Spider
WE RACE DOWN THE AIRSTRIP and lift into the air, the pressure making my ears pop. I glance over at Rose and see she’s clutching the sides of her seat, her face deathly pale as we rise in altitude.
“You okay?” I ask softly, frowning at the loss of color in her cheeks.
She does an all-over body shiver, her throat moving as she swallows. “I hate flying—and storms. Plus, the window seat makes me queasy.”
Shit. If I had known, I would have switched with her earlier. “You can have my seat once we get leveled out.”
She shakes her head. “It’s okay, I’m settled in now . . . just really cold.”
I hate that she’s cold. Once we get to cruising altitude and can unbuckle our seat belts, I signal to the nearby flight attendant to bring us a blanket.
Heidi brings the blanket, and I hand it to Rose.
“Thank you.” She takes it, our hands briefly touching.
“That flight attendant likes you,” she says, her eyes watching as Heidi sashays off. “She hasn’t taken her eyes off of you since you boarded.”
“She’s not the one I want to like me,” I murmur. It’s rather abrupt and to the point, but I always say what I mean. Why waste time? I want Rose.
I watch her to gauge her reaction.
“Oh.” A blush rises up her face as she busies herself by trying to make the short blanket cover her legs and chest area. I see right away that it’s not going to work.
“Here, I have an idea.” I reach under my seat, pull out my jacket, and arrange it over her torso. I lean over her to adjust it, hitching it up on her shoulder, as I cover her up.
She smiles softly and thanks me, making me blush—which is so weird.
I clear my throat. “I have to warn you though . . . this is my favorite jacket. Girls don’t usually get to wear it, so you’re pretty special. No drooling if you fall asleep, okay?”
She bites her lower lip, the one I can’t stop looking at. “If I drool does that mean I get to keep it?”
“Depends.”
“On what?” she says, and her voice has lowered.
“On what you’re willing to do to get it.”
Another silence fills the air between us as we stare at each other, but it’s not weird or uncomfortable. It’s hot and electric.
She breaks the tension by laughing. “I don’t do anything I don’t want to, so I guess you can keep it.”
I laugh.
Damn. She isn’t going to make this easy for me.
Feeling a bit flustered by her, I glance down at the Kindle she stuffed in the seat. With all our talk earlier and her fear of flying, I nearly forgot about it. I nudge my head at her Kindle and clear my throat. “I saw what you were reading. If you want to learn how to make a man fall in love with you, I can offer some advice.”
She cocks her head. “Really? I hope it doesn’t involve me wearing leopard print bikinis and mink coats.”
“Touché.”
She smirks, looking pleased, and it makes me want to kiss her.
“Who’s the guy you’re reading this for?”
She stiffens. “There’s no guy.”
“Un-uh. There’s always a guy.”
She sighs. “Okay, maybe there is a guy, but my cousin Marge actually bought this book.”
“This dude, he isn’t into you?”
“He’s into a lot of girls, most of them popular—and I’m not.”
Rose deserves a nice guy. I don’t know how I know this, but I just do. “Maybe you should play hard to get.”
“I don’t play games.”
“Ah, a girl after my own heart.” I study her flawless skin, taking in the way her lashes flutter against her cheeks. Her long hair is twisted up in some kind of knot with wavy tendrils hanging around her face, and I picture how she’d look with it falling over her shoulders, caressing her naked tits . . .
She rearranges her blanket and her scent hits me, honey and vanilla mingled together. It’s intoxicating, and I laugh off an odd nervousness, fighting the urge to press my nose against her neck and inhale.
Weird, Spider.
She clears her throat. “If I want something, I go after it.”
“Maybe you should focus on someone else.” Like me, Mr. Next to You On The Plane Who Wants to Fuck You.
She shrugs. “Maybe. He is hot.”
Anger flares in my gut. I’m jealous. How . . . bloody silly.
“Is he as hot as I am?” I curl my arm, tightening my bicep for her.
She half-snorts. “You’re charming, I’ll give you that. No wonder poor Betty fell for it.”
“Seriously though . . . is he?” I want to know—I need to know.
She stares at me, seeing that I’m serious. Her gaze lingers on my tattoos. “He’s . . . different from you, more conservative.” She waves her hands around. “He plays sports. You play guitar.”
“Ah.” At least now I know her type.
“Is the book working for you?” I ask.
“Haven’t tried it.”
“Then practice on me. Use some of those wiles from the book. Let me be your guinea pig, and I’ll tell you if you suck.”
Her eyes widen. You know that rich green color the ocean gets after a storm blows in? That’s the color of her eyes. I lean in closer, taking in the gold around the inner parts of her irises. My finger touches the pout of her bottom lip. “How do you make a guy fall, Rose?” I murmur softly. “Tell me.”
Her face goes red as she bites her bottom lip where I touched it. Her tongue darts out and licks the spot. She seems to find her equilibrium though as she clears her throat and leans over to whisper conspiratorially. “Be provocative. That’s the one I just read. Pretty silly, right?”
My cock is hard as steel just from watching her lips say the word provocative. “Not at all,” I say huskily. “Show me how you’re provocative.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t even know you.”
“Which makes it even better. We’ll never see each other again.”
“You’ll laugh.”
I grin. “I dare you.”
Glowering, she considers me for a moment then reaches up and pulls her hair out of the bun it’s in, creating a cascade of long brown hair around her face. Thick and wavy, different colors of autumn curl over her shoulders, making me want to pick up one of the strands and run my fingers through it. I picture her on a bed, her hair all spread out on a pillow . . .
I swallow down the lump in my throat. “Nice,” I say as I sniff a strand. “Smells like vanilla. Not my personal favorite”—a lie—“but it works.”
“You’re too much.”
“Not enough, never. What else you got? Throw it at me.”
“Okay, how about this.” She pulls a silver necklace out from her dress and strokes the chain as she simultaneously flicks her hair over her shoulder and sends me a heavy-lidded look. She bats those long lashes at me then chews on her bottom lip. It’s a little silly—but I’m turned on.
“Hmmm, you’re okay,” I muse, feigning disinterest.
Her shoulders deflate. “Really? I mean, that’s the best I have.”
And it’s fucking hot.
“Mind if I take a peek at the book?”
She hands it over and I skim a couple pages, checking out a list of to-dos.
- One word: laser. Remove all the hair from your body, including legs, armpits, and southern parts. No man likes hair unless he’s a Neanderthal.
- You know what guys hate? Small boobs. Get plastic surgery or give up ever finding a guy.
I can’t read anymore.
“Fascinating that people make money off this drivel,” I say dryly.
“Trust me, I’m too smart to put any stock in it.” She shakes her head ruefully. “Now I’m just embarrassed that you think I’m that stupid.”
Clearing my throat, I dramatically read parts of them aloud. She giggles and tries to shush me, but I’m not having it. The other passengers have noticed and are staring.
Finally, with her face flaming in embarrassment, she pops me on the arm and jerks the Kindle out of my hand. “You’ve got to stop! No one on this plane wants to hear about breast augmentation.”
“Oh, but I do.” An idea comes to me. “Kiss me, Rose.”
“What?” She blinks.
“Kiss me. I’m going to show you how to get your guy, and the first thing you need to know is how to use that gorgeous mouth of yours.”
“Why?”
“Let me tell you a little secret,” I say. “Getting your guy is mostly about what you don’t say. Do you follow his every movement with your eyes? When you’re walking together, are your steps in sync? When you come into a room, do his eyes go straight to you, even with beautiful women all around him? If the answer is no to any of those, then you’re fucked. You can’t change chemistry, and no amount of hair removal or fake boobs can create it. It just . . . is. Attraction is magic, and you can’t find it in a book.”
She seems to find my words fascinating. “What makes you the expert on love?”
I wave her off—not even going there. “And your lips . . . they’re perfect. That little indention you have right at the bottom is pure sex, but if you don’t know how to use it properly . . .” My voice trails off.
“Okay.”
“Okay, okay?” I arch a brow. “Is that a yes?” Is she going to let me kiss her?
She nods, and before she can finish the movement, I take her necklace, tug her face to mine, and lay one on her.
And this is the weird part: I haven’t kissed a girl on the lips in a long time, but I go at it with her like I’m starving.
Her lips immediately part under mine, as if she’s been waiting for this too. She tastes like sun-ripened cherries, and I delve deeper, exploring her. After a tentative few seconds, she gives it back, her tongue finding mine and tangling. It’s gentle, but hot as hell. Cupping her face, I groan as I line her mouth with small feathery kisses, letting my teeth nip lightly on her bottom lip as I pull away.
“Spider,” she says softly, her chest rising rapidly.
My dick’s harder than I can ever remember, and all I want to do is kiss her again.
She moves closer to me, her tits pressing against my chest. My hand slips down to her neck and I graze the soft skin there, caressing her as I picture my lips sucking on her throat. I imagine my tongue playing with her nipples. Fuck. I want her.
“I want you,” I say, my voice heavy with lust.
“Kiss me again,” she says as I gaze into her eyes.
Damn. There’s something about her—
A pocket of turbulence shakes the plane out of nowhere, and several passengers gasp and cry out.
I forget about kissing as fear flickers over her face and she clutches her seat once again. “Was that normal?”
“Just turbulence. The pilot will probably take us higher to get out of it,” I say as the jarring continues.
Ding! The light to put on our seat belts comes on.
She closes her eyes, her voice high and reedy. “We’re going to crash, aren’t we? We’re going to die.”
“Hey.” I grab her hand and lace our fingers together, wanting to comfort her. “It’s going to be fine, I promise.”
She looks down at our hands in surprise just as another bump sends a passenger stumbling on his way back from the bathroom.
She turns green as she folds herself into my chest. I wrap my arms around her shoulders. “It’s okay, Rose.”
When I get scared, my throat gets dry, so I look around for a flight attendant to get her some water. However, they’ve disappeared, probably buckling themselves in. I unclip my seat belt even though I’m not supposed to and stand to dig a bottle of water from my backpack, hanging on to the overhead so I don’t fall. Once I find it, I quickly sit back down and hand it over to her.
“Thousands of planes take off and land every day,” I say as she turns the bottle up.
“You’re a musician, not an aerospace engineer.” Her voice is a bit snappy.
I get it—she’s terrified.
I understand that. I have my own hang-ups: I don’t let people close to me.
“I happen to not like flying either. I just hide it very well.” I take her hand again, intertwining our fingers.
She peeks over at me. “Really?”
I nod. “You know what else I’m scared of? Opening shower curtains in every single hotel I stay in. I’m convinced there’s going to be a knife-wielding psycho who looks like Dolly Parton waiting for me. Maybe it’s the giant boobs, maybe it’s the wig, but something about her scares me. Also, roaches with wings. I know I’m a grown man, but what if I try to kill the bugger and miss and then it comes back with all its friends at night and then crawls in my ear and messes with my brain?”
She smiles, just a hint. “Your imagination is limitless.”
“Don’t even get me started on zombies. I mean, what the hell is up with Americans and scary shows? Don’t they know that someday scientists are going to reanimate people, and then what are we going to do? Send those walking skeletons to Mars?”
“I love The Walking Dead,” she murmurs.
“You’re a zombie-lover, just perfect.”
“If we crash, let’s come back as zombies.”
“As long as we can be together, it’s on, love.” I raise a brow and watch as a slow blush starts at her neck and works its way up her face.
Something shifts between us, becoming softer and more intimate—even more so than the kiss. It feels fucking good. Relaxing for the first time in what seems like weeks of being on the road and doing shows, I lean my head back against the seat and stare at her, picking her features apart and trying to figure out which part I like the most.
Has to be the lips.
Or the red highlights in her hair.
No, it’s definitely the way she looks at me with her eyes up and her chin slightly down, as if she doesn’t quite know what to make of me.
“The turbulence stopped,” she says, her eyes brightening as she straightens in her seat and looks around the cabin.
I nod. “It stopped a few minutes ago while we were talking.”
“Thank you for distracting me.” She looks at the spider tattoo on my neck. “You have to tell me . . . how did you get a name like Spider?”
Her question sends me spinning in a whole new direction, careening toward darkness, but I push it back and focus on a happy memory. “It was my twin sister’s name for me. Believe it or not, my natural hair color is almost black, and when I was young, I was super skinny with long legs and arms, plus I loved to climb everything. I’d do this thing where I’d hide and jump out at her. Once I sat on the top shelf of her bedroom closet for two hours waiting for her to get home from a play date. She opened the door and—boom—I popped down and landed right at her feet.” I remember Cate’s angry face and how she chased me out of her room. “She said I looked like a spider. The next morning, she called me Spider to make me mad, but I liked it, and it just kinda stuck.” I pause, staring down at our hands. “She died when we were thirteen.”
Her face falls. “God, I’m so sorry. What happened?”
“It’s not something I talk about.”
She nods, her face earnest. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.”
I nod and look away. There’s no way in hell I can tell her the truth—that I’m the reason my sister is gone.
After talking about movies and books for almost two hours, Rose drifts off to sleep around hour three of the flight. I’m disappointed to not have her attention, but I know she’s tired from her late night and then being scared of flying. As for me, I’m antsy the closer we get to Dallas and my father. I need a hit of something . . . anything.
Heidi walks by a few times, her eyes eating me up like I’m her last meal. I mostly ignore her, except to order a double shot of tequila. She’s like the usual girls I see at shows . . . flirty and ready for anything. I fuck a lot of them. It’s what I do.
But Rose . . . she’s different.
Heidi returns with my drink and then leans down and whispers in my ear, “Wanna meet me in the bathroom at the back of the plane? You go in first, and I’ll follow.”
My gut says hell no, don’t do it, but my brain . . . it needs something to shut it up.
She straightens up and bats her lashes at me. “Five minutes?”
I flick my eyes down to Rose and pause for a second, but then I turn back to Heidi and give her a short nod.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m feeling warm from the alcohol, but I still haven’t left my seat.
Heidi walks by me again and sends me a lingering look. Fuck me, please, her eyes say.
I don’t want her, not really. I want oblivion, yes, but that’s different.
I want to stay right here with Rose.
And that’s a huge fucking mistake.
Rule #1: Don’t get your heart involved.
Why bother when people always leave anyway?
And with that thought in mind, I unbuckle and walk to the back.
I ease into the cramped, antiseptic-smelling bathroom and open the skull face on my sterling silver ring, revealing the white powder inside. I tap out a bump on the side of my hand and sniff it, the burn hitting me hard.
Yeah.
That’s it.
Mixed with the tequila . . . everything’s gonna be okay.
I hear the knock at the door and open it. She slithers in, smelling like a perfume counter at the mall and nothing like honey and vanilla. I don’t let our eyes meet, and I don’t kiss her on the mouth.
But something doesn’t feel right.
She must sense my hesitation because she unsnaps my jeans in a rush, whispering where to put my arms and legs to maximize the space. It only takes six minutes, tops, both of us reaching a new kind of high at thirty thousand feet. It fills my emptiness for a few moments, makes me forget there’s a nice girl out there sitting in the seat next to mine, and for a moment, I almost let her in.
I finish and walk out of the toilet. She follows.
I won’t recall her name. I never want to.