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While I kept trying to deny my disappointment, I knew I was. I almost felt ... crushed.
Ugh, I gave myself a mental shake.
Snap out of it. You’ve only known the guy for about a day. Altogether, only a handful of hours. And there was something darn suspicious about a man who didn’t have a visible or easily findable social media presence.
Okay, so I’d spent some time stalking Scotty online. Or at least attempting to stalk him. It was a matter of safety, really. A girl’s got to know what she’s dealing with. He could be a serial killer. Not that I thought he’d list that on his profile, but...
Anyway, a lot could be inferred about guys from the photos they posted — what kind of friends they had, what type of activities they were into, and what places they visited all painted a picture. Any photos that contained women could give good insight. My intricate method of discernment boiled down to this: pictures with mom — good, pictures with strippers — bad.
This method of judging a man was not foolproof (hence the history of bad decisions my mother had mentioned), but that didn’t stop my overwhelming need to find pictures of my fake boyfriend to drool over.
This wasn’t my first social media stalking rodeo; I knew to begin with Instagram. There were so many Scottys or Scott Stewarts that I couldn’t believe it. I’d even looked up Scotland Stewarts, just in case. Jeezus, there were so many. Just when I thought I got to the bottom of the list after scrolling for pages, a whole new set of Scottys appeared. It took over an hour to check out all the accounts that I couldn’t discard right away based on the profile picture.
I was reasonably sure Scotty wasn’t on Instagram. Next up was Facebook. Everyone had a Facebook account to keep in touch with their parents and older relatives, right? Well, hundreds of Scotty Stewarts did, that’s for sure.
I couldn’t find any accounts with a profile picture of my Scotty McHottie to verify it was him, but I found way too many of their accounts with the default featureless gray blob or profile pictures of dogs or such that I couldn’t rule out. It took hours of my time going down that rabbit hole trying to hit pay dirt without any luck.
When I was surfing LinkedIn, I knew I was getting desperate. I wasn’t sure if rock band roadies had LinkedIn profiles, but I checked. After hours of fruitless searching, I gave up in defeat. Either he wasn’t on social media or he was super low-key about it, and either option was suspect. He must have something to hide.
So, it was just as well that he didn’t show up. I would be just fine on this trip without him. Better even.
There was no doubt about it: Scotty was a bad idea. I’m not even sure why I agreed to let him come in the first place. Yet another bad decision. I did it for Mom, but let’s face it, if Scotty wasn’t a hottie, I would have kicked him to the curb. I was deeply mired in a self-imposed dry spell and Scotty was just the type of guy that could push me over the edge and make me break the promise I made to myself. I’d be making the same mistakes I always made — falling into the pattern. He was trouble. My kind of trouble. Which made it worse.
The flight attendants were walking down the aisles and closing all the overhead bins. I grabbed my backpack and yanked open the zipper of the front pocket. I dug through the random assortment of junk stuffed inside until I found a stick of gum and my AirPods.
This was a three-hour flight. I still didn’t want to confess my sins to my mother right before her surgery, so that was plenty of time to think of an excuse to tell my parents why I was solo this weekend.
My head was buried between my legs, trying to stuff my bloated backpack under my seat, when I heard his voice.
His rich baritone dripping with that sexy accent sounded like pure silky seduction. “Excuse me, lass. But I believe you’re in my seat.”
I whipped my head up so fast that I was momentarily dizzy. I blame that for the way his name slipped from my lips, all breathless and throaty.
The sight of him had my brain cells scrambling and my heart racing. He looked so good. His clothes weren’t a designer label or even a discernable brand, but they fit so perfectly on him, showcasing the incredibly fit body beneath. He wore a plain gray henley long-sleeved shirt that highlighted his broad chest, the muscles in his arms, and the outline of his defined pecs. He was dressed more casually today, more like when I’d met him on the sidewalk, in jeans with a baseball cap on his head and scruff on his face. My eyes were mere inches from his crotch and my mouth was watering, imagining his body without any clothes obstructing my perusal.
The faint smirk on his face told me he knew exactly where my mind was going, but I didn’t have time to set him straight — even though he was right.
A beautiful flight attendant, with perfect porcelain skin, bright red lips, and her hair pulled up in a professional yet saucy-looking chignon, approached from behind him.
She placed a hand on his biceps. “I’m so sorry. I’ll take care of this for you.” The smile dropped from her face when she glanced at me. “Ma’am, I need to see your boarding pass.”
Ma’am? Did she just ma’am me?
Scotty’s eyes lit with mischief as he watched my face turn sour. He chuckled low in his throat. “No, it’s fine. I don’t want to cause any trouble. I don’t mind sitting in the center seat.”
“It’s absolutely no trouble at all,” she spoke seductively, practically licking his ear. Then she looked down at me with a frown.
Really? It was my parents who paid for these tickets. Why didn’t Scotty stick up for me? Or, at least, tell her we were together.
The flight attendant held out her hand for my boarding pass. Fine! I made an audible huff and then stood up so that I could slide into the center seat.
She still had her hand resting possessively on his arm. “Can I store your bag for you?”
“Thank you.” He flashed her a dimpled smile.
“It’s my pleasure,” she purred. She oozed sexuality.
I gagged, as I could almost smell the pheromones she was shooting his way.
