Chapter 20
GRACE
I’m ninety percent sure this antibiotic is really a placebo.
The doctor promised relief when I did that virtual visit.
What it has delivered so far is the overwhelming urge to do a pee-pee dance in the middle of Richmond International Airport while pretending I’m simply very enthusiastic about my trip.
I used to get urinary tract infections fairly often when I was younger. They thought it was from holding my bladder too long. Which I admit, I’ve been doing a little more of lately with spending so much more time with Mom and not wanting to utilize the hospital toilets.
I need to keep hydrating, but what goes in, must come out. And that doesn’t always go well on a plane. This flight is four hours. I don’t want to spend most of it in that tiny, smelly, airplane bathroom.
I’m paying for my water, shifting from foot to foot as another bladder spasm starts to hit, when I bump into a wall of broad pec muscles and the faint, clean scent of something expensive. “Oh, sorry!” I blurt. And then I look up.
Of course. Of all the airports. Of all the terminals.
Of all the tiny gift shops selling overpriced magnets shaped like flying squirrels and glittery RVA keychains, it has to be Ben.
I’m already an anxious mess about this trip.
Add in the urinary tract infection and the fact the last time I saw this man, I was screaming his name, and this is all sorts of awkward.
He stares at me like I’ve just stepped out of a hallucination. “Well,” he says slowly, his mouth tilting into that stupidly handsome smile, “small world.”
We exchange the uncomfortable half-hug of two people who once shared a very memorable night and now aren’t quite sure where to put their hands, or their eyes.
“You headed somewhere on vacation?” he asks.
“No. Business,” I blurt. The statement feels more than a little uncomfortable given I’ve never been associated with any business venture that would pay for my travel before. “You?”
“Same.”
His gaze dips to the water in my hand. “You look… jittery.”
Good Lord. Can I hide nothing from this keen observer? “I’m just… excited about hydration,” I lie. “Can never have enough water.” The urge to go is building. “Gotta go.” Literally.
Not even bothering with trying to appear normal, I make the mad dash to the ladies’ room, whirling my mother’s antique carry-on behind me like a slingshot.
So, that wasn’t weird. Right?
A little under an hour later, I’ve boarded the plane only to find Ben sitting in business class chatting it up with a gorgeous flight attendant. Well, Sugar Honey Ice Tea, he’s going to Vegas too? Because of course he is. I mean, what are the odds, really?
I continue to make my way down the aisle until I reach my seat. While he’s in business class, I’m in coach, wedged between a window and a man who looks like his personality is ninety percent yacht and ten percent over-priced cologne.
“I only drink imported water,” the man announces, for no reason at all.
What in tarnation? Do I look like the flight attendant?
“Good to know,” I reply before quickly looking out the small window, praying he’ll catch the hint.
He doesn’t. He spends the next ten minutes listing his watches, his car, and a vacation home like I’m an insurance inspector when a flight attendant appears.
“Hi, sir. Would you be willing to switch seats?” she asks him politely. “We have a couple who’d like to sit together.”
He hesitates.
I continue looking out the window as if the tarmac is the most fascinating thing I’ve ever come across so I don’t get involved in this conversation but secretly pray he moves on, because his need to share his financial portfolio with me is giving me a headache.
Before I can blink, he’s gathering his things.
Whew. Cry me a river.
But the words have barely left my mind before Ben is sliding into the vacated seat. Well, I’ll be doggone. How am I supposed to sit next to this man for the next four hours and relax?
He gives me a crooked grin. “Well. This is unexpected.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re not secretly married, are you?”
He laughs. “No. Why?”
I start to ask about the mysterious couple when he cuts in.
“So… how have you been since the last time I saw you?”
My cheeks flame. Because other than the gift shop run-in earlier, the last time I saw this man his face was between my legs.
“Honestly?” I say carefully. “It’s been rough. But I think things might be changing.”
He studies me. “In a good way?”
“I hope so.” I say it as if I’m trying to convince myself as well as him, that this venture is the answer to prayer and not one big con in the making. But I’ve managed to get this far on Victor’s dime, so that’s saying something.
“How long will you be in Las Vegas?”
“Just a few days.” My face falls before I can stop it. “I’ve always wanted to go there.”
“Then what’s that look for?”
I shrug. “I’ve dreamed of coming here since I was a kid. My mom raised me on Elvis movies. Viva Las Vegas was basically required viewing. But I don’t think I’ll have time to see much.”
He blinks. “I’ve never seen it.”
My jaw drops. “The movie? Or Vegas?”
He chuckles. “The movie.”
What was I thinking? Of course this incredibly handsome, red-blooded older man has been to Vegas.
“Okay, that’s a problem.” I squirm, realizing my bladder is staging a protest. “I’ll be right back.” Standing, I carefully climb over his long, muscular legs and try not to remember how they looked without pants. Jeez, Grace. This flight is off to a great start.
I fling my index finger in his direction. “And you’re officially assigned homework.”
“I’ll watch it.” He laughs. “I swear.”
I smile at him on my way down the aisle, realizing something alarming.
Being near this man makes me feel… safe, calm.
I was so anxious about this trip. Worried about how this will go.
What if they don’t like the photos? Do I still get paid?
Then he settles in beside me, and it’s like talking to an old friend.
A smoldering hot, freakishly good with his tongue, old friend.
Once I return, we talk about some of the most ridiculous airport food we’ve discovered, travelers who do really gross things, what flying international is like, and nothing at all.
Ben’s accent occasionally sneaks out when he laughs. Between it and that devilish dimple that keeps coming out to play, he’s quickly putting me under his spell. This man makes me giggle so hard I have to cross my legs so I don’t wet myself.
I honestly forget I’m nervous about Las Vegas for almost thirty minutes. I shift in my seat. “So… business class, huh?”
He shrugs. “I splurged.”
“Oh? Look at you.”
“I also bought a tiny bag of almonds for eleven dollars. Living dangerously.”
“Wow,” I deadpan. “Please don’t let the money change you.”
He leans closer. “Too late. I’ve already started referring to myself as ‘sir’ in the mirror.”
I giggle again despite myself. I must look like a silly school girl.
A few moments pass before he glances down at my water bottle. “Are you nervous?”
“Why would I be nervous?”
“Because you’ve unscrewed that lid six times, and you haven’t taken a sip.”
I freeze. Maybe I’m not as relaxed as I’d like to believe. “I like… to make sure it still works.” The ridiculous answer tumbles from my lips and I fight the urge to smack myself in the forehead.
He bites his lip to hold back a smile. “Naturally.”
I glare at him. “You’re enjoying this.”
“A little,” he admits. “It’s adorable.” He tilts his head. “Are you going to tell me what you’re doing in Vegas?”
I shake my head feeling a nervous frown pulling at the corner of my mouth. “Just business.”
He gasps. “Are you joining the mob?”
“Yes. I’m their new accountant.”
“That explains the water obsession.”
I snort. “I’m laundering money and my kidneys.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “If you come back with a mysterious fur coat and a bodyguard named Tony, I’ll know.”
I lean in conspiratorially. “You’re not the only one who can be rich and famous.” I snicker. “Don’t sulk when I leave and forget about all of you little people.”
“Ouch.” A corner of his mouth dips. It’s almost imperceptible, but it’s there.
Shit. Have I offended him? “Kidding. Kind of. Wait… what does water have to do with the mafia?”
“The water mafia? It’s a faction of organized crime that sabotages and controls public water to create false scarcity.
So they can sell it at extortionate prices.
They’re mostly located in South Africa where they bribe officials and destroy infrastructure to dominate the supply.
This forces residents to pay high costs. ”
My mouth drops open in shock. Both that such a thing exists, and that he’s so knowledgeable about it. “Holy cow. For real? How awful. I had no idea such a thing existed.”
“Me either. My friend Max discovered it on the dark web. He said they often target tanker services to wipe out supply and make territories pay more.”
I shake my head. “Why are there such awful people in the world? I mean, isn’t life hard enough without inflicting such evil?”
A strong warmth envelopes my hand, the sensation both comforting and electric all at once.
My eyes hold his. The penetrating azure depths hold a concern that makes my stomach dip.
It’s as if he understands my plight without having to share.
There’s such empathy in his beautiful blue eyes, more than I ever felt from the man who lived with me.
The tone of his voice drops a little. “I’m glad I ran into you.”
A kaleidoscope of butterflies dances in my lower belly. “Me too,” I admit.
And I am.
Before we land, Ben scribbles his number on a napkin. “Just in case,” he says softly. “If you need anything.”
My heart squeezes. He has no idea how much this means to me. To know there’s someone here if I really needed them. “Thank you.”
At baggage claim, a man holding a whiteboard with my name steps forward. I take a few steps, then glance over my shoulder to find Ben watching me. I lift my hand in a small wave.
He smiles. And just like that, Las Vegas suddenly feels a whole lot less terrifying.