Chapter 2
Summer
I hate flying. What’s the purpose of defying gravity when there’s perfectly good ground wrapped around the planet like a snuggly blanket? Especially since some of that ground is covered in grass, trees, mountains, lakes, and rivers.
We humans have options. We can walk, run, ride, swim—even snowboard if the urge to do something truly stupid strikes—and it’s all good. So there’s absolutely no sane reason for anyone to fly.
Yet here I am, up in the air and concluding that my plan isn’t working all that great.
It sounded simple enough when I came up with it.
I’d stow away in Declan’s jet. The jet would take off.
I’d walk up the aisle to the cockpit. I’d announce to him that I was hijacking the plane and forcing him to turn around and land in Las Vegas so that we could prevent a disaster from happening.
Evander and Phoebe can’t be allowed to elope.
But when the jet leveled off in the air and I tried to walk up the aisle, a wave of nausea and dizziness slammed into me. I figured it would go away if I laid down for a moment, so I pulled out the sleeper sofa in the back.
No bueno.
And now we’ve been flying for well over a half hour. I think I see ocean down there, but it makes me sicker to look. I can’t hold it any longer. The only bathroom is near the cockpit and that’s where I’m headed, no matter if I have to crawl.
It’s all my fault. I ate a leftover Philly cheesesteak on my drive to the airport, and the thing is hankering for revenge.
I can’t believe I was forced to get in this tin can in the first place!
But somebody has to take care of business.
Declan is perfectly capable of handling this alone, of course, but he isn’t.
He’s the kind of guy who gets easily distracted and forgets basic things, like how his brother Evander and our neighbor Phoebe—the sweetest and kindest woman any of us have ever known—simply cannot be allowed to get married without us!
Somebody’s got to man up in this scenario. That woman is me.
Declan and I both know what Evander’s up to.
We stood right next to him at Finn and Emma’s wedding when he said that nosy families were the reason elopements have become so popular.
And he said this while staring at Phoebe dressed in a red velvet, floor-length gown with a slit all the way up to her thigh.
Lordy.
Men.
So, of course that’s where they are! Of course that’s why they’re nowhere to be found on either family’s ranch on New Year’s Eve! They went to Vegas to elope!
Declan is a MacLaine, through and through. And if I’ve learned anything in all my years working with the MacLaines of Yosemite Ranch it’s this: family always comes first. No MacLaine would ever be allowed to get married without an audience.
And so that’s why I find myself standing in the middle of the aisle watching Declan feel up some girl in a miniskirt while she yanks his pants down to his knees.
Typical Declan. Focused on getting his rocks off instead of...
Judgement will have to wait.
“I’m going to hurl!” I yell.
Declan recovers from the shock of seeing me and nearly falls on his face as he tries to move toward me. He points over his shoulder and barks orders. “Lavatory! Summer do not vomit in my beautiful jet. Do you hear me? You are not going to—oh shit.”
I’m a split second from freeing the cheesesteak.
I’ll never make it past Eyelash Barbie to the bathroom.
I press my hand hard against my mouth, willing myself not to throw up, while Declan kicks off his pants and grabs me.
He lifts me up into his arms, spins around, barks for his girlfriend to move aside and opens the lavatory door. I hear the clank of a toilet seat.
“There,” Declan says, setting me down. “Throw up there. Nowhere else.”
I grab the sides of the toilet and scream, “Eat a bag of dicks, Declan! You could be a little more—”
And then I puke. Up goes the Philly cheesesteak and down goes my face near the toilet water.
Most of it hits the intended target, but some of it gets on Declan’s hipster high tops.
I feel bad, but the guilt passes as soon as I twist my face around and get a load of his reaction. He’s really pissed off at me, not at all concerned about my welfare. He’s only concerned about himself.
“You threw up on me.”
I moan, waiting a moment to see if I’m going to do it again. I don’t. In fact, I feel much better already. I flush and stand up. “Holy crap. I feel a million times better. I almost don’t hate flying now.”
“You puked on me, Summer,” Declan whispers. He grabs a thick paper towel, wets it, and leans down to wipe off the tops of his shoes. Then he straightens, staring into the mirror as he throws away the used towel, gets a fresh one and dampens it, then starts dabbing at his black T- shirt.
“It’s just your shoes and shirt,” I say, catching his eyes in the mirror.
I grab my own towel, wet it, and wipe off my face.
I horn in on the sink, pushing him aside with my hip so that I can rinse out my mouth.
When I straighten, she’s still staring at me in the mirror.
“The shirt’s too tight, anyway, Declan. You look like you’re about to pull an incredible Hulk. ”
That’s no lie, either. It’s so close-fitting that I can see every bulky curve and edge of his wide chest and even the outline of his washboard abs.
The man’s got a lot of individual muscles in his pack.
I’ve seen a total of eight, because I’ve seen him damn-near naked on more than one occasion.
Working. Riding. Swimming in one of the ranch’s two lakes or soaking in its hot springs.
I’m not looking at his tight boxer briefs. I won’t even think about them. Or how tight they are. Or what I saw when he spun around in surprise. I won’t go there.
I just can’t.
Declan rounds on me and lowers his face so that it’s no more than two inches from mine. In the lavatory light, his eyes look otherworldly, like the violet of deep space. “It’s not tight,” he whispers. “It’s fitted. I happen to like the way it looks. At least I did, before you upchucked on it.”
I shrug and squeeze past him so that I can stand in the aisle again and catch my breath. It was too close in there with Declan and his anger, his eyes, his muscles, and his tight underwear.
He’s right behind me. “What’re you doing in my jet, Summer?”
“We’re going to stop the wedding.”
He shuts his eyes and slowly shakes his head. “I am. On a. Damned date.”
“Is that why you’re not wearing any pants?”
He opens his eyes. I can see that he’s trying not to smile. And failing. And I’m failing too.
This is the frustrating thing about Declan.
He’s permanently sixteen-years-old, and we’ve been in the friend zone for over a decade, no wiggle room and no benefits of any kind.
I’ve worked for his family since I was sixteen.
All that said, I can’t deny that he’s hotter than high noon in Death Valley.
No, that’s not exactly right. I can and do deny it all day long to anyone who even makes the slightest snarky comment about Declan and me. But I can’t lie to myself, no matter how hard I try.
We’ve always had this thing—with a glance we know what the other is thinking. We can crack each other up without a word. He’s my best friend. I like him. I love him. Like a brother or a cousin or… okay, that’s total bullshit and I know it.
Whatever he is to me and however I feel about him, it doesn’t matter.
“Many men don’t wear pants on dates,” Declan says, one corner of his mouth hitching up. “You should try it some time, Summer.”
Just then, his date of the day steps from the cockpit where she’s been hiding.
I generally try not to judge people by their exteriors, but she’s an interesting choice, even for Declan.
She’s dressed like a Coachella reject. Enormous knockers on full display in her transparent top and push up bra.
Frayed denim mini-skirt. Four-inch heels.
Fake extensions everywhere—lashes, nails, hair.
And despite all that, she’s actually very pretty.
Hate her already.
“I’m confused. Are we having a party?” she asks.
Oh, wow. She sounds like a cat in heat. Declan narrows his eyes at me in warning. I know that look. That warning is backed by a threat. He ain’t messing around.
“We’re not having a party,” Declan tells her, his voice kind. “Summer was just leaving.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Really? Where am I supposed to be leaving to? We’re flying over the ocean. Are you going to throw me out the door?”
“I like that idea,” Declan says.
“Nice to meet you, Summer. I’m Bryttni. That’s spelled with a Y, two Ts, and an I.”
Aside from the voice and the clothes, she seems nice. And she has excellent manners, which makes me feel guilty about thinking she’s dressed like a skank.
“Nice to meet you, too,” I say. “I’m Summer. With a U, two Ms, and an E.”
And then it dawns on me… I look up at Declan. “Who the hell’s flying the plane?”
“He is,” Br-Y-TT-n-I says. “He can fly with his mind.”
That’s it. I can’t help myself. I double over with laughter. I’m laughing so hard I’m worried I’ll hurl again.
TO be CONTINUED…