Zander looks at me with adoration from the edge of his bed. “You’re beautiful. Especially in the morning,” he says, kissing me on the forehead.
It’s such a sweet, intimate thing to do. It feels nice. It also feels a little wrong. Jake used to kiss me on the forehead every morning before he left for work. I shove the guilt away and scoot off the bed, ready to shower and get this show on the road. I’ll have to call Mom and give her the whole story before she sees it on the news or something. That should be a fun conversation. I haven’t devoted much thought to what everyone in my small world is going to think about me going to the gala as Zander’s date. I’m not entirely sure if I can even dissect that situation right now. It will have to wait. My mother won’t wait though. Telling her the things she needs to know will save me trouble, at least. She’ll tell those who need to know what they need to know and I won’t have to make a more than one awkward phone call.
***
I rifle through my bag for the best outfit, finally deciding on the last clean sundress I brought with me. As if I have any other alternative. I don’t have time to go shopping and just about every other option is either dirty or not suitable for this short trip back to Atlanta.
I pull the linen coral A-line dress over my head and smooth it down. It has an empire waist and a ‘50s kind of flare to it that has always made me feel a little Grace Kelly-ish when I wear it. The hem is scalloped and falls just below the knee, which makes my cork wedge sandals look even better paired together with the simple but elegant dress.
“Shit,” I mumble to my reflection when I realize that I didn’t bring my hair dryer since I knew I’d be staying in a motel that furnished one.
I see Zander come into view in the doorway of the bathroom. His blue eyes examine me head to toe, sending goosebumps spreading across my skin.
“Wow,” he mouths.
“Oh, stop it,” I shake my head, smiling bashfully down at my makeup bag as I zip it up. My makeup is done in my usual way. My perfume is sprayed in all the right places. My hair will just have to work this way. It will air dry and hang like a wall of brown down my back.
“Ready to get out of here?”
I take a deep breath, giving myself another look in the mirror. “Yep. Let’s burst some tabloid bubbles.”
Zander smiles, but I can tell that he’s tense over me being tossed into his world. It’s intimidating as all hell, but neither one of us needs a bunch of lies and bullshit being plastered everywhere. I’m no secret mistress. I’m no knocked up girlfriend. I’m not a transvestite prostitute. I’m Alexander McBride’s friend who will be his date tonight. At least, that’s the story the media will be spoon fed.
***
“I can officially check ‘fly on a private jet’ off my bucket list,” I say to Zander as we board the small aircraft. It’s small but opulent and impressive. It works to ratchet up my nervousness a little and I consider jumping back onto the tarmac to suck down one of my emergency cigarettes or at the very least, wash down one of my anxiety pills. I decide against both and try to focus on Zander. He sits across from me in the small cabin. I settle into the plush beige leather seat and buckle myself in. Zander doesn’t buckle in and it makes me feel like the newbie that I am. “The cool kids don’t use seatbelts?”
“Nah,” he waves his hand dismissively, “it’s a pretty short flight. I’ve been on this thing plenty of times.”
“I see,” I say as I lean over into the aisle and peek into the cockpit, where the pilot is doing all kinds of stuff with a million different switches and knobs and toggles. I grimace a little as my nerves run away with me.
“Hey. You ignoring me?” Zander taps my foot with his, drawing my attention back to him and I’m thankful for it.
“What if I am?” I jest.
“Well…I guess I’d do my best to get your attention,” he says seductively as he leans forward, prowling closer to me, his blue eyes smoldering.
“Nuh-uh. No way. This tin can is way too small,” I murmur, shaking my head and wagging my finger at him simultaneously.
Zander smiles a crooked grin and sits back in his seat. “Fine, but you can’t hold out forever,” he says with a devilish wink.
Fuck. He’s hot and sexy and charming and sweet. I swallow hard, doing my best to ignore the warm tingling that is growing between my legs.
“Okay. Time for more twenty questions,” he declares. I think it’s his way of keeping me distracted for the duration of this flight.
“Okay.” I nod. “You go first.”
“Will you ever try sculpting again?”