Everything I own is on its way to Atlanta, including me. “Jameson whiskey,” I grumble to the bartender. “Rocks.” 

Never dreamed I would ever leave my beloved Boston. Especially not after the Big Dig has finally completed construction and the city looks so fantastic and open with the new park, the food trucks and the laughing kids playing in fountains meant for them. 

I’ll miss my beloved Pizza Regina.

I’ll miss scarfing down Hood ice cream.

I’ll miss the calm of walking alongside the Charles River. I’ll miss the giant swan pedal boats. 

I’ll miss the accent I never acquired but am obsessed with.

I’ll miss the business I steadily built as an event coordinator. 

I’ll miss my friends. 

Although, other than Kate, it’s not like I see many of them anymore anyway. Most couldn’t even meet me for a drink to say goodbye. They’re all so busy having babies and pairing off as if our species was nearly extinct and it was their mission to populate the planet and save us all. 

I hate baby showers more than root canals. I would more likely fly back here for my favorite dentist to drill away and ask me to spit over and over than to sew paper-plate-bouquets of bows from gifts together while squealing in delight, drinking pink lemonade, with no men allowed.

No, thank you. 

Only my best friend Kate agrees with me on this. And only Kate stayed with me past two in the morning the night before last. “Jaimie, don’t leave! You’re my only single friend.”

Are we bitter much?

Maybe.

Oh, Boston… 

This is goodbye for who knows how long?

But my father needs me. 

Staring at huge, framed black and white photographs of planes from eras long gone, while in the near distance passengers are called to board by group numbers, my shoulders sink a little more. 

Dad, you had better appreciate this move. But I doubt you will, you selfish prick. 

From the barstool directly to my right, a deep voice interrupts my inner griping. Not only does he cut in, his question is judgmental. “Little early for a lady to drink whiskey, isn’t it?” 

Without looking over I mutter a dry reproach, “People drink early in airports, both men and women. I could be celebrating the start of my first vacation in five years. I could be afraid of flying. I could be a superhero and alcohol has no effect on me but, regardless, I enjoy the taste. Or I could just need a drink.” 

“You need something else.” 

“With all due respect, buddy, you don’t know what I need.” 

Turning my head, my eyes lock with the palest of green irises on a face so symmetrically handsome it can’t possibly be real. 

But it’s very real. 

In fact, I know him. 

Well…kinda.

I certainly know of him from scraps of political news in which I’ve read about the great work he’s doing in Atlanta as a very aggressive City Councilman. And not only that but for nine months, in what seems like a lifetime ago, I sat next to him in Mrs. Cooper’s English class for one whole school year. He never looked at me then. Not once. 

Certainly not how he’s looking at me right now. 

Justin Cocker…

I didn’t expect to see you before noon on a Tuesday in Boston Logan International airport. But here you are. Staring at me like I’m brunch. 

Neither of us is talking. We’re holding each other’s gaze for so long my body reacts, tingles drifting everywhere. I am certainly not the shy girl I used to be, but the lower half of my body just caught fire.

He’s still sexier than anyone has a right to be. And from the cocky glint in his eyes, he still knows it, too.

Because I’m in a terrible mood, I give him a slow once-over, head to toe, inwardly tapping my fingertips on an invisible clock. Will he recognize me as these moments tick by?

Justin has to be somewhere around six-foot-four now. His athletic frame is posed in a casually sexual way. One shiny, expensive, black shoe rests on the silver rung of his barstool, the other on the rung below the counter, so his long legs are spread. That gun-metal-grey suit is spectacular, slender tie perfectly knotted, jacket unbuttoned with its hem bent over his crotch. He glances down, following my gaze. 

“See something you want?” he smirks. 

I lie, “No.”

“You certainly took your time checking me out.”

“I never rush anything.” 

“Me neither. Hmmm,” he hums as his smirk deepens on a challenge. The challenge being me. His voice is deeper and quieter as he mutters, “I might know what you need.” 

Wow. Okay…wow wow wow. 

It’s not easy to do, but I go back to facing forward lest I begin to rub myself on this barstool, which would be awkward to say the very least. 

This sudden throb between my legs can do me no good. How did he make this happen so fast? Has it been that long since I...oh, yeah. It has. Almost a year in fact, which is just stupid.

"I can feel you staring at me," I say, under my breath. 

"Can you? Where can you feel it?" 

I swallow, more aware of every inch of my body now coming to life.

I’m in public and have to catch a plane in under an hour. 

If we continue this flirtation I might have to hole up in one of those disgusting bathroom stalls they always have at airports, to touch myself and release the ache he’s just inspired. And that’s just gross. 

While I telepathically will the gray-haired bartender to bring forth my whiskey, from my periphery I watch Justin pull his vibrating cell phone from his pocket, and answer an email. As he focuses on this task I take advantage of the moment and steal a discreet peek at his profile. 

It’s perfect. 

He’s all grown up and exquisite.

I have the insane desire to climb on his lap, nibble his bottom lip while my fingers lightly trace his smooth-shaven jawline. It sure would take the stress away from this move. And I hate to admit it since he's so full of himself, but I used to have quite the thing for Justin Cocker.

The Cocker Brothers were the most gossiped about and desired boys in school that single year with my father in Atlanta, after Dad gave me such a hard time about choosing to live with Mom. Seeing Justin again now that I'm an adult, has an impact laced with history. I remember how all the girls loved him and his twin with an unrequited fever, and how I wasn’t immune to their appeal.

Even their younger brother Jake who was just a Freshman when we were all Juniors, was making a lot of noise among female circles simply because of his dark features, devil-may-care attitude, and already muscular body at only fourteen. 

And while Jerald Cocker had just graduated the year before I moved there, people were still talking about what a rebel he was.

Every teenage girl wanted a Cocker boy. 

You couldn’t help it. They were delicious.

Justin and his identical twin Jason…towheaded blondes with eyes the color of sea foam and smirks that made your stomach twitch…God, they were just plain stunning. They weren’t shy or awkward like most of us were at that age. 

Or…like I was. 

Maybe I can’t speak for everyone. 

The Cocker twins strolled our school halls in Buckhead as if they knew being there wasn’t important – just a mere stepping stone to the greatness that would be their adult lives. 

I remember girls whispering to each other, which twin do you love more? Who’s your favorite?

Mine was the man to my right. Justin had a darkness in him I couldn’t help but be drawn to. Something was hidden inside that no one could touch. I wanted to be the first. That shadow I loved back then is still in his eyes. 

And now he’s flirting with me. 

Jaimie, stay calm. 

You’re not that shy teenager anymore. 

You can handle yourself in any situation. 

Even this one.

The bartender sets my glass down and momentarily distracts us both. 

“Thank you,” I smile. I decide to be a little bold and tease him, “I’m going to enjoy this far more than you will that lemonade.” 

Without missing a beat he orders something stronger. “I’ll have a Macallan 18. Neat.” 

As the bartender leaves I murmur with a slender eyebrow lifted, “That was easy.”

With equal amusement Justin smirks, “Couldn’t let a woman outdo me.” 

“Oh?” My smile fades. “Do you have a problem with women in power?” 

He leans in so close he inspires moisture. “No woman has ever had power over me. Not one, so it’s never been a problem.” 

It’s hard not to snort, but I manage. “Really? How boring.”

He leans back to a normal distance and dryly replies, “I’m anything but bored. What’s your name?” 

So he really doesn’t recognize me. It isn't surprising but I can't help but feel slightly offended. We did sit right beside each other. I picked up a pen he dropped once. He muttered an insincere thank you and that was that. Not due to hit puberty until I was a senior, I was a tiny, flat-chested girl who wore braces just to be sexier. Sarcasm intended. I was not memorable. Like my curvy, Italian mother I was a late-bloomer.

Lifting my glass to my red lips, I ask, “Why do you want to know my name?” 

In the sexiest way I can, I take a slow sip while he explains, “Need to know what to call you when we’re in the height of passion in about, oh, ten minutes.” 

I almost spit my whiskey everywhere. And gulping it down burns like hell.

Stunned, I sputter, “Shy much? Hello, I’m a total stranger. Nice to meet you. And you are?” 

“Yours for the next thirty minutes.” 

My breath hitches as I squirm on my chair while trying to retain my normal grace and self-possession. By the glint that jumps into his eyes, he caught how much I loved that.

Damn.

Fairly loudly I counter, “Thirty minutes? Really? Wouldn’t you last…only two?” 

The bartender pauses as he sets the Macallan 18 in front of Justin before quickly departing.

The gorgeous bastard’s smirk hasn’t faltered in the slightest. A less confident male would have been embarrassed or defensive I said that as loud as I did, and in front of another man. He’s neither. “Now that we’re alone again,” he quietly tells me in a thicker tone. “My name is Justin Cocker. And I could get you off in two. Want to see?”

My lips part. 

His smirk deepens. 

He’s loving this. 

So am I.

Unsure of my next move, I face away from him with a bored look. “Excuse me, Mr. Cocker, but you must have me confused with a woman who would say yes to something that cheap.”

“I know it’s beneath you. I don’t go for low-class girls. I go for women like you.” 

I take a sip of my whiskey and try to slow my heart, licking the sweet heat off my lips before I say, “Well, that’s very interesting, but I’m staying put, thanks.”

“We’ll see about that.”

I cut a quick glance to Justin’s wolfish smile. “You’re an arrogant bastard!”

“Maybe,” he chuckles. “But arrogance is born of the knowledge of one’s own abilities and the refusal to fake modesty. Lick your lips for me again.” 

“No,” I whisper, taking another sip.

I lick my lips and hold his eyes. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs. 

I’m pulsing so hard my clit is panting. 

I have zero doubt that Justin could make a woman’s body sing the National Anthem in more ways than one and with little effort.

“Stop staring at me," I whisper, squirming.

He glances to my lap and meets my eyes. “Do you wish that chair vibrated?” 

My eyes go big. “Oh my God!” 

Under his breath so that no one can overhear him, he says, “I know I’ve gotten you all wet. I also know that you won’t tell me your name because you’re considering having anonymous sex with me. That’s the only way you’ll do it. If I never know who you are.” 

“I am not considering it!” 

“Yeah, you are.” 

“You’ve got a lot of nerve.” 

“Nerve?” Justin chuckles. 

“You’re very cocky.” 

“No. I’m confident.”

“Confidence doesn’t boast itself.” 

“Bullshit.”

“You can be very confident and not be an asshole.” 

“You’re thinking about my asshole now?” 

A grin flashes on me but I quickly stifle it and force myself to be serious. “I’m thinking you are one, not about your…well, you know.” My face flushes and I glance away, wishing I knew how to get out of this.

He whispers, “I know a janitor’s closet that locks.” 

Suddenly the image of us hidden away with cleaning products and metal shelves, fucking like animals, springs into my core.

“Oh, you do?” 

“Yep.”

“At every airport? In every terminal?” 

His eyes narrow with lust, loving that I’m giving him a hard time. After a second of thought he rises from his barstool with the grace of a panther, pulls out his wallet and calls to the bartender, “Can my wife and I settle the tab?” 

I whisper, “Your what?” but he ignores me.

Glancing between us in barely masked surprise the bartender returns. Before I have time to deny our fake union, Justin tells the older gentleman, “My wife and I role play. Acting like strangers meeting at an airport keeps things interesting for us. Keeps the heat alive.” 

Salty eyebrows relax. “I might have to try that.” 

“I recommend it.” 

Glancing to me, the bartender asks, “How long have you two been married?” 

Justin waits to see what I’ll do. 

“Just under a year,” I casually smile, lifting my handbag. “But it got boring fast.” 

The bartender uncomfortably looks at Justin, but my fake-husband agrees, without missing a beat, “I’m very mundane. Can barely hold a conversation.” 

“And his skills in bed,” I add with a roll of my eyes. “Well, let’s just say they needed some help.” 

Justin’s nod is solemn. “Without my wife’s guidance I’d just lie there. Frigid and clueless.” 

The bartender has grown increasingly more uncomfortable with this much ‘honesty,’ so he hastily mutters, “I’ll be right back,” and exits to run the credit card. 

Justin helps me into my coat and then offers his hand. Taking it I step off the barstool and stand in front of him, dwarfed by his height by at least five inches even in these heels. 

With a husband’s familiarity he reaches into my coat and slips his arm around my waist, resting an open palm on the small of my back. I’m speechless while he gazes into my eyes, his fingers slowly seek out my panty line, sliding across it. My eyelids suddenly feel quite heavy. 

“Your fingers are moving lower on my back, Mr. Cocker.”

In a deep and private voice, he returns, “I hope you’ll let them travel other places.”

Mercy.

Equally quietly, I inform him, “I hope you have condoms, because if you think I don’t know you must do this often, you’re mistaken.”

He whispers, “Ribbed or deer skin?” 

“Dear God.”

“Yes?”

“You’re seriously unbelievable.” 

“Wait until I fuck you.” 

Shaking my head on a smile, I bite my lower lip and his heated gaze drops immediately to watch. 

“You know what’s the biggest lie we told that poor man?” 

“All of it?” he smirks. 

“That a guy like you would ever get married.” 

Something happens in Justin at this. A tornado of anger – and pain, too? – flashes across his eyes before he masks it. 

Changing the subject, he asks, “When does your plane leave?” 

“I have just over a half hour before I need to be at my gate.” 

“Me too.” 

After a few heated moments I feel my heart skip at the realization that I'm really about to go through with this naughty and extremely illicit act, and that I'm doing it with Justin Cocker of all people. With the way he's staring at me I can't help but feel desirable and even beautiful.  Fairly loudly, he announces, “You know, honey, we haven’t kissed since that fight at your parent’s house last night.”

My eyes close as he leans in. 

With expensive whiskey flavoring his lips, he kisses me softly. Shivers whisper down my throat. Justin’s tongue lightly traces the inside of my bottom lip. He moves to whisper in my ear, his voice thick, “You haven’t pulled away from me.” 

I’m breathless, barely able to speak. “I don’t want to.” 

He can never offer you anything more than hot sex.

Remember that, Jaimie, as you follow him. 

“You don’t want to pull away?”

“No.”

“Good.”

The bartender interrupts. 

Time to pay.