Chapter 42
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
LOCH
“And we’re all standing in the shitter at the airport, why?” Grant asks, folding his scarred, jacked arms.
My brothers circle me in the only place we’ll have privacy for a week. Our flight boards in five minutes, and I’m sweating bullets.
“Because he needs our advice, dipshit.” Sire smacks his head.
“I think it’s a good idea. Go big or go home,” Nick coaches me before he turns to Zar, teasing, “Why don’t you play the ukulele for me, baby?”
“Because I’d rather blow your big horn.” Zar’s not joking.
“I’m serious,” I grumble. “Am I gonna look like an idiot?”
“Uh, yeah.” Nash grins, way too thrilled to see it. “It’s the whole point of groveling.”
Axel cocks a brow. “Did you clear this with the flight crew?”
Nick scoffs, “We’re all in first class. If we want to serenade the pilot, we paid enough to do it.”
“But what if it’s too soon and you’re rushing her?” Jace echoes my worry.
“What if he sounds like cats being murdered in a bag, and Alena wants to nosedive into the Atlantic, so he’ll stop?” Sire laughs. “Just how long is this song?”
“I don’t fucking know, man. It’s from The Wedding Singer. Our favorite movie.” I wave the ukulele I hid in my carry-on. “I’ve been too busy learning this fucking thing and memorizing lyrics.”
“Is Billy Idol gonna be there?” Grant piles on.
“Fuck you.” I groan, falling against the countertop. “Forget it. Even if Alena likes it, I’ll never hear the end of your relentless shit for it.”
Nash laughs. “Uh, we dole out relentless shit regardless of what you do for a woman. Remember when Grant wore a dress for Delphine?”
Grant seethes, “It was a caftan by some famous French designer.”
Jace laughs. “No, it was a circus tent, and your Dumbo was free-balling in it.”
They go back and forth with their bullshit while I can’t decide when, not if, I’ll do anything to get Alena back.
Our impromptu shopping day was the first time I’ve smiled in months. The next day? She asked if I wanted to walk Mutt with her. We’ve spent two weeks walking our dog, going on hikes, even pulling the same shifts at work.
It’s like we’re friends again. We talk and laugh. But we don’t kiss. We barely touch. We can’t say the one thing we’re dying to know.
Axel cups my shoulder. “Just be honest with her, man. It’s all a woman wants.”
Honest with her.
It’s all I feel for Alena, so damn honestly in love as we board the flight. Our tender smiles exchanged. Her little whisper of “thank you” when I rush to put her carry-on in the bin above her seat.
I settle into mine, and the first five hours of our non-stop flight to Athens are the longest of my life. Alena sits, two rows up with my mom, while my knee bounces so much, I’m causing turbulence.
“For fuck’s sake,” Jace mumbles behind his sleep mask. “If you don’t go up there and sing to her, I’ll break your face open on your tray table.”
Across the aisle, Wren pleads, “Please, do it. It’ll be so romantic.”
“Way to keep a secret, Sire.”
He silently winks at my growl, pulling Wren into his embrace. Actually, Sire’s being a little somber this trip. I’d ask him who licked the red off his candy, but Wren’s shooing me. “Go. Your mom just went to the restroom.”
I grab the ukulele I stuffed under my seat.
“Yay!” Wren claps. “I’ll record it.”
“Don’t record it,” I hiss, standing up.
But Wren’s phone’s up, ignoring me. Jace is too.
I start strumming my ukulele, fucking up the G-chord, but I’m too nervous to give a shit. The flight attendant shakes her head, smiling. Guess I’m not the first dumbass to do this. Clearing my throat, I turn, facing Alena’s chair, singing the first line from the movie, with a matching big smile.
But…
She’s not.
Her eyebrows are plastered to her hairline. “What are you doing?” she whispers.
“Being Robbie Hart.”
She blushes. “But everyone’s watching.”
“That’s the point.”
“But Loch, you can’t sing.”
My face falls. “Neither can Adam Sandler, but tell that to his millions.”
She giggles, hiding her face behind her hand. “Okay. Do it. Just hurry and finish.”
“Not what any man wants to hear. Ever.”
That was Grant, chiming in from across the aisle.
“Shut up.” I glare at him, threatening death by ukulele-up-the-ass.
“Alena, look.” I turn back, kneeling beside her chair. “Do I want to make you smile and grow old with you? You know I do. But right now, all I’m asking for is a date tomorrow night. A real one with romance and roses. That’s all.”
“Ahem.”
I glance over my shoulder. It’s Mom, dripping in Chanel and chagrin. I don’t care. “Mom, I’m wooing here.”
She arches a brow. “And making a scene?”
“Mom, it’s a romcom.” Nick pops up from the row in front of them. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Alena.” I reach for her hand. Thank fuck, she doesn’t pull it away. “Babygirl, what do you say? Just one date? One chance?”
“Okay,” she whispers, smiling. “One chance.”
Goddamn, I really want to kiss her, but I don’t push my luck. I stand, ready to fly this fucking plane to Athens, fueled by my relief alone.
But Mom flits her hand. “What do I always say about love?”
No telling with all my mom’s sayings.
I twist my face, gambling. “Uh, the older the fiddle, the sweeter the tune?”
She laughs. “No. There’s an ass for every seat. Now, go sit in yours.”