Chapter 7
Rory
I will never, ever, not in a million years or a million more if I happen to actually live that long, make another bet in my life. And I knew better. I’ve always known better. Like the time I tried to play the penny slots in Vegas and came away two hundred dollars poorer than when I walked in. Who loses two hundred dollars in penny slots? In half an hour?
Or the time I entered a modeling competition at age fifteen and felt great about myself… super pretty and ridiculously overconfident…until my ankle went sideways on the runway. I fell off the stage and caught myself against the knee of one of the judges. I swear the guy thought I was coming onto him. And he was at least fifty. Which made the whole situation that much worse.
There are so many more examples.
None of them will help me get over the gigantic stomach ache I’m currently dealing with. I can’t eat this much. I haven’t in years. What possessed me to say I could handle two burgers, large fries, and an even larger shake in one sitting? Pride, that’s what. All of which is going to suffer when I start hurling lunch all over Colt’s lap. The worst part is I didn’t eat more than one bite of his burger, and as for the milkshake…I think I’m lactose intolerant. My stomach churns and twists, but I force a smile into place. I’m a model; my pride is even bigger than my ego. It doesn’t help that Colt keeps stomping on it.
“I’ve never seen another human consume that much food in such a short amount of time.”
“Oh come on, that isn’t true.” I say, trying to appear much more at ease than I feel. Because I feel like I’m dying. Or maybe I’m already dead. If not, someone please kill me. “You ate as much as I did, if not more.”
“I’m twice your size, and you ate my hamburger.”
“I ate one bite.”
I glare at him—at his trim six foot physique—planning to give him an incredulous once-over for his silly comment. We’re almost the same height. But my eyes get stuck on his jeans. On the tight black tee that hugs his biceps and shows off the insane ridges lining his waist. The guy has to have a six-pack. Maybe an eight pack, if those even exist. My brain turns to a muddled mess when my gaze roams over his lips…over his chiseled jawline and the stubble that accents it. I have a thing for men with a five o’clock shadow. Colt wears his well. Extremely well. So well that—
I realize a second too late he’s staring at me.
“Something wrong?” He grins at me. Thank God he has the decency not to ask questions, because I know he just read my mind.
“You’re not…” My voice cracks, my mind races to remember what we were talking about. When I think I have it, I try again. “You’re hardly twice my size. Maybe a quarter, but not twice. Plus my stomach hurts. I never should have let you talk me into this.”
“A quarter is still a lot bigger than you. And I hardly talked you into it. The bet was your idea. But the way you practically attacked everything, no wonder your stomach—”
A crack of lightning splits the terminal in two and sends the lights flickering into a strobe-like affect. The floor shakes for a half-second and makes me feel queasy before everything sets to rights again. Colt looks at me and I look at him, and as he’s about to speak and hopefully give us some direction about what to do, a voice comes over the intercom.
“We need all passengers of all airlines to report to terminal D at this time. I repeat, we need all passengers to report to terminal D at this time. Further instructions will be given shortly.”
We wait for more, then glance at each other in confusion when nothing follows. No Just kidding. No Joke’s on you. No, How the heck is everyone going to fit inside the confines one terminal without being stacked one on top of the other?
Nothing happens.
Nothing at all.
“But we’re in terminal E,” Colt said, echoing my thoughts. “And I assume the trains aren’t working, so…”
I sigh, so exhausted already. “So we have a long walk ahead of us. Merry freaking Christmas.”
* * *
The good news is I make it without throwing up.
The bad news is bodies are everywhere.
The worse news is “instructions” were just handed out. The impossible news is what the instructions actually are.
“How are they going to shuttle all these people out of the airport?” I ask, staring at my hands, wondering how I got myself into this mess. The lady in charge just looked at me and Colt and assumed we were married. Who assumes something like that without asking? It’s rude. And embarrassing. And how the heck did I get stuck in this awful situation? And why didn’t Colt say anything to correct her?
Worse, why didn’t I?
“On buses, like they said,” Colt says. I look at him, wondering how he can possibly sound this calm considering what we were just told. Yet he’s standing there with hands shoved in his pockets like he hasn’t a care in the world. He needs to have cares. He needs to have a hundred of them. Like me.
“But we’re not married.” I say this like it matters. Clearly it doesn’t to anyone but me.
He shrugs. “We are now. So I suggest you grab your bag and walk with me to bus twelve, Wifey. Our shuttle awaits.”
My shoulders droop and my feet drag in protest, but I follow him. I have no other choice.
“You two are in room 323 on the top floor. You’ll be sharing a room with another couple, so it will be nice and cozy.”
Cozy?
We’re headed to a no-name motel in the middle of nowhere because the beachside hotels have been evacuated, and all the good hotels in the safety zone are already taken. This is our punishment for trying to fly during bad weather. And did I mention I still don’t have my suitcase? Or that we’re staying with another couple?
What couple? What if they’re crazy?
I’d hardly call this cozy.
That’s what the airline representative said as he shoved a paper in Colt’s hand and gave out hotel assignments. He looked straight at me when he spoke, so there was no mistaking that I was the other half of the you two thing. I don’t want to be the other half. But they’re closing the airport and it’s almost Christmas and I don’t want to be alone either.
Fa La freaking La.
I sigh. “Rory Ross. It has a weird ring to it.”
“It’s a bit of a tongue twister, so it’s okay with me if you want to keep your maiden name.” Colt looks at me and winks. “I’m progressive like that.”
Despite my plunging mood, that gets me to smile. “I wouldn’t have married you if you didn’t believe in women’s rights.”
“Oh, I don’t believe in those. I think you should stay in the kitchen and make me food all day, and after that give me sex anytime I want it. But the name sounds dumb. Don’t want you to embarrass me with it, you know?”
“Give you sex? What are you, a caveman?”
“Some women rather enjoy being dragged by the hair. You shouldn’t knock it until you let me try it.”
“Keep waiting and wishing, weirdo.” With a laugh, I kick him on the backside and let him lead me out the door. Despite the overhang, a barrage of rain and wind slaps me in the face. I yelp and shove my head against Colt’s back to protect myself from the elements.
His body shifts slightly, and I do my best to keep my forehead pressed into his shirt.
“What are you doing?” he says over his shoulder.
I look up for one second. “You’re my husband. The rain is cold. Take care of me.” My head goes back down, and his back shakes with laughter. I smile at the ground and keep in step with him. A few long minutes later, we’re loaded into the bus, sitting side by side in a seat with a rip down the middle, and headed God knows where.
“I wonder what hotel they’re taking us to.”
I lean back in my seat and try to ignore the flip and twist of nerves in my stomach.
“No idea. I guess we’ll find out soon.”