Page 23 of Love Lessons
Two days later,when I actually see Vera dragging her suitcase out the front door of her building, I just start laughing.
“I really don’t see what’s funny,” she says, her voice a little frosty.
I hustle up to the door and grab the thing. “You wouldn’t, would you? How long is this trip again?”
“I won’t apologize for enjoying myself in Italy.”
“Me neither, honey. It’s just that my idea of a good time and yours don’t have a lot in common.”
“Shocker.” She crosses her arms across her perky tits. She’s wearing a denim skirt and a soft-looking top that hugs her in all the right places.
“It’s a good thing I ordered a big vehicle.” I point to the black Ford Explorer that’s turning the corner to stop at our curb.
The driver emerges to open the rear door. Vera hops off the curb and wrestles her suitcase toward him.
“Come on, now. I told you a woman doesn’t wrestle her own luggage on my watch.”
“I’d forgotten,” she says. “You’re willing to make fun of a girl for her luggage, so long as she doesn’t have to lift it.”
“I didn’t make fun of you. I just laughed. I was laughingwithyou.” As I say this, she runs back up the steps to her building and disappears inside, only to emerge again with two more bags.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I say before grabbing them from her.
“Zip it, Crikey.”
The driver looks a little nervous, like we might come to blows right there on the sidewalk. He opens the backdoor, and Vera allows him to help her inside, although she’d probably bite my head off if I did the same.
But it doesn’t matter. A few minutes later we are on our way to the Drake air terminal at Teterboro.
“You do have your passport, right?” I ask as the car accelerates on the highway. “Be a shame to bring everything you own except the one thing you can’t get to Italy without.”
“I’ve got it right here,” she says, yanking it out of her bag. “No need to wonder. I’ll bet you forgot three things. At least.”
I shrug because it really doesn’t matter to me.
But Vera must be pretty annoyed at me, because the ride is very quiet. Traffic behaves, and we reach the little airport—home base for all the private jets of the rich and famous—in no time.
“Wow,” whispers Vera after our security screening and check-in take exactly three minutes. Combined.
“Yeah, right? Sometimes I make fun of the things fancy people buy. But you will never hear me make fun of the way fancy people travel. Nobody made me throw out my water bottle or patted down my groin.”
“The way you talk, I think you’d enjoy that last thing,” she mutters.
“Only from you, countess.”
She flushes. God, I love that blush. Wish I could see more of it.
Instead, I steer all her bulky luggage—plus my own—to the unlucky porters whose problem it is now. “Thanks boys,” I say, tipping them with a twenty.
We are led outside to the tarmac by yet another uniformed airport employee. “Right up those steps, sir. Enjoy your flight.”
“Oh, we will,” Vera assures him. But she looks jittery.
Our friends are waiting for us onboard. There is a round of high fives and hugging before everyone returns to their seats. That’s when I realize that Vera and I are the only two single people on this trip. Everyone is coupled up. Even Charli’s teammate, Fiona—a late addition to the trip—has brought her girlfriend, Aly.
There are only two empty seats left on the ten-seater jet, and they are right beside each other, of course. In the back row, too. I hesitate before claiming one. “Aisle or window, countess?”
While I wait, she chews her lip, as if this is a major life decision.
