Unwrapped (2 page)

“I will,” I grab my stuff, and back away. “Happy
holidays!”

I make it to the gate with seconds to spare, and
a whole new resolve to take up one of those trendy cardio ballet
classes when I get back to LA. If there’s even a place here for me
to get back to, but I’ll worry about that later. For now, I’m just
relieved I’ve made it on the flight.

“Thank you, thank you!” I practically hug the
hostess as she swipes my boarding pass and ushers me into the
boarding tunnel. It’s crammed full of people, but nobody’s moving,
so I take a chance to catch my breath and process the unexpected
encounter that’s still got me reeling.

Daniel.

Damn, but he looked good. Then again, he always
did. That was the problem. From the very first day Juliet brought
him by the coffee shop after class to introduce him, I knew I was
doomed. It wasn’t just his gorgeous caramel-colored eyes, or the
way he laughed, or how he always acted like he couldn’t wait to
talk to you. It was the way he looked at her: like she was a
precious gemstone, delicate and rare, and he’d do anything to
protect her.

Nobody has looked at me that way, and I doubt
they ever will. I’m not that girl: the girlfriend, the good one,
the kind they adore. I’m the ‘wild party ‘til two AM/wake up
forgetting where her pants are/ sneak out to avoid awkward
morning-after conversation’ girl. I’ve had some fun times for sure,
but no guy has ever showed up with chicken soup when I cancelled
our date, sick, or found a first edition copy of my favorite
childhood book just because I mentioned it that one time.

Most of the time, they never even remembered my
name.

I know, it’s the cardinal sin to lust after your
best friend’s boyfriend, and I swear, I did my best to stop. I
cleared out whenever he came around, I hooked up with any other guy
I could find, I told myself that I would get bored of Daniel’s
perfect gentleman routine in like, five seconds flat if, in some
alternate universe, he’d looked my way instead of Juliet’s.

It wasn’t like I had some epic crush. At least,
that’s what I kept telling myself. I just …
noticed
him, that’s all. I wondered what it would be
like, if the situation was reversed, and I had a man who loved me
that much, and treated me so well.

So when Juliet went back to Beachwood Bay six
months ago and fell headlong back in crazy, passionate love with
Emerson, her bad-boy ex, I couldn’t understand it. She was throwing
away the perfect man: hurting Daniel when he’d done nothing wrong
at all. Of course, I managed to stay mad at Juliet for about five
minutes, until I realized just how torn she was about the whole
situation—and how much she and Emerson clearly belonged together.
They have that epic, soul-mates, meant-to-be thing going on, and
poor Daniel was just an inevitable casualty of their
happily-ever-after. He even took it like a man, too: nobly bowing
out and wishing her the best once he realized there was no messing
with fate. How strong and decent is that?

Except strong and decent still winds up alone. I
feel a rush of sympathy, remembering the look on his face when I
brought up the wedding. Trust me to kick him when he’s down. He’s
probably still nursing a broken heart.

Or moved on to some other perfect, sweet,
nice girl. The kind who doesn’t hook up on the first date, and
bakes pie instead of using her oven as an underwear drawer …

The thought sends an unexpected pang of jealousy
through me, but I shake it off. The line is finally moving up
ahead, so I grab my bags, and slowly shuffle onto the plane.

“Excuse me, sorry, coming through!”

On board, it’s like a holiday apocalypse: every
man for himself. I manage to squeeze through to my row number, and
then try to hoist my bag up into the overhead lockers, struggling
to lift it above my head.

Oh boy. Maybe I shouldn’t have packed three
different pairs of pumps.

“I’ve got it.” Someone grabs the bag from behind
me and swings it up into the locker with zero effort. I turn just
as his shirt rides up, and I find myself staring at a set of taut,
chiseled abs, and the navy line of his underwear below.

Hello
!

“I guess you’re connecting through Atlanta
too.”

The familiar voice makes me snap my head up. It
can’t be!

But it is.

Daniel gives me an awkward smile, crammed up
against me in the narrow aisle. “Twenty-two B?”

I blink, my mind reeling from seeing him again.
And his abs …
“What?” I stutter.

“Your seat.” He nods behind me. “I’m twenty-two
A.”

“Oh. Right.” I take a step back, thrown by his
closeness, and immediately crash into the seat arm. I yelp, and
tumble back over the top, so I’m sprawled across the seats with my
legs in the air.

Oh. My. God.

Kill me now.

Daniel tries not to laugh. “Do you need a hand?”
he reaches to help me, but I quickly scramble to right myself,
sliding over and sitting in the window seat.

“I’m fine!” My cheeks burn. I buckle myself in
and pray there’s nothing else for me to trip on, bump into, or
otherwise humiliate myself over now.

“Lucky we made it, huh?” Daniel lifts his own
bag up into the overhead locker, his shirt riding up all over
again. “I was sure I’d miss the flight.”

Don’t look, don’t look, don’t—

Oh, who am I kidding? I sneak a glance,
relishing the pale golden band of skin on display, and the trail of
caramel hair leading lower …

Daniel turns back to me and slides into the
seat, his whole right side of his body pressing up against me in a
sudden rush of heat. “I, umm …” he gestures between us, and I
quickly lean away while he fishes out his belt, his hand
accidentally grazing my hip. He snatches it away like he’s been
burned, but I feel his touch spiral through me in a shock of
electricity.

“So …” Daniel swallows. “Do you know how long
this flight is?”

“About four hours,” I reply, and the thought of
spending the next four hours pressed up against him makes me feel
sick and giddy all at the same time.

“I guess we’ve got plenty of time to catch up.”
Daniel grins at me, that devastating smile that always reduced me
to putty. A flush spreads through my body, pure golden heat, and I
manage a vague murmur in response.

Dear Lord. This is going to be the best, and
worst flight of my entire life, all rolled into one.

***

Lacey Andrews.

That name hasn’t crossed my mind in months, and
now I can’t get away from her. First that awkward encounter in the
departures hall that sent me reeling, and now here she is: her lush
curves crammed just inches away from me, the side of her body
pressed up against mine, spelling pure torture for the next four
hours.

“Do you have enough space?” she asks, looking
uncomfortable to be stuck in such close quarters. “Sorry, these
seats are so small.”

“I’m fine.” I lie.

I grip my phone, pretending to scan through my
emails as the final passengers take their seats and the crew
prepares to depart. Lacey starts flipping through a magazine, so I
casually sneak a glance over, drinking in the sight of her.
Skin-tight dark jeans painted on her generous hips; a simple red
T-shirt fitted way too tight for comfort. Her hair is longer than
when I saw it last, and darker now too, falling with reddish tint
over a heart-shaped face and those laughing blue eyes—

Lacey looks up suddenly, and I snap my eyes
away, acting like I’m reading the most important email in the
world. But when I stare at my phone, all I see is the way she
looked when I bumped into her for the first time: breathless from
running, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright.

The sexiest thing you’ve ever seen.

And now we’re practically sharing breathing
space for the rest of the flight, with no way to ignore the lust
suddenly pulling at my body.
Fuck
! I clench
the armrest to keep from letting out a groan of frustration.

The engines power up, and we head down the
runway. I usually love this part, take-off, when the world suddenly
falls away and just like that, I’m airborne, but today, I can only
focus on one question, running around and around in my mind.

When did she get so damn hot?

That’s not exactly true
…
A little voice reminds me, and I have to admit, it’s
right. Lacey’s always been hot: a five-foot five whirlwind of crazy
adventures and bad decisions. I never understood why she and Juliet
were so close. Juliet was the model of sensible control, always
with a careful plan and a backup answer, but her roommate burned
through life—and boyfriends—like she never once thought of looking
before she leapt. More than once, I’d drop by their apartment to
find Lacey in the middle of some dramatic break-up or morning-after
crisis, the latest object of her affection slinking downstairs with
a sheepish expression—and a smile that made it clear whatever the
drama now, it had all been worth it.

But as much as I knew Lacey was cute on a
theoretical level, like all the case-law examples I drilled for law
school, it never sank in for real. I was in love with Juliet, and
that was more than enough for me. I had our lives planned out, we
both did. Marriage, moving up to be near my folks, a good job with
a big law firm … In five years, I knew exactly where I’d be: in a
house in the suburbs like the one I grew up in, on the partner
track, with Juliet at my side and maybe even a kid on the way.
Simple.

Until everything went to hell, and it turned I’d
never had Juliet’s heart at all, because she’d already given it to
someone else.

“I’m sorry,” Lacey speaks up suddenly, when
we’ve hit cruising altitude and everything is calm. “About bringing
up the wedding, before. I know it’s probably the last thing you
want to think about … And, I’ve done it all over again.” She looks
mortified. “I’m shutting up now,” she adds, “I promise, I won’t say
another word for the rest of the flight. Unless I need to get up to
use the bathroom,” she keeps babbling, as if she can’t stop. “But
then, I guess I can just use sign language or something …”

“It’s OK,” I laugh, taking pity on her. “Really,
it’s cool. I mean, is it weird that she’s marrying someone else
now? Yes. But, I wish them the best. I hope she’s happy.”

Lacey blinks, her blue eyes wide. “Really?
Because if I were in your shoes, I’d be at home making voodoo dolls
and like, cursing them to an eternity of impotence and explosive
diarrhea.”

I laugh. “Remind me to never break your heart,”
I joke.

Lacey looks away. “You wouldn’t,” she answers in
a small voice. “That’s the point. You’re a good guy.”

“Too good,” I note ruefully.

“What do you mean?” Lacey frowns.

“Oh, nothing,” I sigh. “It’s just … I was always
so good to her, you know?” I can’t believe I’m admitting this to
her, but there’s something about the warmth in her expression. I
can’t help it. “I did everything right,” I explain, “Everything I
was supposed to. I tried to treat her like a queen. And then she
goes and picks the asshole in the leather jacket.”

“He’s not an asshole,” Lacey objects. I raise my
eyebrows. “OK, so he can be kind of … prickly,” she agrees
diplomatically. “But, he really does love her.”

“It’s OK,” I tell her gently. “I know she’s your
best friend, you have to be on her side.”

She gives a little shrug. “I’m sorry she hurt
you, I really am.”

I pause, surprised. “Thank you,” I reply slowly.
“I won’t lie, it sucked, but, if it wasn’t meant to be …” I shrug.
“I don’t want to be with someone who doesn’t want to be with
me.”

Lacey looks at me, her face thoughtful. “So what
do you want?” she asks.

“You mean, in a woman?” I reply, thinking of
that dream life I always planned for. “I guess … a girl to come
home to every night, someone who’ll be a good wife, a great mother.
Someone sweet, and kind, and loyal.”

A good girl,
I add
silently.
Who’ll never break my heart.

Lacey goes silent. “Sounds like you’ve got it
all figured out,” she says finally. Her voice is quiet. “Anyway,
I’ll let you get back to your reading.”

She plugs headphones into her phone, and then
fixes them in her ears, turning her face away from me. I blink at
her sudden change of mood. Well, OK then.

I go back to my law briefs, but I can’t help
sneaking another sidelong glance at her; her gaze fixed on her
magazine. I wonder if I said something wrong, but I can’t for the
life of me figure out what.

I sigh. Add ‘easy to read’ to my dream woman.
Girls like Lacey are a mystery to me, so for the next few hours, I
bury myself in legal research and mind-numbing case files, until I
feel a slight nudge.

Lacey clears her throat. “Can I …?” She gestures
to get out of her seat.