I grin when I hear his brother mutter, “Asshole.”
“He’s so spoiled. Just a few flights on a private plane and he’s a diva. ‘Where’s Patrice?’ ‘Bring me peanuts!’ ‘Somebody pull this stick out of my ass!’” Rogan mocks in his best, low-key Kurt impression. He seems gratified when I laugh. I know he likes it. He’s said as much.
A man who likes to see me smile and make me laugh. Was it ever possible that I woudn’t fall in love with him?
I think I know the answer to that. Falling for Rogan feels like it was as inevitable as the sun rising or the stars shining.
“So, is this your plane?” I ask.
“Nah. I don’t fly enough to justify one. It’s leased by the agency that represents me. I guess when you’re dumb enough to get in the ring with some of the world’s deadliest fighters in order to make them millions of dollars, they figure the least they can do is give me a comfortable flight.”
“The very least. And do they have someone on board to give you a foot massage, too?”
“Not this flight. I thought if there was any . . . massaging to be done . . .” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and I roll my eyes, even though my stomach does a flip at his insinuation.
“You’re not going to say something about the mile-high club, are you?”
“I wasn’t, but now that you brought it up, I’d love to fill you in on the, ahem, package.”
I smother a laugh, resisting the urge to look back over my shoulder and make sure Kurt isn’t listening.
“I’m sure your brother wouldn’t have anything to say about that at all.”
Rogan scowls, as though he’d forgotten about his brother that quickly. “Damn it.”
“I guess you’ll just have to be on your best behavior today. Just this once.”
Rogan huffs loudly. “Fine. I guess we can watch a movie.” Reaching for my hand, Rogan kisses my knuckles and then looks into my eyes. “You know, of all the informative little tidbits that I so pleasurably dug out of you over the last six weeks, there’s one thing I never asked. What’s your favorite movie?”
“How could you be so remiss?” I gasp in mock horror.
“I was too busy being smitten to think about movies.”
My pulse stutters, but I do my best to ignore it and act natural. “But not too busy to find out what kind of facial hair I prefer on a man?”
“Hey, that’s a legit question. Sometimes I get the urge to grow a goatee. I needed to know where you stand on the matter.”
“Why? It’s not like you were going to be around very long.”
A shadow passes over his face, a mirror of the one that has hovered over my heart all week. More inevitability.
Too many things are inevitable, it seems. Love, loss. Ecstasy, heartbreak. To have, to have not.
“Don’t say things like that. It’s like you’re not even giving us a chance.”
I’m surprised by the snap in his voice.
“It’s not that. It’s just . . .” I trail off, looking down to study my fingernails as I ponder which way to go with this conversation. We both know what’s happening, but maybe we don’t need to discuss it. Maybe we can just pretend. For a little while longer. I quickly decide not to mar what beauty might be left in our last hours and days together. I do my best to recover outwardly. I lean my head back against the plush leather seat back and turn on a bright smile for Rogan. “I’ll give us every possible chance.”
His face relaxes into its normal happy fa?ade. “Good. I didn’t want to have to kidnap you. Now, where was I?” Rogan brings his lips back to my fingers, kissing each fingertip before softly reminding, “Favorite movie?”
God, I wish I could stay in this bubble with him forever, with things exactly as they are right now. Just me in a confined space with Rogan and his wonderful smile, his tender touch.
“Judge Dredd,” I say, deadpan.
Rogan’s reaction is comical. His head jerks up and his face scrunches. “What?”