Page 63 of For The Ring

“Mr Avery,” Bernice says. “How was your flight to Phoenix?”

“It was great, as always. That’s one of the reasons I’m calling, actually. I’m going to need a flight out of Phoenix into New York as soon as practicable.”

“New York. It’ll be hard to get intoJFKor LaGuardia at this hour. Can you do Teterboro?”

I want to ask Frankie if the smaller airport in New Jersey works for her, but she’s focused on her phone, tapping away, probably calling for a car. I allow my eyes to just take her in, from the wreck of a messy ponytail pushed off to the side now to the soft flush still painting the apples of her cheeks. It might be from sitting out in the unforgiving desert sun this afternoon, but I choose to believe she’s still feeling what I’m feeling, the hum of arousal still coursing through her veins. My shirt, which is now not tied up or tucked into her shorts, is actually longer than her shorts. It looks like maybe she just threw on the shirt afterleaving my bed, something to wear when we made breakfast in the kitchen tomorrow morning and let the eggs burn while I put her back up on the counter and make good on my promise from just a minute ago.

“Sir?” Bernice asks.

I clear my throat and, with it, the fantasy. “Teterboro is fine, but then I’ll need a car for one passenger back into Brooklyn.”

“For just you? Is it the usual address? Mr Vasquez’s residence?”

“No, no, I won’t be on the flight. It’ll be for a Ms Francesca Sullivan.”

“The same Ms Sullivan from the previous flight?”

“That’s the one. She’ll give the driver her address when she arrives.”

“Okay, it’ll be an hour or two, but as soon as I have this confirmed, I’ll get the flight information to you. It will be out of Phoenix Sky Harbor.”

“Perfect. Thanks, Bernice.”

“Thank you, Mr Avery. You have a good night.”

When I end the call, I turn back to her and she’s looking at me again.

“You’re not coming back?” she asks, and I can’t catch her tone. I don’t know if she’s disappointed or relieved or, maybe, somewhere in-between.

“No, it sounds like you’ve got enough on your plate. I’ll stick around, go to the boys’ game tomorrow and then maybe hop over toLA. I need to get my house on the market and pack up my stuff.”

It’s an excuse and not even a very good one. She knows it and so do I, but the relief is real when she lets it go and focuses on her phone. If what just happened between us here is going to stay here, there’s no way I can get on the plane with her. I need some space to get my head right.

“The Uber is two minutes away,” she says.

“I’ll walk you out.”

“No!” She nearly shouts it, and then shakes her head and says, softer this time, “No, that’s okay. I’ll be . . . it’s better if we . . . say goodbye here.”

“Okay then. I’ll see you back in New York,” I say, having no idea what else to do. Do I kiss her? Hug her? Just stand here feeling like a massive dick?

She sends me a tight smile and then grabs at the handle of her suitcase, but she misjudges it and sends the purse she’d balanced on top crashing to the floor.

“Crap.”

Bending down into a crouch, she sits in a squat to gather the scattered debris, her wallet, several tubes of make-up, a little emergency kit with Band-Aids and wipes and a stain stick and a couple of tampons. I reach down and grab it as she stands up.

“Here,” I say, holding it out to her and, when she takes it, her fingertips brush against mine, sending not just a shiver, but a lightning bolt of energy through me.

Fuck, I want her.

And now that I almost had her, I’m not sure that want is ever going to go away.

She makes to step back, but I circle her wrist, lightly. She could easily pull away from the bracelet of my fingers. She doesn’t, though, just stares at my hand and then looks up into my eyes. I can feel her pulse thrumming against my fingertips.

So I take a chance, just like I did back in Bozeman.

“Stay,” I rasp, so low, she doesn’t answer, and I wonder if she heard me. I open my mouth to say it again, but that’s when she pulls away, slowly, and shakes her head.

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