Haze (23 page)

I paused. "Can you actually fly a plane, Jack?"

He burst out laughing and broke character. "Hell, no. I just borrowed the hat from the pilot to throw you off. Worked pretty well, huh?"

"Oh, Jack." I pulled off his hat and stroked his hair, admiring his gorgeous features with both my fingers and my eyes.

We went inside and he closed everything up. I sat down on a leather couch and left my suitcase on the floor this time. It was the real deal inside—there was a TV, a couch and chairs, and a dining table with corresponding kitchenette. Jack disappeared up front and then returned without the hat.

"You're going to have to buckle up for take-off. Then do whatever the hell you want after that." I complied and followed him over to the seats.

"Where are we going, Jack? You still haven't said anything."

He leaned forward and kissed my cheek. "We're going to Los Angeles," he said proudly. "Welcome aboard my plane."

I sighed the best sort of sigh possible and prepared for takeoff.

Chapter 13

Sometimes I felt like life was just a blazing trip down one long highway, a godforsaken road that lacked speed limits and safety restrictions. The cars never needed to stop for refueling nor did they even stop
at all
most of the time. Unless your life was ending, your car never crashed either—a plus, I suppose.

A little less risky than physically driving.

You see, no good thing ever seemed to move slowly. It was as if you were in some stupid sports car that was speeding excessively, an obnoxious piece of machinery driven by some adrenaline junkie from hell. You spent most days sitting in the passenger seat, staring into nothingness, doing the same routine every minute of every hour as you desperately sought some sort of entertainment or escape.

That was hard work. You'd see so much of it, the same perpetually repeating things all the time. Well, unless you had one of those magic jobs that allowed you to travel all the time. But just because you
could
travel didn't mean that it was an unequivocally good thing. Constant traveling could easily damage families and personal relationships—and prevent new ones from ever happening at all.

Winding around the bend, you'd notice some incredible thing that you wanted to see up close. Finally, relief! Excitement!

"Can we stop?" Even though you shouted, your voice was like a meaningless whisper over the growling roar of the engine.

"Sorry.
Gotta go even faster now." The driver was always faceless and tactless. Zero interest in appeasing you with kind words or false promises. You couldn't reason with him because despite his apparent grasp of English, he didn't seem to understand anything. He didn't show any emotion or concern whatsoever as he pressed the gas pedal even harder.

Head pinned to the seat, you were fighting off pangs of motion sickness because hey, you were going
really fast
.

You craved those brilliant things just out of reach but then again, not so much that they were overwhelming and diluted. In that speeding car, you still needed some sort of balance—but no one wants to stop and assess the situation when things were great. Why would you?

When you found the good things, they were always over too soon. No one liked to think about tomorrow when today was the best possible thing it could be. When
todays
were like that, you could never get enough of them.

And the better they were—
better
meaning you lost track of time and only noticed when they were over—the more you realized you'd never have another day just like them. No two days could ever be the same, no matter how hard you tried. The world couldn't be controlled like that, no way.

Like everyone else on the planet, I liked a good time. I liked a
great time
even more. When I was strapping myself into that private jet's seat next to Jack, I realized that time spent with him had been my great time—and it
hadn't
been short lived, something that defied everything I knew.

It was day after day of physical and mental bliss, the sort of thing that made you ask,
Is this really happening to me?

Purposely distancing myself from Jack had just served to mask how I was really feeling, to take me out of the vulnerable position of being near him that instantly brought me to my knees. I didn't worry when I was around him, didn't over think everything I did and said. It made me vulnerable in the best possible way. I was genuinely living for the moment.

Sure, I had my job and all of that. And I wasn't about to blame Jesse or Laura or anyone else for my own indecision. Sometimes you latched onto whichever voice spoke to you first when you were craving advice. That didn't mean it was always the best advice or the best decision to make, but it also didn't mean it was the worst.

What kind of man jumped back into the picture with a surprise trip to California on a private jet, anyway? I think that's what you'd call a
keeper
. I hoped I was right. Timothy would have never done something like that, not now, not ever.

He also would never be as rich as Jack, but that was never the deal breaker for me. Although I appreciated it, Jack was far more than just his wealth. I would never be some gold digger, even if people assumed that about me for dating a rich, famous guy. Outward appearances could be deceiving; I learned that early on, thankfully.

By that point, the plane was taking off. It seemed to be a little more rough than take offs in larger planes—his plane was also much smaller and more personalized than a huge 747 full of random strangers—but I felt safe and secure next to Jack, even though our safety was totally in the pilot's hands.

"It's rough sometimes," Jack said, as if reading my mind. "Tim is really good, though. Don't worry."

Tim
, huh? I swallowed the lump in my throat after imagining
my Timothy
flying the plane.

Sorry, folks, but I hate you both, and so we're going to crash into a mountainside
in about ten seconds. Goodbye, cruel world!

Jack sensed my nervousness—he probably attributed it to the take off and not my morbid vision—and offered me his hand. I took it. Our fingers immediately locked and held that way. His firm touch brought my mind back to earth as the plane became airborne. I chuckled at that thought.

We sat there together in loud silence, the plane roaring as it battled the wind during its ascent. The sun looked breathtakingly gorgeous from outside the window, and the realization that we'd be following its setting the whole trip made me even happier.

When we reached our peak altitude, the plane evened out and the engines quieted to a comfortable level. Jack stood up and stretched. "No big deal, right?"

I smiled at him. "That was just fine. Ten minutes ago, I didn't know where I was going. And now I'm on a private jet with you." I suddenly noticed his aftershave, a refreshing scent that was just pure man. As usual, his hair was perfectly styled, the top three buttons on his button-down shirt unbuttoned.

"Let's go sit on the couch. I meant it when I said the seats were just for takeoff."

I laughed. "Okay. Whatever you say."

"Do you want something to drink?" His hand motioned toward a fully stocked bar. "I've got a cocktail how-to book if you try to stump me."

"You're never supposed to admit weakness, Jack!" I stood beside him, eyeing the colorful cover of the book he mentioned.

Become a pro bartender in just six short weeks!

Save money by drinking at home instead of going out!

Be the friend that everyone wants to know!

"Jesus, Jack. Is that book actually about cocktails? It sounds like a self-improvement book."

He gave me a smug look. "Eh, it just had the highest rating online. It's actually not from an infomercial. I expect it to help me get
drunk
, not get me a promotion."

I giggled some more and tossed it back down on the counter. "Whatever you say, Jack." I couldn't believe how quickly I had gone from turbulence in my life to this beautiful—every glance out the window could have been a separate, unique painting—serene spot in the sky.

"So are you going to place an order or what? I've got other customers to take care of." Jack impatiently tapped his finger on the counter, his eyes glancing at angry invisible customers.

"What, like the pilot? You don't let him
drink
, do you?" I pretended to be in line with the other non-existent folks.

Jack didn't say anything else and just shrugged. I guess he wasn't going to budge until I gave him my order.

"Okay, okay," I said. "Just give me a gin and tonic. Do you need me to find it in the book?"

He laughed. "Go sit down, Effie." He pointed at the soft microfiber couch as if I hadn't noticed it.

Not seeing the man for a short while made me appreciate his beauty even more. I was immediately feeling that white heat in my core, that lull that made me weak in the knees. God, he did have such a spell over me—he could make me submit to him by doing literally nothing.

I drifted over and sat down, turning my head so that I could see out the window. The skies went on endlessly, the clouds in perfect, puffy formations that resembled anything your mind could imagine. Nothing intimidating or scary about the view. I took a minute to appreciate my situation, to appreciate the world that I had stepped right back into as if I'd never left it at all.

"All right, two gin and tonics, ma'am." Jack handed one my way and I greedily snatched it from him.

"Sir, I only ordered one."
I gave him an incredulous look.

"Oh, yeah. This one's for
me
." He took a quick sip and then put it in the cup holder in the arm of the couch. "I didn't want to open any other bottles, so I copied your idea. I just restocked everything."

Jack sat down close to me, our sides and legs touching. I sipped my own drink and then put it into my matching drink holder. The fact that the couch was symmetrical in that regard pleased me. Although the ride had been smooth thus far, I didn't want to be forced to hold my drink through sudden turbulence.

"So is this private back here?" I asked, hoping to sound innocent. Even though I caught a glimpse of my own ulterior motive, I wasn't entirely sure what it was.

"For the most part. If the pilot ever had to leave the front, he'd buzz me through the intercom. He's not supposed to, though."

"So you've probably had some wild times up here, huh?" I started imagining the no limits possibilities that a rich rock star and his friends could have in a private jet.

"Yeah, but that's never something to be proud of. Or at least I was never proud of it. It was fun, but moving on was even more fun." He gave me a discomfited smile.

Curiosity got the best of me. Obviously, I didn't know anything about this sort of thing, but I had seen those shows about rock 'n' roll overindulgence on TV growing up. "What's the craziest thing you ever did up here?" He didn't respond immediately and I felt bad for asking. "I'm sorry, I'm getting carried away. I don't even know if you did crazy stuff up here."

That same weak smile returned, but this time, it bordered on something happier. "Well, I've only had
this plane
for a couple of years. But I was in a foursome once. We were all drunk as hell and barely remembered it. We were probably doing more than just alcohol, actually."

My jaw dropped. "
Foursome?
Was that like you and three girls or what?" I was actually amazed with myself for trying to dig out graphic details like these. Although I was sexual, it wasn't the norm for me to talk candidly about sex.

"Two guys, two girls. We traded girls." He talked as if he was recalling an immature high school senior prank or something. It was surprisingly matter-of-fact as well.

The thought of Jack and some other hot guy seemed to rub me in an unexpectedly good way. "Did you and the guy—"

"No," he said. His tone wasn't defensive. It was just like he was putting out a small fire before it spread any further and became a blaze.

Bummer,
I thought. I laughed at myself for going there at all. This was amusing.

"Oh." We both fell silent momentarily. "Was it
good
? Doing that, I mean?"

"Well, yeah," he admitted sheepishly. "It's hard work and kind of gimmicky, but I'm glad I got it out of my system when I was younger. It's not like
good sex
. It's like
sex
."

I looked at him with confusion. "I'm not entirely sure what that means."

"Like porn, I guess. You think that's
making love
or
fucking
? It's like using someone else's body to masturbate. I barely knew those girls. They crawled backstage and we brought them along..."

I chuckled awkwardly. "Okay, okay. I get it now."

"When you're with several people like that, you're just trying to make sure everyone gets off. There isn't that connection, even when you're one on one. Especially not when another couple is three feet away grunting and groaning. It's less hot than it sounds."