“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Alex. Sometimes shit is just on your side.”
I want to believe him, but things never work out like that for me. If I want something, I have to work for it. It’s never handed to me.
* * *
“Third phone I’ve owned in under a week, can you believe it?”
Regan stops peering out the window to shift her eyes my way. She drops them to the new cell in my hand before raising them to my face. Just as she was the hours prior to our take off, she’s extremely quiet. She didn’t even bat an eye when I paid for us to fly home first class. I don’t care about the unlimited drinks and fancy meal the airline clerk tried to sell us with. I just wanted Regan to be comfortable.
The dam sitting in her eyes the last two hours nearly breaks when I ask, “Are you okay?”
I know it’s corny, but those three little words seem more important to Regan than the ones I blurted out this morning. It’s our thing, our way of checking that the other is okay without overloading them with a trillion questions.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I think I’m coming down with something. I’m not feeling real good.” She unlatches her belt before scooting past me. “I might go splash some water on my face to see if it helps.”
“Okay. . .” I stop talking when she darts down the aisle like her ass is on fire.
Needing to squelch my instinct to take off after her, I use the plane’s Wi-Fi to log into my emails. As promised, Grayson printed, photographed, then emailed me the information he discovered this morning. I smile, confident Theresa won’t know what hit her when I arrive back on deck this afternoon. After a grilling by the top man in Grayson’s team, Jay came clean that Theresa was the facilitator of his campaign. She had intel on him, stuff he never wanted his brand new wife to find out about.
Although pissed he didn’t man up sooner, I am grateful it eventually happened. Without him and his confession, I’d still be worried about Regan’s safety. I’m still cautious; it’s just not as dire as it has been. I have eyes on Theresa, many of them, so she won’t make a single move without me knowing. Even though I’d like to see her face prosecution for what she did to Regan immediately, I know there is a long, drawn-out process that must occur before that can happen. If I can get her to step away from her position first, then the rest will come—eventually.
Not trusting my internet provider not to screw me over, I screenshot each document and save them to the photo album in my phone. Because Theresa has taken Isaac to court many times, it is a tediously long task—although not as long as Regan is taking in the bathroom.
Suddenly conscious I may have misread Regan’s bathroom trip as inspired by anguish rather than lust, I check the location of the first class stewardess. Upon spotting her station empty, my heart rate quickens. Between Grayson’s discovery, packing, then traveling to the airport in rush hour traffic, I’ve barely had a moment to put my hands on Regan. I should be ashamed to admit it’s killing me, even more so after what she went through this morning, but I’m not.
Furthermore, if I’ve learned anything the past week, it’s that Regan has no qualms telling me what she needs and how she needs it. Clearly, she needs me as much as I need her.
After unlatching my belt, I track the steps Regan took twenty minutes ago. I’m about to rack my knuckles on the gray door when it suddenly pops open. Spotting the stewardess making her way back down the aisle, I dash inside the tiny cubicle, locking the door behind me.
“That was close,” I growl under my breath, pretending I’m afraid of getting busted. It adds extra heat to the energy that forever bristles between us, taking it from a simmer to a full boil.
The little vein in Regan’s neck works overtime when I cup her jaw and lower my lips to hers. I’ve barely gotten in half a lick of her succulent mouth when she mutters, “I’m on my period.”
“Oh.”
My fingers fall from her hair when I take a step back. It’s an asshole move on my behalf, but understandable since I’ve never handled stuff like this before.
Regan screws up her face in apology. “Yeah, it’s why I’m a little off. The joys of womanhood.” She shrugs before adding on. “Sorry.”
“What have you got to be sorry about?” I prep my stomach when I take a step closer to her, fairly certain of how she’ll react to my next comment. “Our time doesn’t need to be wasted, though. Your mouth is still in working order, isn’t it?”
She socks me in the stomach as I anticipated before skirting past me and dashing out of the washroom. I wait a few seconds before taking off after her, more to hide my smile than my worry about being busted following her out.
I fucking love Regan’s feistiness, but since I’m treading in foreign waters, and she’s combatting a shit load of hormones, it will be best for me to downplay my happiness at the return of her sass.
* * *
The last half of our trip isn’t silent like the first half. Regan talks—a lot. I feel like I’m under the lights, being drilled left, right and center about my life before her. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear she is interrogating me. She wants to know where Maxx, my cat, was and why I didn’t introduce him to her when we were at The Manor, if The Manor is owned by my parents or do they rent it, and the birthdate of each member of my family.
She made an excuse that her last question was because she wants to add them to her planner to ensure she doesn’t miss their special day.
Our exchange is odd—a little sweet—but mainly odd.
* * *
“Are you sure you don’t want to come up?”
The purr of Regan’s words shock me. They are as deep as a pussy cat cuddling up to her owner and as sexual as a tigress in heat.
