Chapter 2
Wesley
My impatient gaze moves across the bustling terminal, hopping from corner to corner. I told Annaleigh to meet me right outside the sandwich place—the one with the little Amish servers in hairnets—the minute I landed. Well, I’ve been here forty minutes and she still isn’t here.
Instead, I’m surrounded by a mess of love drunk fools, dramatically reuniting with their friends, relatives and over-eager concubines with no regard for the comfort and safety of the more sedate members of the population just trying to make it to their destination without being stampeded to death. I glance at my cellphone for the time.
This is bullshit.
And the Christmas music pouring in through the echoey speakers is making my ears bleed. Dodging around a rowdy gathering of teen girls wearing puffy winter jackets and reindeer antlers, I barely come away with my life. I venture out of the building and—bloody hell—it's cold. My breath billows out in front of me, forming wisps of smoke as it mixes with the frigid air. I run a hand over the scattering of goosebumps blanketing my bare arm. Eager for a few paltry inches of reprieve, I pull on the edge of my short sleeve.
Useless.
Not even an hour since I landed and I’m so ready to get back to my life in San Francisco. I didn't miss this place one bit.
Much to my family's chagrin, I abandoned the state of Illinois five years ago in favor of sunny California. Not that I was there for the weather, really. I packed up my hoodies, my laptop and my whole life and moved to the west coast for that ever-elusive ‘big break’—that once-in-a-lifetime, touched by a goddamned angel opportunity to design software that shapes the world.
Except, the angel I’ve been waiting on doesn’t have feathery wings and wear a halo. What I’m in need of is an angel investor, some fat rich guy with lots of money who believes that my software is the ticket to even more money.
I should be in the Valley right now, trying to arrange meetings, working out the bugs in my code. Instead, I’m on my way to Reyfield, to drink apple cider and eat gingerbread cookies and pretend that all is well in my world. Jingle Fucking Bells!
Yeh, yeh. Heading to your hometown for Christmas is a long-standing, time-honored American tradition but I haven't been back to Reyfield for the Holidays since I left. Never saw any reason to. I'm not a fan of all the fanfare. Too much fuss and excitement and artificial cheer. Makes my skin crawl.
But this year is different.
Y’see—this year, everything changed.
My flannel-and-beanie-hat-loving sister shocked the hell out of us when she up and married her best friend's brother. It’s hard to imagine the messy, disorganized girl I grew up with as the wifely type but now, she's suddenly Suzy Homemaker, baking pies and having babies and throwing Christmas dinner parties. I don’t even know who she is anymore.
I think I liked her better when I thought she was a lesbian.
I don’t buy in to love and other social constructs. Because that shit always implodes, like dynamite in the underbelly of a crowded city. And I'm not willing to lose a limb—or a vital organ like my heart—just to try and convince myself that the delusion of happily-ever-after is real.
Same thing with Christmas. It confounds me to no end that perfectly logical, capable adults would willingly continue to be complicit in the propaganda of Christmas. That’s just dumb.
Yeh—I said it…Come at me, bruh!
Maybe I'm jaded. Maybe I've seen too much. Maybe I've still got scars from things that happened so long ago I shouldn't even be able to remember them.
Anyway, I have no intention of investing in the delusion of Christmas because Christmas punched me straight in the nose when I was just a skinny, little 10-year-old with knock-knees and high hopes.
My feet are planted firmly in reality. My sole focus is on getting my next app to market. That’s it.
Hefting the strap of my backpack onto my shoulder, I let my gaze travel over the crowd, searching for Annaleigh's long, messy bangs. But as my eyes move over the mob of shuffling bodies jovially ducking in and out of the airport terminal, they snag on a face that makes me do a double-take.
A mass of thick, glossy waves bounces around the face of a fairy. Full bow lips stained in the brightest shade of red. Sharp cheekbones riding high on smooth, brown sugar skin. Smiling almond-shaped eyes focused directly on me.
Something electric sputters in my chest.
She's moving toward me, pushing through the crowd with disarming grace. Awareness scatters topsy-turvy inside me, my body becoming a circuit board gone haywire. I clench my fists, determined to keep my damn wits as she approaches like something from out of a mirage.
And now she's standing in front of me, cheeks swollen from her grin, eyes glistening like amber stones. "You're Wesley." Her tone is playful, almost frisky. My skin tightens, the cold forgotten when her voice ignites a fire in the pit of my stomach.
My eyes go jaunting down her body. She's wearing an interesting, little outfit—a shimmery white blazer over a tiny gold curve-hugging dress covered in sequins, thick black pantyhose under the tall, fuck-me boots that run all the way up her long calves. She's got glitter and accessories adorning her ears and her wrists and her long slender throat.
All spangles and bangles.
Gorgeous and breathtaking.
My cock spasms and now, I’m even more annoyed. Who the fuck is this woman?
Her smile dims a fraction when she examines my rancid expression. A perfectly-groomed eyebrow inches up faintly. But she recovers quickly. She throws her shoulders back confidently and juts out her chin. "I'm Sanaya, Prescott’s administrative assistant." She extends her hand. "It's nice to meet you."
I glare down at her fingers, small and soft-looking, perfectly-manicured. I stomp my foot and growl. "Where's Annaleigh?"
Her pleasant demeanour crumbles completely. Feels like a small victory to me. She retracts her hand and plants a fist on her wide hip. "Annaleigh couldn’t make it,” she says flatly and tilts her head to the side. “You're stuck with me."
Well, this is just great!
I knew that coming out here was a bad idea. Murphy’s Law is in full effect. Shit is already starting to go off the rails. How easy would it be to just march right up to the airline counter, pay the ticket change fee and catch the red eye back to California tonight? I throw a pensive glance over my shoulder as I assess the feasibility of that course of action.
Turning my attention back to Sanaya, I run my fingers through my overlong hair. "No offense, lady, but I don't think that my being here is a good idea.” If Annaleigh—who's been harassing me for weeks to put my life on hold and come out here for Christmas—couldn't even come pick me up from the airport, I should probably just turn right around and go home. “I have more important things to do than sit around in front of a fireplace, singing Christmas carols and eating candied nuts—"
A pointy red fingernail stabs me right in the center of the chest. "Look asshole, before you start hatching escape plans in your head, take stock of this—your sister is, like, a million months pregnant, ready to pop any second now and she's dying to see you for some reason I can't quite work out. Anyway, I promised her that I'd deliver you to her doorstep and I'm a girl who keeps my promises. So, tell me—are we doing this the easy way or the hard way? Your choice."
I look down on the saucy woman planted fearlessly in front of me. She's tall enough (for a chick) but I tower over her. Yet she doesn't even flinch when I take a step closer and smirk blatantly at her threat. "What exactly does the hard way entail?"
She puffs up her chest and takes a step closer, too. The challenge in her expression is streaked with subtle notes of amusement. "Honestly, I'm not quite sure. But I'm creative and I think quick on my feet and I know you're not going to like what I come up with. So, don’t be a selfish jerk. Let's just get in the car and get on the road…And you get to keep your balls. Deal?"
The mirth in her voice tickles at my chest. I've always had a weakness for feisty women and this one has gumption in spades. I keep quiet for a while just to draw out the suspense, to see if she really is as badass as she seems. She holds my stare until I spit out, "Deal."
Satisfaction radiates from her eyes. She taps her heel, drawing my attention to her feet. "Good. Now, let’s get a move on. I'm just starting to realize that one night in these boots is gonna mean a lifetime of bunions." She spins toward the parking garage and marches that way, leaving me to follow after her. My eyes hook on the delicious sway of her hips.
Fuck—I'm in trouble.