Chronicles of a Lincoln Park Fashionista (15 page)

I put my head in my hands, frustration now equaling the fear raging inside of me. “But I can’t. I can’t let you shoot me here.”

“What’s
wrong
with you?”

“Nothing,” I say, jerking my head up. Tears prick my eyes, and he begins to blur in front of me. “I don’t want to do this. I just don’t!”

Deke rakes both hands through his sun-highlighted hair and exhales sharply. He slowly rubs his hands over his face, and when he removes them, I see the conflict in his eyes.

And then I realize what a horrible spot my fear has put him in. Deke needs this footage for work. He could get into trouble if he doesn’t have it.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he says, standing up.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out, staring up at him. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I’ll do it. Give me the mic.”

Deke takes another long look at me. And whenever he does that, I feel like he can see into my soul.

“No. I’ll figure out a way around this. I’ll be back. Oh, and give me your boarding pass.”

I don’t even question him. I reach inside my tote bag and hand it to him, wondering if he’s going to make sure he’s seated twenty rows away from me. I know Deke has to be pissed. How can I do this to him? How can I ask him to risk his assignment because I’m afraid of flying?

I draw my knees up in my chair and rest my chin on top of them. I’m about to burst into tears. I hate myself. I hate myself for letting my phobia control my life like this.

Then I jerk my head up. Where did he go? I search the gate area, but he’s disappeared.

He’s left you
, I think.
Like any sane person would.

I try the breathing exercises again. But it’s kind of hard to focus on serenity and relaxation when you keep looking around the terminal for any signs of Deke.

After what seems like forever, I see him heading back toward me, carrying two bottles of water.

He hands one of them to me, which I gratefully take.

“Where did you go?” I ask, feeling weak.

“I had the gate agent seat us together,” Deke explains, unscrewing the cap of his bottle and taking a swig. I take the boarding pass from his hand, relieved that he’s not mad at me after all.

“Thanks,” I say.

“Then I went to get some water. This is the brand you like, right?”

Despite how awful I’m feeling, my heart floats a bit.

“Yeah,” I say, staring at the bottle. “Thank you.”

Suddenly the music cuts off overhead.

“Welcome to Premier Airlines Flight 1978, non-stop service to San Francisco,” the agent announces in a pleasant voice. “We’re now ready to board our Luxury Class cabin.”

Panic shoots through me as I watch passengers get up. I’m paralyzed with fear. This is it. I stare out the window at the gleaming silver jet, the one with the plum “Premier Airlines” letters on the side.

I could quite possibly die on this airplane.

“Avery? Avery, what’s wrong?” Deke asks, putting his hand on my arm.

“Nothing,” I gasp, fighting for air. “Nothing at all!”

“We’d like to continue boarding Flight 1978 to San Francisco . . .” the agent says.

Flight 1978
. That just sounds doomed, doesn’t it?

“Now boarding . . .”

Oh God. It’s time to get on the airplane.

Deke stands up, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. I remain rooted to my seat. My palms are practically dripping with sweat.

“Avery?” he asks, staring hard at me.

“Right,” I say, rising. But I begin to sway from dizziness, and Deke quickly rights me.

“Avery!” he says. “What the hell is wrong?”

“Nothing,” I snap defensively. “My . . . my blood sugar is just low. Let’s leave it at that.”

I pick up my purse and tote and begin moving down the jet way. Deke silently walks by my side, and I don’t have to even look at him to know he’s studying me with that thinking expression on his face.

We board the plane, and my chest is crushing me. The fear is throbbing now, like a continual drumbeat. I slowly make it to my seat, at the back of the airplane, and begin to shake as I sit next to the window.

I shove my tote bag and purse underneath the seat in front of me, kicking them into place with my foot. Then I glance out the window and immediately jerk my head away, not wanting to see the wing when it falls off the airplane.

“Oh my God,” he says, sinking down in the seat next to me as he’s just put all the pieces of a puzzle together. “You’re afraid of flying.”

I sit paralyzed in my seat. There is no way I can stare into those Caribbean Sea-colored eyes and lie. Deke would know it in a second if I tried.

And suddenly I’m overwhelmed. I’m about to burst into tears, so I just nod.

“Avery—”

“I’m . . . I’m a fraud,” I gasp between painful breaths. “This . . . this documentary is a joke! I work . . . for an airline . . . and . . .”

Suddenly Deke takes my head and pushes it down near my knees.

“Breathe,” he murmurs, his head next to my ear, his lips brushing against my hair. “Take a really deep breath, Avery.”

And as I breathe, I feel his hand stroking my hair.

“Did you know,” he says, his raspy-tinged voice soft against my ear, “that hundreds of thousands of people fly over the United States at any given time?”

Breathing instantly becomes easier as I let that thought wrap around my brain.

“Really?” I gasp.

“Uh-huh,” Deke says, his fingers slowly trailing through my hair. “And every pilot up in the cockpit is a highly-skilled, heavily-trained
professional
. You can’t say that about everyone next to you on the Dan Ryan Expressway, now can you?”

“No,” I admit.

“Take another breath, Avery. Then slowly exhale.”

I breathe in and exhale, the pain in my chest loosening its grip on me.

“Is that better?” he asks.

I slowly sit back up. “Yes.”

“Were you on a bad flight once?” he asks softly, studying me.

I nod. “Very turbulent.”

Deke nods in understanding. “It might help if you think of turbulence like this: when you drive your car, and you hit a pothole, you bump, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I admit.

“And sometimes you really hit it hard, jarring the car. But you don’t get scared, do you?”

“No,” I say honestly.

“Think of turbulence like that. It might rattle the plane, but it’s just a pothole in the sky.”

I feel some of the tension ease out of my body with his words. But as soon as the engines rev up, sheer panic floods me.

“I can’t do this,” I sputter.

“Avery—”

The flight attendants move down the aisles, going through safety procedures for the aircraft. I, of course, know them by heart because I’ve studied them for two weeks in preparation for my doomed flight today. I’ve also read a freakish number of articles on the best way to survive an airline crash, too.

“All those tips,” I babble, thinking of the stupid conquer your fear e-mail. “Those tips are full of total crap.”

“What tips?” Deke asks.

I notice the plane is turning now. Oh God, I want off. Man wasn’t meant to fly. It’s not natural. We’re supposed to be on the ground, not up in the air in this metal monstrosity.

“What tips? Tell me,” he asks in a matter-of-fact-tone. As if he’s oblivious to the fact that I’m freaking out next to him.

The captain now comes on and says we are getting in line for take-off.

Oh my God we’re about to take off.

“I’m supposed to read a book or magazine,” I spit, rattled. “Like that’s going to help.”

“Avery—”

“Or I’m supposed to focus on a pleasant thought to distract myself,” I say, talking over him. “Like that is going to make me forget that I’m traumatized about flying.”

The plane turns again. The engines are roaring now. There’s no going back.

“Oh my God,” I gasp, my hand instinctively gripping Deke’s on the armrest next to me. “I can’t do this. I want to get off. I—”

“
Avery!
”

I jerk my head to face him. And the next thing I know, Deke is pressing his lips against mine.

Chapter 16

Deke’s lips gently press against mine in an innocent kiss. I abruptly shift gears from sheer panic to total shock.

Deke kissed me.

He lifts his head up for a second. While I know the plane is lifting up into the air, I also know I miss the feeling of his warm, soft lips against mine. My eyes instinctively flutter open, wanting more than a sweet kiss from him.

“Deacon,” I whisper without thinking.

And then his mouth is back on mine. But this time, he eases mine open in a searching kiss. Deke’s mouth is exploring mine in a sexy, sensual way. And his kiss is very, very
hot
. Suddenly I’m lost in a warm, dizzying feeling that is sweeping me from head to toe.

My body is now hyper-aware of every sensation I’m feeling. I feel Deke’s stubble lightly scratch against my face as he kisses me. I smell the same citrus cologne he wore on the night we danced to Sinatra in Lincoln Park on his skin. His hand has made its way to the back of my head, cradling it, his fingers tangling in my hair in a way that gives me goose bumps.

Deke’s kiss intensifies, and my pulse races in response. Shit, where did he learn to kiss like this? I instinctively move closer to him, wanting more,
needing
more of him. I’m pressed up against the armrest, which is keeping me from getting any closer. I put my hand on his crisp white cotton shirt, content to feel his chest through the fabric as I eagerly kiss him back.

Deke’s chest is hard and solid underneath the fabric of his dress shirt. Now that I know what that feels like, I move my hand up to his hair to continue my exploration of him. It’s silky and soft and slides right through my fin—

Suddenly he breaks the kiss. My eyes blink open in surprise, and I breathlessly look back at him, wondering why he stopped. Deke pauses, takes a breath of air, and then smiles at me.

“You’re flying,” he says simply.

“Huh?” I ask, confused. My brain hasn’t shifted gears to conversation.

Because I still want to be kissing him.

Deke nods toward the window next to me.

“Take a look, Avery. You’re flying.”

I turn and glance out of the window. And to my shock, I see the sun shining and big, puffy clouds around us.

“I’m really
flying
?” I ask, stunned. I gaze out the window, hardly believing that we’re really airborne. To my total surprise, I don’t feel panicked. I’m not nauseated or sweating or about to pass out in fear. I’m actually flying, and I’m okay, much to my astonishment.

“Yeah, you are,” Deke says quietly.

I turn and look at him in amazement. Then he clears his throat.

“Sorry about the kiss, Avery,” he says softly.

My heart instantly stops beating. “Sorry?”

Deke rakes a hand through his hair. “I . . . I thought it might be a way to distract you on takeoff. I apologize for being so forward. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

I stare at him, my brain slowly comprehending what it doesn’t want to comprehend.

This kiss was nothing more than a
distraction
. My heart drops all the way to my stomach, landing with a hard thud that feels like someone just punched me.

Deke didn’t kiss me because he wanted to. He kissed me as a way to get my mind refocused so I could fly to San Francisco. And while this kiss meant everything to me, it was simply an acting job for Deke.

It meant nothing to him.

He only kissed me so he could do his job.

Suddenly I want to cry.
Do not cry
, I will myself, drawing in a deep breath of air. That is what a sixteen-year-old-girl does after a boy kisses her and never calls. This isn’t what a grown-up, career woman does when the man kisses her and doesn’t really mean it. I need to be cool. Calm. Act as if I don’t care.

“Avery?” Deke asks, concern in his voice. “Can you please forgive me?”

I force myself to meet his eyes. “Right. A distraction,” I say slowly, forcing myself to hear the words again. “Of course. That makes perfect sense. After all, Isabel might be really upset if that was actually for
real
.”

Deke’s facial expression completely changes. If I didn’t know better, he appears pained by my words. But how can that be? Deke’s the one seeing Isabel. He’s the one who has called this kiss a distraction.

“Right,” Deke says softly, shifting his eyes to the seatback in front of him.

Alrighty then. Now that we’ve got the reason for the kiss all squared away, there is nothing but a painful, awkward silence between us. I put my hand on my forehead, as I’m suddenly exhausted by the range of emotions I’ve just experienced within the past hour.

“You okay?” he asks.

I don’t even glance at him, as the truth of the kiss is still too hurtful and embarrassing for me to deal with. “I just feel tired,” I say honestly.

“Do you want some Advil?” Deke asks, sliding out his backpack from underneath the seat in front of him. “Benadryl will knock you out if you want to sleep for a couple of hours.”

I watch as he takes out multiple packs of medications from his backpack.

“Why do you have all of that?” I ask, honestly wanting to know.

“When you travel a lot, you want to be prepared for anything,” Deke explains. “So do you want something?”

Suddenly I decide sleep is an extremely appealing idea. I won’t be aware of reality while I’m sleeping, which right now, is the most ideal state to exist in.

I pick up the Benadryl and take out my bottled water. I grab some pills, swallow some water, and then turn toward the window, resting my head on the seatback away from Deke, and close my eyes to hopefully fall asleep.

Mmmm. I wake up in the morning, all tangled in high-thread count white sheets, with Deke next to me in bed. We’ve made love the night before, and it was the most passionate sex I’ve ever had. Deke is the first guy I’ve slept with who actually gets the concept of foreplay, and it was more than hot.

Deke is getting up out of bed, and I watch him move. He’s DDG naked, by the way. I grin as I watch him slip into the hotel robe and walk over to the in-room coffee maker.

“Avery?” he asks.

“Mmmmm?” I murmur, still wanting to cocoon in this delicious hotel bed. Just a few minutes ago I was snuggling with my head on his sculpted chest, before he got up.

“Avery, wake up. We’ve landed.”

I groggily come out of my sleep and lift one eyelid open. I’m on an airplane, not in a luxurious hotel bed. My head is on Deke’s chest, but we haven’t made love in a hotel room.

I instantly jerk up. Oh my God, I’ve just had a
sex dream
while I was sleeping on his chest? And I’m notorious for talking in my sleep.

Shit. Shit.
Shit!

“Um, did I say anything?” I ask, praying I didn’t.

Deke grins at me. “What would you say in your sleep?”

I feel my face turn red. “I don’t know.”

I look away from him, praying I kept my mouth shut, and watch as everyone stands up and removes bags out of overhead bins. Oh please, oh please, oh please, let this have been a silent dream. I’ll die if I said something sexual to him in my sleep. I’ll absolutely die.

“You didn’t say anything,” Deke says. “You ‘mmmm’d a couple of times, but that was all. And you slept through dinner service and landing.”

I breathe a sigh of relief.
Thank God
, I think.

But then I see his shirt, and I notice that I’ve left behind a big drool spot and a swipe of my pink Chanel lip-gloss.

“Oh, crap,” I say. “Your shirt.”

He glances down at the stain and drool spot and then looks back at me, lifting an eyebrow. My face starts flaming with embarrassment all over again.

“Hmmm. I never thought you’d be a drooler, Fashionista.”

“I’m not,” I exclaim, mortified. “I . . . I must have been really tired, that’s all.”

“Of course,” Deke says, grinning at me as he stands up.

“I’m sorry. I’ll pay to have it dry cleaned,” I say quickly.

“Nah. I might keep it as proof that you do drool.”

“Deacon,” I say, exasperated. “I really don’t drool.”

Except when I’m having a sexual dream about you
, I add to myself. Then it hits me. Oh, shit. Even in my sleep, I’m drooling over Deke Ryan.

And yet he’s not interested in me at all.

I mull that thought over in my head as we wait for our turn to leave the aircraft. As we grab our bags and head off the airplane and into the San Francisco Airport, the significance of the moment hits me.

I’ve actually flown somewhere.

Despite how afraid I was, I sat on that airplane and didn’t get off. Okay, so being distracted by a kiss certainly helped, but I did it. I’m actually in San Francisco.

I stop dead in my tracks, taking in the sights and sounds around me. And I burst out laughing in complete joy.

Deke stops walking and stares at me. “Avery?”

“Isn’t this fantastic?” I declare, energy surging through me. “I’m in San Francisco. I’ve
flown
somewhere.”

“You did,” he says, smiling at me. “You’re really brave.”

I furrow my brow. “I wouldn’t say I’m brave. Millions of people fly every day.”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” he says as we head to baggage claim. “You conquered a fear tonight. Flying isn’t easy for you. You didn’t have to do it. But you dug deep inside yourself, faced your fear head on, and did it. Sometimes people never get over a fear, but you were determined to do it, despite how awful it made you feel. And that’s why I’m proud of you.”

My throat grows thick from Deke’s words. I swallow hard before speaking. “I couldn’t have done this without your help.”

“Nah, you still would have done it,” he insists.

“That’s not true. You helped me face my fear tonight. Thank you for that. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

Deke looks at me as we get on an escalator to go down to baggage claim. “Maybe someday you’ll help me face a fear of my own,” he says quietly, staring into my eyes.

Once again, a million questions flip through my head with that mysterious comment, but I know him well enough to leave it alone. For now.

We reach the carousels and wait for our bags. Then we go get the SUV he’s rented and as soon as I’ve strapped the seatbelt around me, I realize I’m in
California
. On the coast. In San Francisco.

“I want to see everything,” I blurt out in excitement as Deke backs out of the parking space.

“Well, maybe after your meetings you’ll have some time to sightsee,” he says as he heads out of the parking lot. “And there’s a lot to see. San Francisco is actually one of my favorite cities in the world, to be honest.”

I nod excitedly. “I wish I could start tonight. But I guess I’ll just settle for room service and bed so I’m ready to go tomorrow morning.”

“Are you hungry?” Deke asks.

“Starving,” I admit, just realizing it. “What did I miss for dinner?”

“Steak, Cornish game hen, or lobster.”

Damn. I love all of those. “Was it good?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I passed.”

“You passed up dinner?” I ask, incredulous. “Why? Premier Airlines is supposed to have excellent food. Or cuisine, as we say in Marketing.”

“I didn’t want to wake you up,” Deke says softly.

Okay, despite the fact that he’s made it clear he has no romantic interest in me, my heart melts from those words.

“Besides,” he says, continuing, “I can just order room service at the Fairmont when we get in.”

I nod and turn my attention back to the road. I gaze at the city that looms ahead, and a feeling of excitement sweeps over me. I’m practically breathless with anticipation as we enter San Francisco. My head is swiveling around as I take in all of the buildings. I keep throwing questions at Deke as if he’s my tour guide. Luckily for me, he doesn’t mind answering them.

Finally he drives us up toward Nob Hill, and I’m amazed by how steep the streets actually are. I watch a cable car pass by and I cry out in delight.

“I have to ride one of those,” I say happily.

Deke grins at me. “I’ll shoot you riding a cable car tomorrow after your meetings, how does that sound?”

“Excellent,” I say, smiling at him. But then my smile stops as I see the Fairmont Hotel straight ahead.

Oh, wow, it’s beyond beautiful. The hotel majestically sits atop Nob Hill, looking regal and elegant. And I instantly wonder how many stories this old building has to tell. I honestly can’t speak, as I’m so awestruck that I’m going to be staying here.

He directs the car up to the valet and my door is opened for me. I’m vaguely aware that Deke is talking to a bellhop about our bags, because I’m drawn like a magnet to go inside the hotel and check it out.

A doorman opens the lobby door for me, and I go inside. I stand still, my jaw dropping as I glance around. Oh. My. God. It’s the most beautiful lobby I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s opulent and lush and I want to go explore the rest of the hotel.

“Are you ready to check in?” Deke asks, snapping me from my thoughts.

I nod as I follow him over to the check-in desk. “This hotel is
gorgeous
.”

“You’ll have to check out the rooftop garden before you leave,” he says as we approach the desk. “You’d really like that.”

I add that to my list of things to see. Which, since I’ve landed, has grown to about 346 things.

We check in and I note that Deke is on the sixth floor while I’m on the fifth, and our bags will be brought up shortly. We go over to the elevators, and I watch as Deke punches the button.

“Well, I guess I’ll unpack and order something to eat,” I say as we step inside an empty elevator. “I’ll call you tomorrow when I get up so you can do some shooting before the meetings start.”