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Just as we start to move, his eyes open, a combination of fear and panic laced in those blue-green orbs, so I do the only thing I can think of to redirect his focus. I kiss him.
At first, he stills, completely shocked by the fact we’re lip-locked as we scream down the runway. But then, something else happens. He relaxes. And kisses me back, taking complete control. His lips are urgent, his tongue insistent as it sides against my lips, begging for entrance. A gasp slips from my lips, giving him complete access to my mouth. His tongue dives in, tasting and teasing me in the best way possible. My hand moves to his chest, gripping the smooth, silky tie, as he takes my mouth for the ride of its life.
A throat clears behind Samuel, breaking the fan-tabulous sex-fueled fantasy I find myself starring in. My lip-tango partner rips his lips from my own, his breathing labored as he tries to suck sweet oxygen into his lungs. “What the hell?” he whispers, his eyes glassy and unfocused as he glances around to catch his bearings.
“Damn, Sammy, if I’d have known you kiss like that, I’d have taken you flying way before now,” I gasp, my voice not quite sounding like my own.
He turns and sits like a statue in his seat, his discarded bag and the takeoff all forgotten. Instead, he looks completely shocked, a little beside himself, and definitely a lot kissable, his lips all swollen and wet. Just then, the flight attendants start their drink service, stopping at our row. I watch as we soar above the clouds, mere hours away from landing in Las Vegas. All the while, my mind races with the knowledge I kissed Samuel.
And like it.
A lot.
“Drinks?” the smiling attendant asks.
“Alcohol,” he answers. “Give me all the alcohol.”
***
“You’re here!” my best friend hollers as Samuel and I enter the hotel lobby. Harper is all smiles as she throws her arms around my neck and squeezes me tightly. Latham is behind her, his hand extended toward the man who will become his brother-in-law tomorrow evening.
“We’re here,” I tell her, returning the smile on her face.
“And you survived?” she asks her older brother, giving him a quick hug.
“Barely,” he mumbles, kissing her on the cheek.
“After a bad bout with the squirts and a few mid-flight shots of cheap vodka, we got ol’ Sammy here, safe and sound,” I add, loving how the tips of his ears turn fire engine red and his cheeks pink with mortification.
Harper and Latham seem to both choke. “Did you say…squirts?” she asks, her wide eyes full of humor and so many questions.
“Let’s pretend this entire conversation didn’t happen,” Samuel says, walking toward the desk to check in.
Harper places her arm over my shoulder as she guides me to follow behind her brother. “What the hell happened?” she whispers.
“Apparently, he has an issue with coconut.”
Harper’s eyes widen. “Shit, yes, he does. It makes him…ill.”
“Ill as in giving him the screaming shits about five minutes after it hits his gut.”
“No thanks to Freedom,” Samuel mumbles, handing his credit card over to the front desk.
“I didn’t know!” I reassure him. There’s no way I’d intentionally poison his belly with sweet coconut. The next line opens up and I move to the counter. I drop a bag on the floor as I try to juggle my big purse to retrieve my wallet.
“I’ll help,” Latham says, crouching down at my feet to pick up the dropped items.
I glance down just as he holds up the small box of condoms. “Planning on getting lucky in Vegas, Free?” he asks with a big grin on his face.
“Not me. Those are Sammy’s,” I announce in the middle of the hotel lobby.
Both Harper and Latham turn to look at the man beside me. He stutters and stumbles, and finally spits out, “Those aren’t mine!”
Before anyone can say anything further, Mary Ann comes into the lobby, her phone pressed to her ear. “There you are! I have the ticket agent on the phone. Who’s in for the David Copperfield show tonight? They have open tickets.”
“Definitely!” Harper exclaims without even consulting with Latham. But the smile on his face lets me know he doesn’t care. He’d go anywhere, as long as it’s with her.
“Me too,” I state, slipping my wallet back into my bag.
