Chapter 15
Rory
“It will fit. It fit on the way here, and it will fit again, trust me.”
“Ma’am, no it won’t. Regulations are different now because of the storm, and you’ll have to comply.”
First of all, I’m not old enough to be referred to as ma’am. Second of all, different in three days? What is with airline employees and their refusal to understand my simple demands? Nice to know the storm didn’t wash away anyone’s bad attitude.
And third, we’re going home. One minute I was kissing Colt in our hotel room, the next minute we’re at the airport checking bags. I’m completely out of sorts and feeling quite frazzled and trying real hard not to cry.
I don’t want to leave Colt.
There’s no way to pretend my heart isn’t hurting.
But picking a fight with the lady behind the counter seems to be a good place to start.
“I’m not checking this bag, so you’ll have to give me another option.” My upper lip begins to sweat and I’m starting to feel the onset of a panic attack fist around my throat. Why do panic attacks take away your ability to breathe, anyway? They should be kinder and take away the extra calories you ate for breakfast. Then maybe we’d all welcome them a little more.
As it stands, it’s getting hot in here and my throat has an opening about the size of a Starbucks coffee stirrer.
I clutch the canvas bag to my chest and count my heartbeats.
“There is no other option,” the lady says. “You’ll either have to check the bag or stay here.”
I feel like I’m in a movie, one where the heroine just lived out the worst few days of her life and she’s on the verge of getting a break but then doom befalls her again and the ominous music plays to usher in the final dreadful act. The tone is dark, written by some obscure indie musician who’s first big break is showcased in this awful film, but there’s a cute guy standing by working to redeem the mess the heroine is standing in. Except in my case, there’s no real music playing and Colt has gone off to the bathroom.
As usual, I’m all alone and this film will probably tank at the box office.
That’s when I notice the Musak coming from the speakers. That’s when Colt suddenly appears at my side again. And that’s when the real-life dreadful act starts. I feel a tear prick the corner of my left eye. My chin trembles against my will. This lady is not taking my bag. If it winds up under the plane, then I’ll be there clutching it for dear life.
“What’s going on?” Colt asks, sauntering up to stand beside me.
I look at him for sympathy, but all I get is a casual stare. “She says I have to check my bag.”
Colt looks at me. Really looks at me. And I brace myself for the inevitable wisecrack that will follow because I know I’m being a child but this bag is all I have left. It’s all I have of my past and if she takes it—
“How much for a seat?” Colt hasn’t taken his eyes off me so I’m not sure if he’s asking me or the lady in front of us. She’s the one with the answers and I don’t quite understand his question. He turns his gaze to her. “How much? Assuming there are still seats left, of course.”
She blinks as though waiting for the punch line. When one doesn’t come, she speaks. “You’re going to buy a seat for a backpack?”
“Yes, I’m going to buy a seat so that her backpack can be strapped into it with a seatbelt. That’s the problem, right? It’s too big for the overhead?”
She nods and looks at her computer, biting her lip in bewildered concentration. “The seats are going for over twelve hundred dollars, and there are only two seats left together anyway, so—”
“Then I’ll take both. Wherever she’s sitting now, move her so that she can sit next to her bag, then give away her vacant seat to someone else.”
Now I’m the one blinking. Twenty-four hundred dollars for me and my bag? He’s crazy. He’s lost his mind. He’s…
Handing over his debit card.
She swipes it.
He returns it to his wallet and walks away as she prints out two new boarding passes and hands them to me.
“Here you go. I hope you and your bag have a nice flight.”
I hear the sarcasm in her voice. I hear the condescension in her tone. But not one part of me cares.
My heart is racing and goosebumps are breaking out on my skin as I rush to catch up to Colt.
“Okay, why do you have so much money that you can just plunk down that kind of cash last minute? Who are you?”
That last question fell out of my mouth. Literally. One minute I wasn’t planning to ask because I’m still not sure who actually won our Christmas gift bet, and the next minute…oops. There it was. But I’m not the least bit sorry.
He turns to smile at me. Why is everyone hitting me with that sarcastic tone today? Can smiles have a tone? Because his totally does.
“Are you claiming that you won our bet? I don’t remember seeing any receipts. Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”
Okay, that tone right there. More sarcasm. But dang it if my blood isn’t pumping in all the wrong places and I’m suddenly hot in a completely different way.
I clear my throat. “I might show you mine if we weren’t standing in a public place, but I’m not one for indecent exposure.”
He raises an eyebrow. “I made a vow to myself never to make fun of you again. But allow me to say one last thing: I’ve already seen yours. And I enjoyed every second of it.”
He grins when I growl at him. “That was your last one. The next time you make a crack like that, I’ll punch you in the face. Now are you going to tell me or not?”
A shrug. “Or not. And please don’t punch me.”
With that, he walks away.
Why. Does this man. Keep deserting me. In airports.
I reach for his arm just as the loudspeaker announces it’s time to board his flight. My panic doubles. Why is my panic doubling? When Colt turns around, I see it.
The teasing expression is gone. His skin is slightly pale. His gaze darts everywhere until it settles on me. “They just called my flight.”
“Can you wait five minutes?” Please wait. Please wait. The words play through my mind like a record skipping through the middle of a song. This man. His eyes. His heart.
Him.
I don’t want this to be the last time I see him, but I don’t know what to do. It’s only been three days. It’s crazy to feel this way so soon. Right?
“I’m in first class. I’ve got to board.”
Why is he in first class? Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, ohmygosh what is happening here and why couldn’t it have happened sooner?
“Who are you? Tell me, Colt.”
For a second it seems we’re locked in silence.
Then Colt blinks.
Sighs.
The silence ends.
“My dad was the executive producer of the show you won. America’s Favorite Model. He’s Harold Ross. I’ve worked for him since I was old enough to have a job, first as a runner, then as an intern, then as an assistant; that’s where I met you. First at your audition, then at the after-party the night you won. I probably looked a little different then.” He rubs the back of his neck, scans the area for a moment before setting his gaze back on me. “He wasn’t easy to work for, and I got tired of being one of his clones. It’s why I left, to figure out what I want out of life…what I want to do with myself. I’m not sure I want to take over for him, I know I don’t want to live a life of entitlement. But now I’m going home to see what he wants. He’s not the nicest guy—a bit of a tyrant, actually. Probably will demand once again that I come work for him, but who knows. All I’m sure of is that something’s happened, and now I’m headed home to find out what it is.”
His words confuse me. Scare me a little, in fact. I’m centuries old and completely knotted together inside, outside, and all the other sides in between. None of this makes sense. Especially considering…
Nothing ever works out this easily for me. Still.
“I don’t understand.”
He gives me a look. “What’s not to understand? I said my father is Harold—”
“No, not that,” I interrupt, shaking my head, looking at the floor, the ceiling, at Colt. “It’s just that…maybe he’s going to tell you that the show just signed on with Netflix and is going national. Maybe he’s going to tell you that they were optioned for three years. I’m not sure about the working for him part, though.” I stare out the wall of windows to gather my thoughts, then look at him again. None of this makes sense, but all at once everything does. “I do know this because I’m headed there next week to interview for a spot as judge.”
Colt’s face goes slack.
It takes a few heartbeats and breaths to get him to speak.
“I don’t understand.”
I smile. It wobbles a bit. “Exactly what I said a second ago.”
He shakes his head to clear it. “He’s been on my back for years to work for him. He’s relentless when he wants something, but frankly I’m sick of being Harold Ross’s son. Too much pressure. Too much expectation.”
“Then don’t do it. Or do it, but make your own way. Make the job yours, on your terms.”
“How?” It’s a genuine question from a guy with family pressure building up around him. But he’s asking me, a girl with no family to speak of. Funny how each situation seems dire when you’re looking from the other side. I start to say as much, but turns out Colt has his own answers. “I guess I could tell him I want to work under someone else. Someone not him. I could learn to direct instead of produce. Or maybe learn the cameras, all the hands-on, behind the scenes parts of the show. The money’s good, that’s for sure. So maybe I could—”
I can’t help laughing. He’s so cute when he gets excited. “I’m pretty sure you’ll figure it out. Family pressure or not, your life is your life. Everyone has to make their own way eventually.” I grin at him. “But if this helps, I have a thing for cameramen. Just so you know.”
He raises an eyebrow. “What ‘thing’ for cameramen. More importantly, what specific camera man? What have you not told me? Who am I competing with?”
I laugh again. “Only with yourself. I just happen to think cameramen are hot.”
He tugs on the hem of my shirt to bring me closer. “Then starting today, I’m officially a camera man.”
I play with a button at his waist. “Don’t you think you should talk to your father first?”
“No. This is the new me, remember? Assertive. Take charge. I don’t give a crap what Harold Ross thinks. Or anyone else for that matter.”
I meet his gaze. “Turns out I have a thing for assertive too. But can I ask you something?”
“No,” he says. Then he grins. “I mean, yes. Just trying to be forceful.” His expression is playful, and frankly it’s pretty adorable. Harold Ross’s son. I remember him now, the night we met. He handed me a glass of champagne, then congratulated me on winning the show. I figured he was hitting on me and turned away. Knowing Colt like I do now, I was probably right. Still, I should have taken the glass and engaged him in conversation. If I had, maybe we would have found each other sooner.
I smile. We found each other now, and that’s all that matters.
“Can you pick me up at the airport? I land on January first at noon. And then if you could drive me to your dad’s office, that’d be great too.”
The loudspeaker rings with a second call for boarding, but this time I’m not as sad. Something tells me this isn’t the last time I’ll see Colt Ross. When I see his face change into one of amusement…of interest…I’m sure of it.
“That’s a bit presumptuous of you, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know, do you have other plans?”
He pulls me closer, and my heart gives a little flip. “Plans better than offering a free ride to a hot model who’s so desperate for my help?”
I scowl at him. “I’m not desperate, and I’m not—”
“Give it up, Rory. Own what you do, and be proud of it. You’ve made your own way. Not everyone can say that.”
He’s right, I have. From this point on, I’m Rory Gray. I model upscale clothing—and yes, sometimes upscale lingerie—for very successful designers that nearly every woman in America wishes they could afford. There’s no shame in it, at least not for me. Not anymore.
“You’re right. From now on I’ll own it. I’m a model, and I’m darn good at it.”
“On behalf of every man in America, let me say that I wholeheartedly agree with you.”
“Shut up, Colt.”
But I can’t stop the blush that sets fire to my face.
Are all models as bashful as me? Something tells me they’re not.
When Colt’s hands work their way to the base of my spine, I stop trying to figure it out. Has he always been this built? My gosh, his chest is like marble. Like the statue of David, and it’s all I can do not to run my hands over it. When the woman announces a final boarding call, I go ahead and feel up his pectoral muscles a little. I’m only human, even if he isn’t.
“I’ve got to go,” he says, “but I’ll pick you up on the first. Until then, I’ll text you.”
I make a mental note to rename him David the glorious in my phone and anchor myself to his arms.
“Okay.”
The word is final, but it isn’t. For a moment we stand there looking at each other. Goodbyes have never been my strong suit despite having to say them so often. Thank God a new hello is coming soon.
When he presses his mouth to mine, I want to blink the next week away like a genie making a wish. When he pulls me closer, I know I can endure the time apart, because I’ll have some really fun things to think about.
We stay that way for a few seconds, a slow kiss that builds and pulls and makes me desperate to keep going. It’s like I won the kiss lottery with Colt Ross, and I have a stack of quarters to keep playing. I want to keep playing, keep feeding them into the machine. I want his fingers to keep sliding up my back and his tongue to keep doing nice things to my mouth and his quickening breath to keep doing weird things to my pulse and—
“The gate will close in one minute. This is the final boarding call.”
I want that stupid woman to be sucked away in a freak Christmas hurricane.
He pulls away to kiss my forehead, then brings my chin up to look me in the eyes.
“Grab your phone. I’ll text you from the plane. And Rory?”
“What?”
“Next time I see you, that backpack better be upgraded. Leather at least. That sad, nylon thing is ridiculous.”
He points at me, and for one brief second I clutch the bag to me. But as I look at him, everything in me settles. I’m going to tell him everything about me, and I’m not afraid. For the first time in six years, I find myself actually looking forward to it.
He notices. His eyes light up on a smile.
And with one last wink at me…
Colt Ross is gone.