Chapter 11
DUSTIN
Women don’t know it, but they look hot as hell in baseball caps and sunglasses, especially with their hair drawn up in a ponytail through the little hole in the back of the cap you use to adjust the size.
As we rode to the airport early in the afternoon—we found a flight that would land us in Chicago around five p.m.—I checked Cat out as she checked herself out, using the window as a mirror.
“I feel like I’m Sandra Bullock, undercover in . . . what’s that movie?”
“Miss Congeniality?” I inquired as Lenny dropped us off in front of the airport.
She shook her head. “That’s definitely not it. I look more like a hobo right now than a contestant for a pageant,” she said, holding her arms out to emphasize her outfit.
“Yeah,” I winked. “A hot hobo.” I paused. “You don’t see too many hot hobos, though. I wonder why?”
She punched me in the arm. “Seriously. No one’s going to notice me. I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
I bit my lip as I gave her an up and down. To go with the Chicago Tigers cap I had gifted her, she also had on aviator sunglasses, a blue hoodie, and jeans.
“We’ll be fine once we get on the plane. But I’ve been a major news story before, and the first twenty-four hours are like a minefield of normies trying to accost you.”
“Did you just say ‘normies?’”
I shrugged. “You know, like normal people who aren’t celebrities.”
“That’s not nice. I’m a normie.”
“You were a normie until that video went viral. Now, you’re in the club with me. Come on.”
I led her through the gates at McCarran International Airport and printed out our boarding passes.
“Nice,” I said, reading our tickets. “Since I bought them, they gave you TSA pre-check.”
She pursed her lips. “Now there’s a benefit I didn’t see coming from this agreement.”
We headed toward security, our roller suitcases sounding loud on the ground.
“Speaking of that,” I said. “What are you going to do about the name change?”
She scoffed. “Well, this is temporary, so I don’t think it’s a good idea. All of my patients and colleagues know me as Doctor Vidal.”
We were ushered through a separate queue while most people stood in a line that seemed not to move. “Wow, this TSA-pre thing is really nifty! We seriously don’t have to take our shoes off for security?”
“Nor do we have to remove laptops from bags.”
“Amazing.”
“Well, I can understand that,” I said.
“Understand what?”
“Understand you having to relate to your business acquaintances by Doctor Vidal.”
“I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming.”
“But I feel like it’s going to raise eyebrows if you don’t take my name.”
She scoffed. “We’ll be fine. We’ll have to stay together, what, until the summer? That’s the blink of an eye.”
“That moderator called you Doctor LeBlanc like three times today. You don’t think that’s foreshadowing?”
She shifted her eyes around, and I could see she was thinking hard.
“Next!” the TSA pre-check security officer said, waving us over to her podium.
Catarina went first, handing over her Spanish passport.
The woman looked at her with the same dry, objective face I assume she looked at everyone with. “Remove sunglasses and hat, please,” the woman said.
“Oh, sorry.”
She put Cat’s passport under the blacklight on her podium, to make sure it was real, I assumed. Then something made a funny beep noise that I’d never heard before in the security line. The woman at the podium waved another security guard over and whispered something to him.
The security guard nodded and walked over to Cat.
“Miss Vidal, you’ve been red flagged.”
A look of horror spread across her face.
“Red flagged?”
“Have you had visa issues lately? A grounding ordered has been issued for you. Please come with me.”
“But, I . . .”
I cut in. “Excuse me Sir, but—”
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to keep your distance.”
“Pardon me. There must be some sort of mix up. This is my wife,” I interjected. “She still needs to have her passport updated.”
The security guard hesitated momentarily and looked my way. “Holy shit. Aren’t you Dustin . . .”
“LeBlanc, yes.” I flashed him a subtle grin that wasn’t too kiss-assy. “That’s me.”
“When did you get married?” he asked, and I was reminded of how much of an open book my life probably seemed to people who didn’t know much about me.
I leaned in a little like I was telling him a secret.
“We’re kind of trying to keep this on the down low. Ceremony was small and everything.”
By now, we were holding up the line, and people behind us seemed to have figured out who we were.
“Hey, that’s the Vegas marriage couple!” I heard one woman say.
Perspiring, he asked for my ID. I gave it to him, and he waved us through quickly, in light of the fact that the crowd in the line behind us was starting to get out their phones and film us.
I tipped my cap in gratitude as we walked through.
“Thanks,” Cat said as our plane lifted into the air.
“What kind of a husband lets his wife get hauled off at security? Not this one.”
She giggled. Once we were in the air, I ordered two daiquiris.
We sipped on them and I didn’t usually care if I was first class or not, but right now I needed a rest from the barrage of recognition we were getting. I was extra grateful for the curtain that separated us from the aisle.
After looking out the window for a few minutes, she turned back to me. “I’ll change my name.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
“That was a quick turnaround.”
“On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
She leaned over and whispered. “You do the dishes every night for the rest of our lives.”
I laughed. “Anything to make you happy.”
She threaded a hand through my hair. “I know it’s crazy, but I can’t remember a time where I had a man stick up for me like that before in my life.”
I arched an eyebrow. “No?”
She shook her head. “I guess after my dad died, I didn’t ever have another strong male presence in my life.”
“No boyfriends?”
She shrugged. “Besides the one I had when I was seventeen? I’ve had suitors. And I’ve dated. Nothing super serious, though.”
I laughed. “Suitors? That’s an interesting term.”
“I’ve had patients say they were in love with me. One rich old man offered to pay my student loans, which I declined.”
“That’s quite an offer.”
“It is.”
“So you haven’t had one boyfriend since you’ve been here?”
“It’s hard to date when you’ve got your nose in the books. But to be honest I’ve never really clicked with anyone on a really deep level. And you—are you just a commitment-phobe?”
I put my hand on her leg and looked past her to the sky. “I guess a lot of women would tell you the answer to that is yes. I don’t like commitment.”
She grabbed my arm. “You don’t like commitment . . . yet you married me after knowing me for thirty hours?”
“I told you, it’s more if you count our meeting in the elevator.”
She shook her head. “We’re less than twenty-four hours into this.” She moved her hand in front of my face with the ring. “Are you sick of me yet?”
“Oh please. Give the honeymoon phase at least a week.”
She put her hand on mine. “You’re an interesting man, Dustin. I can’t figure you out.”
I shrugged. “What’s to figure out? I’m just like the average guy. I love the three things men everywhere celebrate: sandwiches, blowjobs, and hockey. What’s not to understand?”
She burst out laughing. “Well, the third point is a little unique, at least.”
“What about you? I don’t get you at all.”
“Well, ask me something.”
“You’re smart, drop-dead gorgeous, and not married.
Well, you’re married now, I suppose. Why weren’t you married, again?
I know you said you didn’t meet anyone you meshed with, but it seems strange to me that someone like you would still be single.
I mean, anything besides the ‘nose in the books’ thing? ”
She clenched up. “Marriage just isn’t something that has interested me.”
“Bullshit. You’ve thought about it.”
“Okay, okay. I have but I don’t have any time to date. I guess I always had this vision of some guy just dropping out of the sky and into my lap.”
“Like a guy finding you crying at three A.M. in a Vegas Casino?”
To my surprise, she didn’t laugh at that one, just turned away toward the window. “Yeah. That was . . . interesting.” She turned back. “We have an expiration date though.”
I stared at her and waited for her to finish. “Right?” she added.
“I suppose we do. Doesn’t every relationship?”
“Yeah, but usually it’s death. When does ours expire, exactly?”
“I’ll stick around until you get your visa stuff squared away at least.”
“That could take a while.”
“I’ve got a lawyer friend I’m going to call on Monday. She knows how to make things happen.”
“Wow. Alright. And I’ll stick around until . . .”
“Until the end of the season.”
“When does the season end?”
“Ends in June.”
“I thought hockey ended in like April.”
“The regular season ends in April. But we’re making it to the Stanley Cup. So we won’t be done until June. Maybe May if the playoffs run short.”
“That’s a cocky statement.”
“Not cocky. Just the truth. As long as I stay put on the Tigers, we’re winning it all this year.”
“So what do you need from me tonight?” She cracked a smile and whispered in my ear. “I mean, besides sandwiches and blowjobs.”
I let out a good belly laugh. “I need you to charm the fuck out of Old Man Bells and crew. And they need to not just believe, they need to know this is for real. That I’m a changed man. That you’re the perfect girl for me, and all that bullshit.”
“Challenge accepted,” she nodded, then frowned. “There’s just one thing.”
“Anything. Tell me.”
“I only have that red dress. That was my ammo for the weekend.”
“And it’s overkill.”
“Exactly.”
“Unless you want Old Man Bells staring at your tits all during dinner.”
“Gross.”
“I’ll find you a new dress. Your wardrobe could use a little revamping, I’m guessing we’ll have time this afternoon to go shopping once we touch down in Chicago.”
I pulled out my tablet, connected to wifi, and pulled up the Nordstrom website.
“I think you look great in red. It’s January though, so . . . black? Something that goes good with that locket you always wear. I trust your taste more than mine. I’m not exactly a dress aficionado here. I do have one request though.”
“What’s the request?”
She scrolled through the site, and I couldn’t resist whispering in her ear, “Make sure it’s easy to rip off.”