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“Rush, oh yes!”
“Now scream it,” I growled as I plunged in as deep as possible and pinched her clit, setting off an explosive climax in both of us.
“Fuck!” My eyes flew open, and I glanced around wildly. The plane. I’d fallen asleep.
My gaze dropped to my wet, sticky pants, and I groaned. “Son of a bitch.” Thankfully, there was a bedroom on the plane with a shower that was stocked with my clothes and toiletries.
After cleaning up, I checked the time and was relieved to see that we would be landing in less than an hour. My body heated, wanting Faith more with every minute that took me closer to her.
Tonight, I wouldn’t have to dream about it. It would be real.
Better be ready, blue eyes. You’re mine.
7
Rush
My driver was waiting for me when I came down the steps of the plane. I thanked Dean and Ginger, then jogged over to the car and hopped in. For the first time in over a month, I reached for my phone to check my messages. Eventually, not having cell service had just become part of the landscape. It mostly only bothered me when I was missing Faith so much it hurt.
But being back in my car, speeding toward Manhattan, my natural habits were already returning. I’d charged my phone on the plane but hadn’t turned it on. Holding down the button, I watched as the device came to life. Before I could do anything else, my text and call notifications blew up, bombarding the screen. By the time it was done, the little red notification indicated that I had more than a hundred and fifty messages and over thirty missed phone calls.
I scrolled through all of them looking for one name and not really seeing what the others were. But Faith wasn’t in the mix. Sighing, I went back to the oldest and began working my way forward.
My parents, Noah, and Caffery had called several times before I was able to get word to them about my situation. Many of the calls were business. I didn’t recognize some, but the five calls that had come in on the fourth and fifth of the month had stolen all of my attention. They were from Grace. She’d left a message the first time and one the second, which came in the next day, but not after the others.
I was suddenly terrified that something had happened to Faith, so I immediately tapped her number, but it went straight to voicemail. Then I tried again with the same result and growled in frustration. While I dialed into my voice messages, I opened my messenger app and saw a similar grouping as the phone calls. But just as Grace’s voicemail started, I spied her name in my texts. I had over a dozen from her.
“Hey, Rush, I just wanted to remind you about the party tomorrow. Don’t squander this golden opportunity I’ve given you, fireboy. Please let me know if you’re still coming.” Then she repeated the time and place before hanging up.
“Rush, I swear to all that is holy, if you don’t show up in the next two hours, I’m going to sick my husband and my dad on you. I’m disappointed. I didn’t take you for the kind of guy who would stand a girl up. Especially one as amazing as my sister.”
My jaw was hanging open when the call ended, and panic was creeping up my throat. She thought I’d stood Grace up? What the fuck?
I opened the text messages, and again, the first one started as a reminder of the details for the party. Then from there, they were increasingly upset until finally, she was raging at me for ruining her sister’s birthday and breaking her heart.
I tried Grace again, and when she didn’t answer, I called Faith, who didn’t pick up either. Why the hell weren’t they answering? And what the fuck happened to the message I’d sent Faith?
The messenger hadn’t been able to use my real email without giving the kid my password. So I’d given him instructions on how to set up a new account and then send it from there. I pulled up the inbox with the confirmation that the messenger sent to me and entered the password. The email to Faith was in my sent box, but there wasn't a read receipt. However, she’d probably been taught by her father to turn that feature off.
I clicked on it and groaned. If that kid weren’t all the way back in Greece, I would wring his neck. He’d sent the email in Greek. He wasn’t even from Greece. He was from Spain and worked with one of the relief organizations. Though he spoke the language decently, his writing skills were clearly lacking.
The worst part wasn’t that he’d sent it in Greek, though. He’d also paraphrased what I wrote, and it didn’t translate well. Especially if you used one of those online programs.
