Problemata
PROBLEMATA
CAM
The Prick was about the last thing I expected to see coming out of Rachel’s door. He ran into me, but I didn’t even waver as it felt like a leaf had drifted gently from a tree onto my chest. I glanced past him to Rachel, whose face was flushed and her lipstick smeared.
I grabbed The Prick by the shirt and shoved him up against the wall of her house. “Rachel? What did he do to you?”
She rushed to me and tugged on my arm. “Let him go. It’s fine, Cam.”
My blood thudded in my ears. “Stay away from her.”
“Get off me, man!” The Prick shouted.
Stumbling down the driveway holding the side of his face, The Prick eventually reached his Ferrari and gave me the finger before practically slamming his door off its hinges.
I glanced back at Rachel. She looked flustered. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Fine … uh … come in. I need to use the bathroom, and then I’m ready to go,” she said, flying out of my view.
I closed the door behind me. Was she really kissing her prick ex-boyfriend moments before my arrival? Had I stood up for her during The Prick encounters only to have her go back to him?
I knew I had no right to be angry, though. She wasn’t my girlfriend and I hadn’t even had the balls to ask her on an official date. We had only entered into an arrangement where we pledged to remain platonic friends to help each other out at events.
Still, I was frowning when she breezed back to the door with two large suitcases and two carry-on bags.
“Ready?” she said, having touched up her lipstick. “Cam?”
Her eyes met mine and she stiffened.
I grabbed the handle of one of her luggage bags and asked a question I wasn’t sure I wanted answered. “What was The Prick doing here?”
The color drained from her tanned complexion and she swallowed, avoiding my gaze. “Nothing. Asking me about the store.”
“Really? That’s it?”
“I … can we go? You wanted to get there early.” She struggled getting her bags down the steps while I stood there frozen in my state of confusion.
Get it together, Cam.
I blew out a long breath and picked up two of her bags. “What is all of this? We’re only going for five days.”
“These are the things I need to be comfortable,” she said, waiting for me to pop my tailgate.
“And who wears a dress on a red-eye flight?”
“Are we going to go or are you going to stand there and criticize my life choices?”
I hoisted her luggage into the back. “Only some of them.”
After she went back into the house three times to grab things she forgot, we finally departed. She spent the car ride shifting things to different bags, and I spent the ride sulking and giving her the silent treatment.
Hey, I’m not proud of it. The only person I was really frustrated with was myself. This is exactly how I didn’t want to feel again. Like I wasn’t quite good enough to be with someone. I didn’t want to feel jealous; I didn’t want to feel love. I didn’t want to feel anything, and Rachel Kicklighter was making me feel e verything .
When I managed to look at her at a stoplight, any irritation I had with the situation started to melt away. She had donned that damn yellow sundress again that expertly showcased her perfect body. A smart man would have sent their cousin a message of regret, canceled the trip, turned the car around, dropped her off, and gone back to bed.
But I am not a smart man.
I’m a dumbass.
She buried her head in her phone until we reached the airport. We then, checked her bags, and made it to our gate with plenty of time.
“I’m going to go look for a book,” she said while we waited to board. “Do you want anything?”
“No.” I shook my head.
She didn’t return until it was almost time to board. My brow knit when she flashed a thin smile my way. She looked pale and sweat dotted her brow.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“No, I mean, yes. Doing great. Mind if I have the aisle seat?”
I shrugged. “Whatever you want.”
Years ago, I attached our corporate purchasing card to my United Miles account. Since my miles replenish weekly, I fly first class and I’m never going back to economy. As soon as I fastened my seatbelt, I shut my eyes and reclined my head. I had hoped to sleep the entire flight to Miami, but with Rachel's restless energy radiating next to me, that didn't seem likely.
As the final passengers boarded, the flight attendant breezed through first class with her tray of drinks. “Water or sparkling wine?” she asked with a grin.
“How many of those sparkling wines is one person allowed?” Rachel said, taking a plastic cup.
“Oh, uh?—”
“She can have mine,” I said.
The flight attendant nodded and moved on.
Rachel finished one glass of wine in two gulps.
“I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that when you told me you were doing great, you weren’t being entirely honest,” I said.
“Well, I meant to tell you earlier, but I have a crippling fear of flying that can sometimes result in panic attacks.”
“Wha … what? You’re serious?”
She shut her eyes and bobbed her head.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.
“Long story. I’ll tell you if we survive this.”
The pilot’s garbled voice welcomed us to the flight and spouted flight details that no one could hear. As the plane lurched forward, Rachel grabbed her chest with one hand, her knuckles turning white from her other hand digging into the armrest.
It was going to be a long flight to Miami.