teeth. I’m thrilled Hunter upgraded me to this giant chair and all, but at this point I’d have more room if I was sitting in that middle seat in the back I had reserved.
The flight feels like twice as long as it did going the other direction, probably because of the oversized kitty sitting on top of me. But eventually he curls up enough that I can grab my d
evice and distract myself with my ghost again. Man, what I wouldn’t give to have this plane be haunted instead of being a human-sized cat rescue.
Fortunately for me, when it’s finally time to descend, the flight attendant and I are able to coax him back into his seat and get his seatbelt on. He’s awake now, but still so out of it. It’s almost as if he’s drunk, just staring out the window. Until suddenly he sees me.
“Hey, Celeste! I had no idea you would be on this plane! How cool is that?”
“Super cool, Hunter.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going home.”
Wait. Hold on. I’m going home. But where the hell is Hunter going?
“Hunter,” I say gently, hoping to hold his attention. “Where are you going?”
“Wherever you are, baby.” And then he starts belting out an old Bryan Adams song, much to the delight of our favorite flight attendant, who is probably thrilled that we’re almost to the gate and not going to be her responsibility anymore. Which means he’s my responsibility now. Craaaaaaap.
“Hunter.” He keeps singing. “Hunter!” I try again but no response. “Hunter!” I slap his arm this time. He looks at me in surprise.
“Hey, Celeste! I had no idea you would be on this plane! How cool is that?”
Oh god. Now he’s having short term memory loss. Amazing.
“Let me see your phone, Hunter.”
He hands it over with a smile and goes back to singing about ringing his bell. I’m not even trying to make heads or tails of this anymore. I just need to see if maybe his email has his flight itinerary. Worst case, I can find Eddie’s phone number and he can help me out.
Pressing the power button, I wait a few seconds until it starts dinging like mad. The phone makes more noise than Hunter with the way it’s blowing up. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone have this many notifications before.
Hunter gives the phone a dirty look, like it’s offended him. “That’s why I turned it off. I hate that sound.”
Trying to swipe it open, I’m out of luck. “Do you know the password?”
He opens his mouth to answer me, pausing to tap his chin and quirk his lips from one side to the other. I wait… and wait until his brain catches up. “Nope.”
I drop my head back onto my seat. “Hunter, how can I get you where you’re supposed to be if I don’t know where you’re going and when?”
“I’m going somewhere?” And then he catches my eyes again. “Hey, Celeste! I had no idea you would be on this plane!”
“I know, I know, super cool, whatever.” I wave him off as I try a couple random combinations. Not that I could be so lucky, but it was worth a shot.
Shaking my head, I realize there is only one option. “Welp, looks like you’re going home with me, tonight, Hunter Stone.”
His face lights up for half a second before he attempts a sultry look. He fails miserably. “We’re going back to your place, huh?”
“Don’t get your hopes up, lover boy. You need to sleep it off.” Holding my hand out I add, “Now hand me your wallet.”
“Okay,” he says with no hesitation and slaps it right in my palm. Good thing I thought of that before a thief did. “What do you need my wallet for?”
“You’re rich. You’re paying for a cab and tomorrow you’re going to thank me for not taking pictures and selling them to the paps. Now let’s go.”
As the doors finally open, I gather all our belongings, his included and race to catch up with Hunter, who is now skipping down the jetway into the terminal.
This is going to be a long night. Good thing he’s cute.
Chapter Thirteen
Hunter
Letting out a low grumble, I untangle myself from the sheet that is wrapped around my leg like a tourniquet. What the hell did I eat before bed last night? Nothing comes to mind but whatever it was, I know it gave me some seriously weird dreams. When my leg is finally free of its captor, I look around, taking stock of my surroundings. Things are a little fuzzy, like I’m drunk which I guess I could be. My lack of memory indicates one hell of a bender.
This bed isn’t nearly as comfortable as the one at the resort but the woman next to me is a pleasant surprise. Last thing I remember was getting on an airplane in Atlanta. We should have parted ways in New York so it’s nice to see I have a little more time with her. Even if I can’t remember why.
I scan the room for some clue as to where we are. It’s a small space, the bed pushed up against a wall, a single window near our feet. Darkness blankets the space with only a sliver of light streaming in through a space between the curtains.
My eyes focus more, and I can make out Celeste next to me. Her blonde hair is loose and free, like her spirit. She’s quiet. Too quiet in fact. Because one can never be too sure, I stick my hand up to her face to make sure she is breathing. Exhaling in relief that she’s alive, I slowly reach my hand out to rest it on her hip before laying my head back down on the pillow.
My time in paradise was supposed to offer me rest and relaxation. I think I slept less the last few days than I did the weeks prior. Only, I’m not tired from the late nights. My body is still exhausted but my mind is rested. That’s the result of losing hours of sleep to be with Celeste. I have no regrets about that.
Yawning, I don’t fight the sleep as it pulls me under. I need to sleep off whatever I drank. I can only hope the second half of my night isn’t spent dreaming of tuna and sandy beaches. Not that I minded the beaches at the resort but the version in my dreams was a lot more abrasive on my dream feet.
• • •
I don’t know how long I slept but the way my bladder feels, it was long enough for me to be at maximum capacity. Untangling myself from the bedsheet, I glance a look at Celeste. She’s turned to her side with her back to me. I stop myself from reaching out to touch her. The sunburn on her shoulders looks lighter than yesterday. I have no recollection of making it here last night and the time I did wake up is nothing but a mishmash of memories, but from the looks of things we are at her apartment.
Standing to my full height, I rotate my neck, working out a kink, and note I’m only in a pair of boxer briefs. I also take a quick glance around the room and am surprised to see it isn’t really a room but more of a space closed off by a curtain. It has the makings of a bedroom but with only three walls instead of four. In the corner is a small desk with stacks of papers and a plant that looks like it needs more than water to bring it back to life. Her dresser is organized to perfection while still piled high with knickknacks and pictures. It’s comforting and everything I’d expect from Celeste. Slipping past the curtain, I spy the open door at the end of the short hallway and beeline for the bathroom.
I hate to say it, but this bathroom is the size of my shower in L.A. My condo isn’t huge by any means, but it is a decent two bedroom and two bathrooms with a balcony. My master bathroom is nice and modern. The opposite of this one. I think if I reached out both arms I could easily touch each wall with my fingertips.
The nostalgia hits me in the gut. This is exactly like the place I lived in during my early acting years. When I was going on audition after audition and praying for my big break. When I starred in that play that was so far off Broadway, you would need GPS to find it. The same one that Celeste has the playbill for.
Washing my hands and splashing cold water on my face, I open the medicine cabinet hoping to find toothpaste or mouthwash. I’m in luck when I find a tube of toothpaste. Using my finger, I brush the disgusting taste from my mouth. Seriously, what did I eat? More importantly, what did I drink?
While I try to figure out what items I need to add to the “never again” list, I pad my way through the small apartment, taking in the little couch and table in the living room. A nice size television sits on top of what looks like an old dresser. That’s it. Not much else to see. Just past the living room is a small kitchen. I glance at the clock. It’s just after six in the morning. This is far earlier than I would normally be
awake but here I am.
What are the chances Celeste and her roommate have coffee and maybe some food to throw together a little breakfast? Opening the refrigerator, I take in the options. A pizza box, salsa, a lime, and a jar of pickles. Okay so no breakfast. I spy a French press on the counter near the sink and a can of coffee next to it. Now we’re talking. In the dish drainer is a pan and two coffee cups. Filling the pan with water, I place it on the stove to boil and go about preparing the coffee.
Thankfully, the French press is manual just like the one we used to use for camping, and I won’t disturb Celeste while she sleeps with unnecessary noise. When the water shows signs it’s hot but not quite boiling, I turn off the burner and fill the press and let it sit for a few minutes while I try to find something to eat. Pickles for breakfast aren’t the worst thing in the world but certainly not my first choice.
I feel like a creep opening cupboards, but I know there has to be something here. Cereal or oatmeal. Maybe even a can of soup. I’m not choosy at this point. Just hungry. With one failed cupboard after another, I finally strike gold, okay maybe more like bronze, but regardless I found food. Or kind of. It’s a Twinkie. Since those things will last one hundred years or something crazy, I’m going for it.
Ripping off the wrapper, I take a bite and begin chewing as I also lower the press’s plunger, watching as the clear water becomes coffee. With one hand slowly plunging, I lift the gooey pastry to my mouth and then almost die by choking when I hear a scream.
“Who are you?”
Abandoning my coffee, I turn to face the woman who stands in the doorway, a can of pepper spray aimed at me and a crazed look on her face.
“I’m Hunter,” I reply through the mouthful of deliciousness.
Her eyes flick from me to the light yellow treat in my hand. I am an actor. I work with other actors. It isn’t uncommon to witness them turn from one persona to another. Yet, I don’t think I’ve seen anyone go from crazed to enraged so quickly.
