Suite 269 Part 4

James smiled and nodded, sitting down next to me. He raised a half-empty bottle of whiskey in the air and winked. "Thank you, Marco. We'll be back here discussing the mysteries of life with my old friend Mr. Jack Daniels if you need us."

Leaning back into the seat, shoulders relaxed, I laughed.

"Enjoy, sir. Just make sure all cellular devices are shut down before departure," he said before leaving.

Next to me, James pulled out his cellphone and I followed along, searching for how to put mine into airplane mode when another text from Kevin popped onto the screen. Why couldn't he just leave me alone to think?

"Hey, you okay? Do I have to kick that phone's a.s.s?" James asked.

My eyes shot up to his, wondering what he was talking about.

His hand reached out and a long, thick finger poked at my phone. A smile tugged at his lips. "You just looked like the phone was doing something offensive to you, like you were angry with it."

"Just another I love you and miss you from Kevin," I replied, shutting my phone off and chucking it into my bag.

James looked away, hesitated, and then looked back, shaking his head.

Whatever that meant.

"How you feeling with all this?" he asked.

Polis.h.i.+ng off the rest of my drink, I offered a tight smile. "I'm just so humiliated. All the rumors going around make me want to crawl in a hole and die. I mean, there's one rumor that I had a threesome with them."

He flinched. "Where'd you hear that?" he asked.

"Evan," I snapped.

"Yeah, well he probably started the rumor," he said, stretching out his legs and getting more comfortable. "So what did happen? If you don't mind me asking."

"I was at my bachelorette party. We were supposed to spend the night at the Marriot, but we were so drunk we forgot to tell that to the limo driver, and I ended up stumbling drunk into my living room and there they were."

"That's horrible," he said with a genuine look of shock across his face.

"I'm going to have to disinfect my entire living room. It probably still lingers with s.e.x stank. And let me tell you-it was disgusting, like pure a.s.s sweat. Seriously, I reeled back in sheer terror from the smell alone." Yeah. I was pretty buzzed right there.

Laughter bellowed throughout the entire cabin of the airplane.

James Holt was laughing. Which just allowed my buzzed brain to think it was a good idea to continue.

"And dear G.o.d, the sight alone made me vomit up at least five rounds of drinks and that night's appetizer. Every light in my apartment was on. They drank a bottle of my wine, and they ate my G.o.diva chocolate. What kind of woman steals another woman's chocolate? And the Pogo stick s.e.x, eww. Now, I have no problem with s.e.xual experimentation and stuff, but what I have a problem with is stupidity. Am I talking too much?"

"No, keep going. You're amazingly funny when you're drunk," he chuckled.

"Thank you. I'm actually funny all the time, especially when I'm drunk, but I'm not quite drunk yet, but keep 'em coming, good sir. Anyway, back to stupidity. If you are stupid enough to believe that I wouldn't see that someone ate my beloved chocolate, that that wasn't going to eventually come to light, you are quite stupid. I'm not offended by the s.e.x they had and the stank they let off. I'm offended by the theft of my fothermucking chocolate."

"Really?" he asked, leaning in closer.

"No, this hurts like h.e.l.l," I said, rubbing at my chest.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Not your fault. But I just don't get it. Here's you and then there's Kevin. Does she have poor taste in men, or is she just a serial c.o.c.ksucker? I mean he was the peanut b.u.t.ter and jelly sandwich with the s.h.i.+tty crust still on. Comfort food. Just a d.a.m.n sandwich. You, you are the fillet mignon."

"I'm flattered, thank you." He laughed.

"With like those delicious baked red potatoes on the side," I continued.

"Do I come with vegetables?" he asked.

I nodded. "Dessert too."

James offered more alcohol. I graciously accepted.

"What did he say when he saw you?"

"He said it was all a mistake. Told me it was cold feet. That he was scared; wanted to have a last hurrah to see if I was the one. I don't want to forgive and forget. I want to hate him. The only word I kept thinking of was why. Why? In big bold letters. WHY? Why, why, why? I remember screaming it over and over at them. It was so humiliating. I needed a specific thing to blame, you know? The one reason that he thought it was okay to do what he did to me."

"Did he give you specific reasons besides cold feet?" he asked.

"A whole stupid list of them. And you want to know the best part?" I said, grabbing his arm. Those arms were no joke. It was like clutching steel. "The best part was that she stood there and listened. Drinking my favorite wine. Nibbling on my chocolate. Wearing my robe."

"Are you s.h.i.+tting me?" he asked.

"I s.h.i.+t you not," I answered.

"You're handling all of it well, I think."

"I disagree. I've been drunk ever since. The first day was the worst. Tears. Sobs. The whys. Oh, my gosh, the whys are the worst. They keep repeating in my head." I leaned in really close and looked him dead in the eye. "What the h.e.l.l was so special about her that she was better than me?"

"I can't think of one thing," he whispered. "I can't, Lex, truly. She is a selfish person. I'll give you an example, okay? She was a vegetarian, so narcissistically she believed that everyone around her should be a vegetarian too. So when she'd go out and eat with people she'd ask them how their cow carca.s.ses tasted, or if they knew eating pork was the closest thing to eating small, dead children."

I scrunched up my nose and laughed.

"I love eating meat and she always tried to ruin it. I'd get a rare steak, chew it slowly in front of her, and moo. People like her make you revert back to your worst adolescent behavior. Please say you eat meat."

"I eat meat," I stated seriously.

"Ever have filet mignon?"

That was a loaded question, so I offered a loaded answer, "I've had steak that said it was filet mignon, but turned out to be regular rump roast."

His eyes were tearing with his laughter. "What'd you do?"

"Spit that c.r.a.p out into a napkin and skipped out on the bill."

"Okay, okay. So what was so special about Trager? What did you love about him enough to want to marry him, and what did you hate about him?"

"I hated that I could really never talk to him. You know what he said?"

"Tell me," he prompted.

"He kept saying that I was too timid s.e.xually. Which wasn't true. Okay, well maybe a little. I mean, there were so many things I wanted to do, you know?" I drank another bottle and wiped the back of my hand across my lips. "I was always too scared to tell Kevin the things I wanted. I tried, but he was so condescending. He had this horrifying v.a.g.i.n.al imagery of what the person you're supposed to marry should act like."

"Did you just say horrifying v.a.g.i.n.al imagery?"

"Yes. Horrifying v.a.g.i.n.al imagery. Like he was scared of it."

"You really have no filter, do you?" he laughed.

"Nope. Sorry. Want me to stop? Get out? The look on your face is kind of making me want to jump out of this speeding bullet right about now anyway."

"No. I love it actually. Please keep going," he laughed.

"I hated the way he always automatically lumped genders into tidy little stereotypical boxes. He was a man so he had to like sports. I was a woman so I had to wear make-up. He complained every day of our two-year relations.h.i.+p that I never wore make-up. I hardly ever wear make-up. Here's a secret for you, I never learned how to put that c.r.a.p on my face. When I have to put on make-up for a special occasion, I end up making myself look like a clown on crack. A crackclown."

"You don't need any make-up," he said in a low voice.

"There are times I wanted to feel all girly and pretty, but he always seemed to complain about me. Everything I did, everything I was. I love sports and bands like Metallica. I'm independent. I don't need or want a man for money. I'm strong. I could drop you like a sack of s.h.i.+t with one swift punch to your throat. But with Kevin, I was never enough. I hated that I never felt comfortable in my own skin with him."

For a few moments, we stared at each other in silence. At some point during our conversation and laughter, we were catapulted into the sky, neither of us acknowledging leaving the ground.

"You didn't say one thing that you loved about him. Why were you going to marry him?"

"Yeah, see here's the thing...This is what I'm having trouble with internally. I seemed to have been living on autopilot. At some point, I pressed cruise control on myself. You know that s.p.a.cey, zoned out state of mind you fall into when driving a car? And then all of a sudden you realize-holy c.r.a.p, I'm driving a car! And you have no clue where your destination was and there's absolutely no recollection of ever getting in the d.a.m.n car or having any consciousness of the last few miles you drove. The only thing I'm aware of is sobbing and singing at the top of my lungs to some sad song on the radio. It's like I woke up parked in front of a church wearing a bridal gown."

"How long were you together?" he asked.

"I was incarcerated for two years."

"Incarcerated? So now you feel free?"

"Yeah," I said, nodding my head.

He ran one of his hands through his hair. "I think you made your decision already, Lex."

"I don't know if it's because I'm getting really buzzed, but when you said that, in my head my brain just answered you with, but then that b.i.t.c.h wins."

He grabbed both my hands. Well, h.e.l.lo there strong s.e.xy hands. I may or may not have said this aloud, then melted into a hot mess of boneless flesh.

"Listen to me. He chose to cheat on you, Lex; he didn't consider you at all when he made that choice. He was a selfish p.r.i.c.k. He risked your health, your relations.h.i.+p, your future, all because he wanted a bit of strange p.u.s.s.y."

"a.s.s," I interrupted. "His d.i.c.k was inserted into her a.s.s."

"Let her have him. She wins? And what a fantastic kind of a prize is he, Lex?"

The plane bounced and I yelped. He continued talking as if careening through the sky at three hundred miles per hour was normal, so I sat back and listened. Note: he was still holding my hands.

"Trager is a piece of garbage. Not all the sugar frosting and colored sprinkles, chocolate pieces and coconut crumbles, can disguise a piece of garbage. It's still a load of garbage, babe. Let her win the garbage." Our heads knocked together. "Remember the lack of o.r.g.a.s.ms for the past six months. Let her take over chasing after them from him."

"s.h.i.+t, I told you about that, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did."

"Screw him," I whispered.

"Screw her," he shouted.

"Screw them," we both cheered.

I waved my hands and laughed. "Ah. No man understands the s.e.xual needs of a woman anyway, maybe I should switch teams."

"I must admit p.u.s.s.y is the better choice," he rumbled.

"I talk s.h.i.+t, but I'm too scared to try anything. Again, one of the many things the idiot complained about. But, I've talked to plenty of my friends about this and we're all a little s.e.xually scared. Maybe it gets better when you're with someone you trust completely, but I could never see me asking Kevin to play out one of my fantasies."

"Fantasies?" he asked.

It was just about then, right there, that moment-I realized just how drunk I was, and digging my own grave. What is it about liquor that makes your inhibitions just vanish? "h.e.l.l yeah, fantasies."

"Please explain," he leaned in closer, his shoulder touching mine.

"You see, Mr. Holt, during s.e.x-we women, well, we're usually thinking about something other than the person we are having s.e.x with."

"Like a movie star?" he asked, smiling.

"No, like dirty and nasty situations, maybe with a movie star, but it's the situation we truly fantasize about. Being dominated maybe, using toys, whatever it is, we're always fantasizing."

"Hmph. Why don't women tell the men about the fantasies? Maybe they share a few..." He handed me an armful of snacks and all but one fell on the floor near my feet. Still all flesh with melted bones; I couldn't hold a thing.

"Most women are too embarra.s.sed about s.e.x, so they lie. We are a group of unsatisfied liars. I mean G.o.d; I was brought up thinking that touching myself would send me to h.e.l.l. But let me tell you the truth about women. We want it all. We want to be completely and utterly cherished but at the same time treated like our inner wh.o.r.es. The secret is that we don't want to ever talk about it. We want you to just know. So not only are we liars, we're a bunch of crazy a.s.s b.i.t.c.hes. Most of us are just self-conscious about our bodies, about our feelings. And if we give words to our thoughts, what will our men think? Especially if we are wanting but are too terrified to try things." I slapped my hands down on my little armrest to add more drama to my words. "And society doesn't help us with this; just think if women all over the world banned together and decided that they really felt comfortable in their own bodies and with their own thoughts, there would be a ton of various industries out of business."

"Most men are self-conscious too. Especially about our c.o.c.ks," he laughed. "If we're not worried about size, we're worried about shape, or girth, or whatever. Guys think about their d.i.c.ks a lot."

"You, Jameson Holt, are self-conscious about your p.e.n.i.s?" I asked, smiling like a fool.

"h.e.l.l no," he said, staring straight at me, seeming to search for something in my eyes. Then slowly, his gaze made his way to my lips.

I swore his laser eyes were setting fire to my lips. The look was so heated the back of my neck started to sweat as he continued to stare at them. The energy, or air around us, whatever it was, seemed to come alive and hum as if kissing me was a thought in his mind. But, it couldn't be; this had to be me misreading the entire situation. See, that's the hazard of being near someone as perfect as Jameson Holt. The attention he gives, his disarming charm, the sheer s.e.xiness he suggests, it makes you feel like it's only for you when it's not; it's just his natural charm. My fingers fumbled to open a bag of chips and it exploded all over our laps. I was leaning my elbow over the seat divider laughing. "My head is going to hurt like h.e.l.l tomorrow. I think I drank way too much." I tried fanning the chips off our pants but they were sticky little things.

He snorted a laugh from somewhere above me. "You trying to get my pants off, Miss Novak?" Oh, c.r.a.p. His words caused my head to snap in his direction.

d.a.m.n those hazel eyes. Soft sage. Spun gold.

Stunning eyes that still lingered on my face and moved slowly down my neck and body in such a way that made every inch of my skin blush. His lips parted slightly and a small sliver of tongue and teeth flitted out to wet them. Eyes darkened, deadly pull of a smile that made me swallow whatever thick lump had lodged in my throat. My hands clenched tightly into clammy little fists.

I'm reading this situation wrong, right?

James leaned back against his seat, blinked, and ran both his hands through his hair, tugging when he got to the ends. "Whoa, sorry," he said under his breath.