Page 135 of Paint the Town, Dove
“I’m not sick, let’s just get the bags.”
I watched as the boys moved up the steps to the jet, luggage in tow.
“Go any slower and it’s gon’ be Spring!” Donny joked, backpack bouncing as he climbed.
Polly threw her middle finger up, then waved shyly as Dean carefully picked up her luggage, then Zayla’s, without saying a word. “You got anything else, Ms. RealEstate?”
My eyes darted between the two.
What. Was. I. Seeing.
Was I seeing something?
No way.
“Just my purse, thanks Dean.” Polly grabbed Zayla by the arm, then linked arms with mine.
“Wait, I’ve got to get my bag –”
“Ryden already brought it up,” Dean responded. “Guy doesn’t have the patience if it burned him at the stake.”
The girls chuckled but I could only stare as Ryden made his ascent, patting Reggie (the pilot) on the back before ducking into the aircraft.
He was holding my bags.
Three days in a Christmas cabin, I thought, biting my lip.
Three days of temptation and torture.
***
We sat thigh to thigh, Derek, Donny and the girls booking boarding slots while Dean strummed his guitar, earbuds in.
“You can sit with them, you know?” I had a paperback in hand, as always. Reading was my church. I could escape this reality between the sentences, the paragraphs. No noise. Just little people, little worlds.
Happier stories.
“I’m fine right here,” Ryden responded, stretching out his long legs. “Cozy. Isolated.”
I swallowed, returning my eyes to the book.
“Was thinking of getting a few more tattoos,” he said, placing his hand on my thigh. I practically jumped. “Steady there, Dove. I wanted them on my fingers. Maybe the knuckles.”
I closed the book. “Those fade fast.”
“Well, in the meantime,” he smirked, dropping his voice, “they look good around a neck.”
What. The. Fuck. Ryden.
I crossed my legs, adjusted my turtleneck to conceal the blush creeping up my spine. “It was one time.”
“Is that what we agreed on?” He leaned away, admiring the ink on his skin. “I don’t remember you saying that when I was between your –”
“Shut up!” I clamped my hand over his lips. “That was a moment of weakness for both of us, and I can’t afford to lose my grip because of you.”
Slowly, I retreated. His expression was taut. “A moment of weakness,” he released. “Some moment.”
…Fuck.
