Chapter 16 Stan
SIXTEEN
STAN
Destiny had nothing to do with it.
A man forged his own fucking destiny, and I knew asking Star to seat us together, her ribbing be damned, had been the right thing to do because my dream girl’s face lit up when she joined me on the connecting flight to Cancún.
After slipping into her seat, she declared almost immediately, “Picture tax.”
I didn’t argue. Not when she leaned over the console separating us and pressed her face close to mine. So close that I could scent her perfume—honey blossom and something deeper, muskier.
Cristu, I wanted my pillow to smell of that for-fucking-ever.
After she snapped the shot, I asked, “Do I want to know?”
“Girl talk.”
I choked out a laugh, but it was a happy one. “You told your friends about me?”
“About the hot guy I sat next to on a plane?!”
“Yeah, when you put it like that…”
She smirked, and I immediately registered the difference between heavily sedated Kitty and this one. Her metabolism impressed the scientist in me. The man just appreciated that her hand snatched at mine the second the plane shuttled down the runway.
“You okay?”
The tension in her shoulders told me the truth even if she nodded.
I distracted her by asking, “How was the lounge? Did you eat?”
“As promised.” I saw the glint in her eye. Knew she wanted to tack on Daddy. “You weren’t there.”
That she sought me out had triumph roaring through my veins.
“I was. I just left you alone. Your sisters looked like they needed managing.”
“They’re worse than pissed-off cats in a bag.”
“That’s some imagery.”
“If it fits, it fits. Five rows away isn’t enough.
Honestly, I’d take economy seats even if…
Well, if we… I mean, if you weren’t…” Flustered, she changed the subject by focusing on her phone screen and letting her fingers fly.
“Shit, there’s a game tonight. No way will Neev let me watch it live. I hate reruns.”
I didn’t want to think about her in a club with strangers drooling over her so, gruffly, I asked, “Which sport?”
“The only one that counts, of course.” A zealot’s gleam popped up in her eyes. “Hockey.”
“Which team?”
“Stars. And before you gimme shit, I was a Stars fan before the takeover. My da took me to games and everything. Though,” she conceded, “that was because he hated the Knicks and my brothers adored them. He could never get them into soccer, so when we both got sick of basketball bullshit, we’d watch a game. ”
“Soccer’s the only sport that counts,” I jeered, just to watch the sparks fly.
She didn’t disappoint…
“I’ll forgive you for that because you’re pretty.”
“It isn’t the first time you’ve told me that.”
“You can’t hold drugged Kitty against me. Her mouth ran away from her.”
“I liked where it ran. And you’re not high now, are you?”
Crimson rose to her cheeks at my flirting and, yet again, she was saved by the flight attendant.
This time, she managed to eat her meal, unlike the other leg where she’d fallen asleep not long after ordering.
Over a dry-as-fuck beef tenderloin, I complained, “This is a travesty.”
“Which part? The burnt green beans or the crispy beef?”
“All of it. This was well done ten minutes before they stopped slaughtering it on the grill.”
“You cook?”
“Of course!”
“My brothers are eaters, not makers.”
“Then shame on them. My grandmother taught me everything I know. I inherited her sourdough starter—”
“You can inherit that?”
“You can. It was the only thing I wanted from the old bitch. There’s one reason that starter’s so good—it was exposed to years of sourness by association.”
“Ouch!”
“She had a hard life and damn if she didn’t let us know. Especially my father.”
“Currau shared his past with me,” she admitted.
“Honestly, I’m glad he brings it up with someone.” I paused. “Do you guys talk about anything else?”
“Of course. Hell, he’s a real chatterbox when he wants to be.”
Because I couldn’t imagine that, I gaped at her.
“I swear he is. I can’t get him to shut up. Especially about CSI. I try to even things up though. He bitches about PT a lot and I harangue him to persevere—”
“And he takes it?”
“Yeah. He’s so goddamn stubborn.”
“I think that might be a family trait.”
She laughed. “Good to know. I do try to get him to talk to you guys.” Her smile faded. “He’s got it into his head that he’s sparing you.”
"Sparing us? From what?”
“When he dies…”
The knife handle bit into my palm. “It kills Rory when he ignores her.”
“I can imagine.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad that he talks to you. Rory even got him a therapist last year—”
“I heard all about that,” she inserted with a snort. “He wasn’t happy.”
“Why didn’t he tell her?”
“I wish I knew. I passed on to his nurses that the therapy had a detrimental effect on his mood, but that was as far as I could take things. He isn’t under my care.
” Her nose scrunched. “It’s hard because I know he doesn’t talk to them either.
It’s definitely a juggle and they think I’m both crazy and work-shy, sitting with an old guy who doesn’t speak a word to anyone.
“I feel guilty keeping our friendship to myself, but it’s a trust thing at this point.”
Despite my irritation, something that I aimed purely at my obstinate great-uncle, I released a breath. “You’re right. It is.”
“I don’t want him to stop talking to me. Then he would be isolated, and I know he enjoys my visits. I’d hate for him to cut me off when I’m the only one he’ll talk to.” She raked her fork over her own portion of sacrilegious beef. “Stan? I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to him.”
“Mention what? That you told me?”
Kitty nodded, the earnestness in her expression touching. If I had thought she was a last-rites wife, here was literal proof of the opposite.
“He’s my friend. I don’t want him to think I betrayed him when I was high on travel sickness meds.” She took a sip of her orange juice. “Only I’d give the game away on OTC drugs.”
“Does he care that he hurts her?”
Her gaze softened. “He genuinely believes he’s saving her from future hurt. That’s a damn hard argument to fight. I told him that nobody is promised tomorrow, but he just digs his heels in.”
Because the idea of her tomorrow not being promised riled me the fuck up, I muttered, “Definitely a family trait.”
“So you get it from your dad’s side?”
That triggered a whole conversation about the joys of being raised in immigrant families—Matri was a Brit who’d moved to Sicily after falling for my father. Her parents were Irish transplants.
Unsurprisingly, we had a connection via random British music—not unlike Rory, she loved Robbie Williams—and TV shows.
“I can’t believe you’ve seen The Royle Family!” She cackled as her hand clutched at mine once we began our descent.
By that point, it had less to do with fear…
And I didn’t want to let go of hers either.
I could tell she felt the same, making it that much harder knowing we’d have to break the connection soon.
The hours had sped past when I’d wanted them to slow down.
But time was something I couldn’t threaten. The unspoken timer had buzzed and this pocket of unexpected happiness had already burst.
Neev:
WHERE ARE YOU? WE HAVE HUNKS TO DO.
Lara:
Niccccce
I felt no guilt in reading the two texts over her shoulder once she switched off airplane mode.
“My sisters are waiting for me,” she mumbled, typing a response one-handed.
Kitty:
Be with you soon. I got stuck in my seat before economy disembarked
It wasn’t a complete lie.
We’d silently agreed to let economy get off first.
Kitty:
Understatement.
Gnawing on the lip I wanted to taste, she graced me with a sad smile. “Thank you for getting me through the landing.”
“Any time, duci.” Her eyes darted to mine when she sensed my sincerity. “Why are you scared of flying?”
“9/11. I remember it too well. The way things were before and how they became after.”
“You must have been a toddler?”
“Impressionable age. No one else in my family caught the phobia,” she said dryly. “They think I’m crazy because…”
“What?” I prompted when she fell silent.
“I’m kind of… a lot.”
“A lot?”
“Hmm. Not much scares me. I’m the type to get in your face rather than… I’m not shy is what I’m trying to say.”
“So, they underestimate your fear?”
“I guess it’s a testament to my superpowers.”
“Everyone has weaknesses. I’m sure they know that.”
“Even you?” Her fingers tightened around mine. “I know who you are, Stan. What you are.”
“As you should.” I kept my tone impassive. “We exist in the same world, gattaredda.”
“What does that mean? All these words are adding up. I’ll need a dictionary.”
This time, I told her, “Kitten.”
Her cheeks puckered with performative distaste—she fucking loved the nickname. “You might be the only person I’ll let call me that.”
“As it should be.” That had her eyes widening. I lifted my free hand and showed her my knuckles. “And, se, we have weaknesses. Here are mine.”
Her thumb rubbed over the letters for the second time today, sending showers of pleasure through my nervous system. “You love hard.”
Anyone else, I’d have preferred to bite my tongue off than answer.
With her, it was easy to nod. Easy because my angel would learn that for herself soon enough.
Her phone buzzed again, earning a growl from her. “For God’s sake. Sisters. Why couldn’t my mother keep her legs crossed?!” She glanced over her shoulder and noticed that the line had greatly lessened, then peeped at me. “We should go.”
“We should. No hunks, Kitty, hmm?”
She blushed. “No hunks.”
Satisfied by the sight of that pink on her cheeks, I left the warning there. “What’s your number?”
I knew it already. But she didn’t have to be aware of that.
“I’ll type it in yours.”
“Will you give me the wrong number?” I leaned into her, watching her eyelids flutter in response.
God, she was reactive! With barely any stimulation either.
“Will you hunt me down if I do?”
“Sempri.”
She didn’t ask me to translate, just breathed, “Good.”
I passed her my cell. “You might regret saying that.”
Kitty shook her head as she typed in her number and then, before I could ask her to, called it. When her phone rang, I used the same words that made her flip out earlier. “Good girl.”
With a deliciously breathy sigh, she dropped her own cell into her purse.
Begrudgingly, I released my hold on her hand. “Until tonight, gattaredda.”
It was a vow.
Recognizing it as such, she stilled. “Text me.”
Delighted by the command, I nodded, then watched as she got to her feet.
Half in the booth and half out, she pondered, “Will I get my reward tonight?”
Delighted by her, I laughed, absently aware I’d laughed more today than I had in years.
“Tonight,” I promised.
My angel shot me a wicked smile that told me she’d fallen a long time ago then strode down the aisle, gracing me with a final glance before she left me behind.
I could see the attendants watching me, knew they wanted to shoo me off the plane, but I ignored them and grabbed the leather garment bag I tossed over my shoulder before following Kitty onto the airbridge.
What greeted me, however, was not the distant sight of her ass in the skirt that existed to drive me insane…
It was a couple of fucking cops.
“Miedda.”