Chapter Nine
JET LAG
The typical stranger holding a sign with my name on it at the Beijing airport didn’t exist. Instead, I was greeted with the cocky grin I knew too well.
His lower teeth were a bit crowded like he didn’t wear his retainer long enough as a boy, but the dirty-blond version of Einstein’s hair and hazel-green eyes made up for that minor imperfection.
At nearly six-foot-six, it was impossible to miss Thaddeus Westbrook waiting on the other side of security, grinning like a complete goofball.
“Love!”
I rolled my tired eyes. Early afternoon Beijing time was early morning, aka my bedtime in the States.
“Thrilled to see you didn’t take down the plane with my baby.”
“Shut up.” I released my carry-on and collapsed into his arms. “I’m tired. Hotel. Now.”
“Sorry, love. Jerry awaits. Come, we’ll stop for coffee on the way.”
“I don’t drink coffee.”
“Yes, yes … tea. Well, you’re in the right place for that.”
“What the hell is with your hand?”
He held his new invention out in front of him as we made our way to baggage claim. “You like?”
“It has eight fingers.”
“Indeed it does. Technology isn’t limited to biological standards. Have you ever heard someone say they needed another hand?”
“They’re fingers, Thad.”
“It’s just an example. Trust me. The ladies love it.”
“You’re a pervert.”
“I’m a gentleman and you know it.”
“It’s not fair. I think women look at amputee men differently than men look at amputee women.”
“We’re visual creatures, love. Don’t worry, you’ll find your man … he may only have five fingers to give you, but if he’s good with them—”
“Enough, jeez.” My mind latched onto Thad’s stupid comment and all my thoughts jumped to Cage and five of his fingers.
The driver took us straight to Jerry’s lab, in spite of my protesting and desperate pleas for sleep. We didn’t stop for tea, but Jerry had a cast-iron pot of Oolong and three small cups waiting for us when we arrived.
“Excellent! You made it!” Little Jerry bowed as we removed our shoes at the door.
“I’m a zombie, Jerry. Can we do this in say … six to eight hours?” I tossed my purse on the wood floor.
“No, no … I’ll be asleep.”
“This time change kills me every time I visit.” I glared at Thad as he wiggled his eight metal fingers at Jerry. “From now on you need to give me twenty-four hours to acclimate before we do any work.”
They both ignored me, their enamored gazes fixed only to the crazy hand.
“Stop whining, love. You’re much too beautiful to walk around with your lip sticking out.”
I sighed. “Whatever. Let’s blow up Jerry’s balls so we can get back to the hotel.”
Jerry stopped messing with Mr. Eight Fingers and tipped his chin down, rolling his eyes up to give us both a disapproving look. “I’m not gay. So if that’s some American expression for implying that I’m gay, then—”
“It’s not.” Thad shook his head.
“Because I’m not.”
My grin, although buried under my deep need for sleep, managed to make a brief appearance. “Oh, I’m sure you get yours, Jerry.”
Nothing ruined a good line quite like two intellectual over-achievers giving the dopey girl in the room a WTF look.
“Is that street talk, love?”
No. It was Everson talk, but apparently I failed to deliver it accurately or in the right context.
“You two would never survive in the wild. You know that, right?” It was a weak recovery, but sleep deprivation left my brain functioning at less than twenty percent.
“Our dear Lake has been in Minnesota too long.” Thad drew out the “O” like sooo-da. “I fear she’s morphed into a throwback from the nineties. Lake, my love, do the women there still wear scrunchies in their hair?”
“Really, Thad? You grew up in Kansas.”
Thad whipped his head around to Jerry.
“Kansas?” Jerry asked. “You said you grew up in Boston and went to MIT.”
Thad shrugged, staring at his prosthetic hand like a woman contemplating her need for a manicure. “True and true.”
“Explain.” Jerry crossed his arms over his chest.
I tried to stifle a laugh. It was quite the sight, seeing a guy who was tall enough to play center in the NBA looking proverbially much smaller than the Asian man who was not tall enough to ride most rollercoasters at Six Flags.
“I did go to MIT and technically I didn’t ‘grow up’ until my last year in college, which happened to be in Boston. But if we’re being technical…” Thad gave me a quick glance with the stink eye “…then one could say I was born and spent my childhood in Kansas.”
I snorted. “Duh, Jerry. How many farming accidents do you suppose happen around Boston?”
“You said you lost your hand and fingers from frostbite while climbing Everest.”
“It was cold that year at harvest time and the machine that nearly took my life was big … and tall, much like Everest.”
Jerry deflated like he’d just discovered his idol was a fraud.
“In all fairness to Thaddeus, he did summit Everest, but that was after the accident.” I nodded big, attempting to rally Thad’s number one fan.
Jerry looked to Thad for confirmation, a sliver of hope that Thaddeus the Great was not a complete sham.
“It’s true.”
“So why did you lie?”
Thad sighed. “I don’t know. It sounded better on my resumé.”
“You hired me.”
“True, but I wanted you to take the job. I needed you, and I thought I needed to look impressive because I knew for a fact that at least ten other companies were trying to recruit you.”
Jerry smiled, his face flushing a bit as he fluttered his eyelashes. “I’m touched.”
Thad shook his head. “Great. Fabulous. Wonderful. Now can we get to work? I have to tell you about Lake’s reason for landing in jail. That’s what will make your testicles explode. It’s the biggest breakthrough I’ve ever had and it’s going to change the future.”
By the time the two geeks finished feeling me up—fitting me for Jerry’s climbing robotic leg—and testing the thought-to-action of Thad’s rebel baby, my battery was dead.
I’m not sure how we got to the hotel, but I think Thad may have tossed me over his shoulder, palming my ass with all eight fingers.
One minute I was swaying by Jerry’s door waiting for them to stop their endless ramblings and the next I was waking up in a big bed.
The red numbers on the digital clock read: 11:30.
I sat up wearing nothing but my bra and panties.
“Pervert,” I mumbled.
The dimly lit street lights below cast a hazy glow along the edge of the curtains where they didn’t meet the wall. I hopped over to the desk to grab my phone then hopped back in bed.
Five hours of sleep gave me enough brain function to want to call a certain dimpled boy in Minnesota.
“Having trouble adjusting to the time change?” he answered on the second ring.
“I’m so screwed. I don’t know which end is up. I just woke up, but the rest of Beijing is turning out their lights for the night.”
“How was your flight?”
It sucked, but the voice on the other end of the line erased all that.
“Long and strange.”
“Strange?”
“Yeah. The day I got arrested and Everson’s guy bailed me out then returned my car?
Well, the kid who brought the car back handed me this notecard that read: CHAPTER ONE.
Then on the plane I found another notecard in my carry-on that read: CHAPTER TWO.
I think I’m being stalked by a writer. Is that crazy? ”
“Undoubtedly.”
I grinned, running my fingers through my tangled hair. Cage’s voice had true personality. If words could smile, then his did.
“Enough about me and my literary stalker. Tell me what you’ve been doing.”
“Let’s see … I exercised this morning, helped out at youth camp, and then I spent an hour on the phone with my mom.
My sisters have a birthday coming up, and she wants me to fly home for it, but my schedule is crazy and taking a shit is frowned upon at this point. Leaving town? It wouldn’t be good.”
“Omaha?”
“No. They live in Portland.”
“Hmm, I didn’t know you had sisters.”
“Half-sisters, twins. My mom remarried after she and my dad divorced.”
“How old are your sisters?”
“They’re turning eight.”
“Well that sounds like fun. You should go.”
“I should, huh? You did hear me say it’s not a great time to leave town, right?”
“Family is not a career. It’s why you have a career. If you can’t be there for the big moments, then why are you doing it? Besides, I have no doubt that your sisters look up to you, Mr. NFL Sensation.”
“How do you know I’m a sensation? You don’t follow football.”
“Google told me.”
“Google?”
“Yes.” I flipped onto my stomach, propped up my elbows. “Google told me Cage Monaghan won the Heisman Trophy and went number one in the draft. I also know your jersey number is one, which is cool because one is the best number.”
His chuckle tickled my skin. Yes, I could feel him laugh and the way it made me feel was indescribable, truly like nothing I had ever felt before.
“Tell me why one is the best.”
“One is enough. It’s unique. It’s a chance, an opportunity, an experience. One is never greedy. One is independent. One can change everything.”
“One is the best.”
I trapped my lower lip between my teeth and nodded. “Yes. It is.”
“So I’m going to win the Super Bowl this season?”
“One day I believe you will.”
“What if I want to win it more than once?”
“Then you’re just being greedy.”
“Are you ever greedy?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“When?”
“I don’t know, lots of times. I’m human. We’re greedy. I’m not sure if it’s nature or nurture, but everyone has their greedy moments.”
“Like when?”
“Stop.” I laughed.
“Just one. Give me one of your greedy instances.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to know your weakness.”
“So if I say it’s chocolate, are you going to send me a huge box of truffles?”
“Yes.”
I giggled. “You’re terrible.”
“I’m waiting.”
“Netflix.”
“Doesn’t count. Give me something more tangible.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and jumped off the bridge. “Your kiss.”
The line went silent, even my heart stopped for a few seconds—waiting.
“My kiss?”
We weren’t on the same continent. How could I be so embarrassed? My hand covered my face. Why? Because that was my level of complete craziness.
“Well … sort of … yeah.”
“Hmm, I really like—”
“Monaghan, let’s go!” a man’s voice echoed.
“Yeah, yeah, give me thirty seconds.”
“Twenty,” the man replied.
The interruption left me panting, on the verge of an all-out drool. He really liked what? The kiss? Me? Pizza? Dogs? Three-legged cats?
“I’ve gotta run. I have an interview.”
“No.” I shook my head. I needed to practice not sounding so desperate. “I mean, okay. I’ll be here, maybe indefinitely since I said what I did.”
“Oh, Lake …” He chuckled. “I’ll call you later.”
“Bye.” I pressed End and hammered my head into the pillow. “You’re not this girl, Lake. Stop being so gaga stupid like a fifteen-year-old at a Justin Bieber concert.”