Page 1 of Passion

1

VERA

Just outside the threshold of the tiny, dark bar, the din of travelers passing by wrenched my heart. I threw back the stiff drink, chasing the three before it. I wasn’t supposed to be sitting alone in an airport bar watching news of an approaching hurricane. I was supposed to be boarding a flight with my soon-to-be fiancé, destined for Elbow Cay, a few hundred miles off the coast of Miami.

The room stank of unwashed bodies, travelers who had arrived from overseas after long flights. Unwashed and tired, they cluttered the small space. I was fortunate enough to have gotten a seat, but my flight was delayed for departure due to the weather. They assured us the flight would happen, but several flights headed directly south had been canceled. So, I waited it out, drowning my broken heart in vodka.

“Traveling alone?”

The man who sat beside me—straight-laced, dark hair, smoldering eyes—leaned toward me as he spoke. He was a handsome man but not my type—no facial hair. And besides, I was literally ready to board a plane for a trip that should have been a fantasy, dream-come-true proposal event. The thought drew tears to my eyes. The way Daven broke my heart was unforgivable.

“Oh, wow. I’m sorry.” The man winced and offered me a white paper napkin. I wiped my eyes with it and shrugged at him. Even if I told him the entire story, which would take ages, he wouldn’t believe me, and he was probably in this for a quick score for his Mile-High Club card or something. I gave him the short version.

“This was supposed to be a ‘honeymoon’ of sorts, and we broke up.” Daven didn’t deserve an ounce of my attention or emotional energy ever again, but here I was, bawling my eyes out to a stranger while waiting on the plane that was supposed to have carried us away from the world to connect. It was his problem that he wasn't ready to board with me.

“Fuck, that’s harsh.” The man picked up my empty glass and waved it at the bartender, who promptly headed our way. I shook my head.

“No, really. I shouldn’t.” I couldn’t accept a drink from him right now because I was vulnerable. He’d see that and think I was on the rebound, and I was definitely on the rebound, but not with a stranger in an airport.

He set the glass down and dropped a few crisp bills on the bar before standing and pushing his stool in. The wooden legs scraped across the worn wooden floor. He picked up his own glass and finished the drink off then sighed. “Hope you find what you’re looking for.”

As he walked away, I breathed a sigh of relief. It opened a stool for another man to take his place, and I turned my attention to the television. The bartender turned up the volume and the bar quieted slightly. A newscaster stood outside in the rain talking about the pending storm. His yellow coat blew in the slight breeze, an umbrella over his head protecting his obvious toupee from the precipitation. The camera shot was unsteady, wobbling at times with each gust of wind.

“And it looks like the path of the storm will take the western prediction that meteorologist Erin Drysdale predicted. This means Floridians on the West Coast could see as much as five inches of rain with winds up to 90 miles per hour and gusts up to over 110. Now this is still considered a category two storm, and authorities have not issued mandatory evacuations, but residents are urged to be cautious, take shelter, and make sure you have a backup power source like a generator.”

I rolled my eyes. Every person in the state right now was probably thinking the same thing as myself. Category two storms were nothing, just some blowing and thunder. It meant one day of my trip would be cloudy and the rest of the time would be fine, if maybe on the chilly side a bit. I turned back to my empty glass, now wishing I’d taken the man up on his offer. The first few drinks had kicked in, but my mood had soured considerably.

“Another, Miss?” the bartender asked, wiping a puddle of condensation from the bar and taking the previous guest’s glass. He was a younger man of about twenty, handsome, and too much like Daven for me to give him a second look.

I shook my head, deciding I didn’t want to be banned from boarding the flight for being overly drunk. I wasn’t sure they’d do that, but I wasn’t going to take any chances. We’d spent good money on this trip, and single or not, I wasn’t letting that go to waste.

“Where are you headed?” The bartender draped his towel over his shoulder and leaned on the bar, both hands planted firmly on either side of me. He gave me that big-brother feel, like he’d seen my type before and knew I needed a shoulder to cry on.

“Elbow Cay. Dumped my trash a few days ago and I’m hitting the beach.” I reached for my purse, hoping to fish out enough cash to pay for the drinks I’d downed. I knew I didn’t have much. I’d have to stop by an ATM if I intended to get snacks on the plane.

“Trash?”

“Well, that’s what you’d call someone who cheated on you and then fired you for figuring it out. Right?” I set my small clutch on the bar next to me and pulled out a few ones. It was all the cash I had left. Sighing, I slid my credit card out of my wallet and handed it to him. “Just add a tip on there. Twenty bucks or something.”

“Sure.” He walked away just as another man took the seat next to me. He smelled fresh, like he’d just walked out of the barber shop or something. I didn’t dare look at him, not as inebriated as I was. I knew me. Bad breakups meant throwing myself at the first available man in hopes of forgetting the pain, but not in an airport. Not like this.

“I couldn’t help but overhear your story.” His husky, gravelly voice curled around my senses, compelling me to look in his direction, but I refused, my eyes on the bartender who had my credit card. “Mind if I buy you a drink?”

He had that sort of voice that if he were singing, every woman in this bar would swoon. My ability to resist looking at him was slowly waning. I was too heartbroken to do this, but the alcohol screamed louder than the voice of reason. Why did I always do this?

I turned, immediately noticing his silver hair, loose and framing his amber eyes. The flecks of gold mesmerized me. He had to have been almost twice my age, but he exuded confidence and an air of sexual prowess I couldn’t deny. Not to mention the smolder—his presence tangled into my thoughts as if reading my mind and knowing exactly how to press every button I had in a way that made me his, and all he had to do was look at me.

“Uh, I think I’ve had enough drinks,” I muttered, barely able to form words. It wasn’t the alcohol, either. He was just that hot. His eyes sparkled as he drank me in. I was a total wreck. I’d been crying. My eyes were puffy. I wore an old gray hoodie with stains down the front and some yoga pants that had a tear in the knee. I probably looked like a homeless runaway who only had two dollars to her name and a laundry list of addictions.

It almost made me want to run away, this incredibly attractive man checking me out in my obviously disgusting state. At least I’d had the decency to brush my teeth that morning, though he’d only be able to smell the vodka on my breath, anyway. His designer jeans and Armani shirt screamed “money”, and I wanted to disappear from the face of the planet.

“How could anyone ever cheat on someone so gorgeous?” The man nodded at the bartender, who slid a Budweiser in front of him, and then he looked back at me. The look was compassionate, though the pickup line hit its mark. I felt myself being reeled in like a fish on a line.

I’d heard that at least a dozen times—that I was gorgeous. I was a model, so I knew I had looks, but the words never worked on me. I wasn’t the type to need a boost to my self-confidence in the form of compliments. I wanted a man who would know my soul and love me inside and out. A man who would be honest and faithful to me at all times. This guy was too gorgeous to do that. Men this hot were players.

I rolled my eyes, feeling my stomach churning, and turned my head away as I belched. How was that for first impressions? I was mortified. The bartender couldn’t give me my card fast enough. I didn’t even waste time putting it back into my purse. I slid off my seat and dashed out of the bar into the terminal, making a beeline straight for the toilets where I vomited at least two of the drinks I’d ingested.

How humiliating.

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