Open Fire, page 5
A family of five in matching Disney shirts stroll by.
A young couple holding hands laugh at each other and bump into another couple that isn’t paying attention to where they’re walking.
A shuttle cart drives by, packed with people and a driver yelling, “Coming through! Coming through!” No one moves out of his way.
Yep. People watching is still boring.
Suddenly, a noise next to me catches my attention.
Was that…? Did she…?
I look over at Sloan. Her mouth is open and her back is arching as the chair concentrates on massaging her lower back. And then she groans.
I blink rapidly as I watch her body writhe on the chair and my fantasies immediately go into overdrive.
I imagine taking her to a room like the nursing room we passed and sitting her on the chair. I’d wrap my fingers in the waistband of her pants, feeling the soft skin and the goose pimples on her flesh as I bare her legs and spread her wide. Wedging my shoulders between her knees, I’d pull her hips forward, gently teasing her with my nose as I took in the scent of her glistening pink pussy. Softly, I’d flick her clit with my tongue, so softly she’d barely feel it. But I’d know by how wet she got. I kiss the juncture of her thigh before taking the flat of my tongue and swiping deeply up her core, her fingers grabbing my hair as I eat like a starving man. I’d drive her crazy, alternating between thrusting my tongue inside her and sucking hard on her clit. She’d arch her back and groan and I’d throw her legs over my shoulders, settling in, determined to make her come over and over. Then the door would open as a mom came in with her baby. She’d scream and we’d be kicked out of the airport, losing the seats on our flights and missing Christmas completely…
Okay that didn’t end like I expected it to, but it’s probably for the best. I could feel myself getting hard, all the way up to the part when the mom screamed.
Sloan lets out a contented sigh and turns toward me, a soft smile on her face as her time limit runs out.
“That is exactly what I needed.”
“Uh huh.” My chair is still going, not that it’s made a bit of difference on my ability to relax. I’m as amped up now as I was when she was scratching my head.
“I can’t believe these chairs were open,” Sloan remarks, starting to get a little more energy back into her movements.
“I bet a bunch of people left the airport or went to the main terminal for a while out of sheer boredom,” I remark.
“Good. It just meant a nice massage for us.”
“Yep. Except…”
She furrows her brows. “Except what?”
“Except it keeps massaging my ass and getting way to close to my man parts.” I shift in my seat, the feeling of a hummingbird near my balls not at all comfortable. “Makes me nervous.”
Sloan bursts out laughing.
“You think that’s funny?” I smile at her laughter. “This is a heated massage chair. It’s like my nuts are roasting on an open fire.”
“I will never hear that song again without remembering you and this massage chair.”
“Good.” I give her a flirty smile.
Sloan immediately stops laughing, her eyes locked on mine. It feels like we’re having a moment. One of those the-rest-of-the-world-fades-away moments when attraction is too strong to dismiss. That can’t happen though, right? We just met a couple hours ago in an airport bar. Surely, it’s the vacation effect.
Sloan bites her bottom lip and I can’t stop looking at it. It’s plump and juicy and… and…
I have got to get my mind out of the gutter. I cannot have an airport quicky with someone I just met. That’s just asking for a butt shot to end up plastered all over the internet. If my fantasies don’t even end well, reality would be so much worse.
Fortunately, a single word being blared from the television on the other side of the gate catches my attention.
The moment broken, I swivel my head to watch the promo I was expecting, but not ready for.
“Sixteen professional hockey players. Sixteen surprise ex’s. Sixteen days of isolation. Ohmygod, do you ever wear clothes?”
I half groan, half laugh.
“What?”
I point to the TV. “That guy?” She looks at where I’m pointing, but there are a lot of guys up there. “The one who’s butt they keep blurring out on the television?” Right then, the camera pans over and a blur runs across the screen. “That’s my teammate, Maks.”
Sloan’s jaw drops. “He was on a reality show? What’s it called? Have I seen it?”
I blow out a breath through my lips. “Oh sure. Now you’re excited about a Glaze hockey player.”
“Forget hockey.” She waves her hand dismissively. “I wanna know where they’re stuck. And does he really not wear clothes?”
“Not if he can help it.”
We catch the tail end of the promo and the title “Exiled” flashes across the screen.
“Oh man, I can’t wait for that to start,” Sloan says with excitement. “Did he win?”
“No idea,” I admit. “For someone who runs his mouth as much as he does, he’s stayed quiet about it. I’m assuming he signed an iron-clad non-disclosure agreement. I didn’t even know he’d done the show until the first promo came on a week or so ago. Now he reminds us almost daily about that time he got to suntan his nuts for two weeks straight.”
Sloan’s eyes widen. “He does not.”
I purse my lips at her. “Watch the show. You’ll see.”
“He sounds like he’s fun to work with.”
“Obnoxious is more like it. But he does keep things from getting boring.”
“Do things get boring at work a lot?”
I stop to think about that for a second. “Not generally. But being on the road can get kind of monotonous sometimes. There’s not a lot to do in the winter in Vancouver or Minneapolis when you’re used to Florida weather. You know how it is. You’re from Chicago.” She nods. “There are times you just don’t go out unless you have to. So that can get kind of dull. Vegas isn’t bad.”
“Ooooh, so now we’re getting to the good stuff.” She rubs her hands together like there’s some big, exciting drama that happens in Sin City. “What happens in Vegas, right?”
“For me? Hell no. The occasional strip club when someone is going through a breakup or whatever. But I do like hitting the poker table with real professionals if we have time. I almost never win, but I like the challenge.”
“I hate Vegas.”
My eyes widen at her admission. “What? How can someone hate Vegas?”
“Everything is overpriced and unless you plan to drop a pretty penny on shows, the only other thing to do is gamble.”
“I don’t hear what there is to hate yet.”
“I’m the world’s unluckiest person. You’ve seen my Christmas presents.” She gestures to the bag resting on the floor between us. “Who else would get their carry-on bag and a gift stuck in the conveyer belt at security? Only me. That’s how it is with gambling. I always lose and do it quickly. I’d rather just hand them a twenty and not waste my time losing.”
“Ooooooh… sounds like someone is super competitive and gets frustrated when she doesn’t win.”
She pauses. “Okay maybe. Regardless, Vegas does nothing for me.”
“So no running off to Vegas to get married?”
“Pfft. Hardly. I’ve got a perfectly good beach in my neighborhood. If I want something small and private, I’ll do it there while the sun goes down.” Her eyes widen briefly. “Not that I’m doing that any time soon. I’m young. I’ve got stuff to do first.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“I don’t know. That just sounded like the right thing to say.”
I chuckle at how cute she is. Her comebacks are off the cuff and fun. It’s going to be hard to keep these fantasies at bay if she keeps being so damn adorable.
We sit in silence for a moment until suddenly my stomach lets out a loud rumble.
Sloan barks out a laugh and begins climbing off her chair.
“Come on,” she says and slaps my leg gently. “Let’s go feed that beast.”
Chapter Ten
Sloan
“My mother has probably just put her second or third dozen Christmas cookies in the oven.” I lick the grease off my finger and pick up my fajita again. “My niece is probably decorating some of the first batch and making a huge mess on the kitchen table.”
We’re back at the same small restaurant where we met, sitting at the same small table. This time, though, there’s a large plate of fajitas between us and not nearly as many people are here. Either they all got bored, or some of the delays are finally starting to clear out.
“What are you missing right now. Anything good?”
I take a huge bite and try my best not to groan at how good they are. Seriously. When did airport fajitas get so good?
“Nothing so far.” Becker grabs another tortilla and begins piling it high with ingredients. “My pops is still at work. Probably won’t get home until six or so. Then we’ll order take out and nap in the recliners before it’s time for midnight mass.”
“Are you guys religious?” I ask out of curiosity.
“Nah. But my mom was. She dragged me to confirmation classes and Sunday mass whenever hockey didn’t interfere. Pops never really cared. Shit,” he grumbles as the tortilla splits in half when he tries to pick it up.
“You got a little overzealous with that fajita, huh?”
“You’re telling me.” He eyes it carefully, trying to figure out if he can make it work, or if it’s a lost cause and he needs to start over. Finally he gives up and stabs the meat with a fork.
“So your dad isn’t religious but still goes to mass on Christmas Eve?”
He chews carefully and swallows before answering. “I think it’s his way of staying close to my mom. He knows she’d like that we still make it a tradition to thank baby Jesus for showing up in the middle of this crazy world. What about you? You guys go to church on Christmas?”
I push my plate away, completely full after two fajitas. “My mom makes us go on Christmas Eve. Wait, I phrased that wrong. She doesn’t make me go. I go because it’s important to her. But I don’t mind. We get all dressed up and take family pictures before we go. And we sing all the Christmas carols at church. Except the last song. I hate the last song.”
“What’s wrong with the last song?”
“It’s called “Light Up Your World”.” I shake my head just thinking about it.
“Okay?”
I understand his confusion. Sounds pretty innocuous on its own.
“The song itself is fine, but the pastor makes us all hold hands to sing it.” Becker grimaces. I smirk. “Exactly. I guess it’s to show that we can all go out and light up the world together or whatever. In theory, I get what he’s trying to do, but I always get stuck at the end holding some stranger’s hand. Or” —I scoff at the next option — “or the people across the aisle are super far away and I end up standing in the middle of the aisle all by myself with my arms stretched as wide as they can go, which makes me look like I’m standing between mom and dad getting ready to be swung in the air or something. It’s horrible.”
Becker nods slowly as he chews. “Yeah, I think I’ll stick with midnight mass. No one makes us hold hands.”
“If my niece and nephew weren’t so young, I’d suggest us doing that instead. Less people to hold hands with. Not that my mother would go for it. Come to think of it, I might actually be too tired to go at midnight anyway.”
“It’s not that bad,” Becker says with a shrug. “I think the priest is tired by then, so he never goes longer than thirty minutes. Thirty-five at the most.”
I stab a small piece of meat because I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought, when our phones sound an alert. At the same time.
My fork slowly lowers as Becker and I look at each other, both semi-frozen in our movement.
“Do we want to even check?” I ask.
“Maybe they’re saying the plane is early?”
“No way. That means the people who were running behind and went home instead of braving the airport would miss the flight.”
“Crap. You’re right.” He drops his own fork and rubs his hand down his face.
“You want to check or do you want me to?”
He sighs deeply. “I’ll man up and do it. So much for twenty-four hours off to hang with my dad.”
“I’m sorry. This is so frustrating for me. I can’t imagine how you feel with such limited time.”
“It’ll be okay.” Becker wipes his hand on a paper napkin, then glares at it when it rips apart, reaching for another one. “He’s still at work so technically I haven’t missed anything yet. Unlike one of us.”
I shrug with faux indifference. It’s not that I’m okay with being stranded. I just recognize I still have several days with my family. I get to make up my time with them. Becker, not so much.
“I’m not a huge fan of cooking anyway. I mostly sit on the stool and drink a glass of wine while they do it all. I’m not really missing that much.”
Hands finally clean, Becker pulls out his phone and swipes it open. Shaking his head, he looks up at me.
“Another hour behind.”
I knew he was going to say that, but I’m still curious about why. “What happened now?”
“I guess the crew timed out for the day so they had to call in another crew. We board at three-thirty now. Supposedly.”
I sit back, phone still in my hands as I scroll, and enjoy the feeling of stretching out my full belly. “I feel like we should start taking bets with other passengers on when we’ll actually leave.”
“I should.” Becker points to himself and then me. “You, my Vegas unlucky friend, should not be making any bets that you’ll lose. You’re on a college administrator income, remember?”
“Hmmm. Solid point.” I gasp as what I was looking for finally populates. “Well, lookie here.”
“What?”
“Your team photo is so cute.”
Becker groans and drops his chin to his chest. “Why are you looking me up?”
I peek up at him through my lashes. “If I’m going to hang out with someone from the other team, I at least need to know your stats are decent.”
He grunts and I can practically hear the competitive nature rolling off him. “They’re better than decent.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” I poke at him. “Becker Bell… GP 78, 12 goals, 15 assists…not bad for December.” I toss my phone back on the table. “Okay. We can still hang.”
Becker snorts a laugh and shakes his head, wiping his hands off again and then tossing the napkin on the table.
“Glad to see I’m up to your standards.”
He’s more than up to my standards. Even if his stats sucked, I’d still enjoy his company, but they don’t. He’s good. Damn good and he knows it.
“Me too. So, what should we do now? Sit here and watch TV or go wander some more? Is there even anything we haven’t explored yet?”
Becker rubs at the very faint stubble on his jaw. “I have an idea. It may not be a great one, but it’s worth a shot.”
“At this point, I’m up for just about anything.”
One of Becker’s eyebrows shoots up. “Anything, huh?”
For a split second, I think he’s making a pass at me, which wouldn’t be entirely unwelcome. But the glint is his eye tells me he’s got something different planned.
And then it hits me. I purse my lips into a tight seam. “No, I will not be trying on Florida Glaze merch.”
“It was worth a shot,” he says with a shrug. “Good thing I have a backup plan.”
Chapter Eleven
Becker
We lurch to a halt and the doors slide open. Neither Sloan, nor I move. I’ve found a primo spot to sit in the back window of the tram. It’s high enough I don’t feel like I have to do a squat when I sit, I can stretch my legs out as much as I want, and with windows all around me, I can see everything from the tunnel to the sky, depending on where the tracks take us.
I offered for Sloan to sit, but she said her back was hurting from the chairs in the bar, so she’s resting up against the pole.
As much as it sucks that she’s so far away, it gives me a chance to observe her from a short distance. She’s just so fascinating. It’s sexy as hell that she’s such a huge hockey fan. I just about busted a nut in my jeans when she was reading out my stats, knowing exactly what each and every number meant. But it’s more than that. There’s this chemistry between us that seems palpable. We just… click. Our personalities match in more than one way, including our love of razzing each other.
“I can’t believe you’re holding onto that thing.”
Sloan’s eyes shift back and forth before looking at me. “What’s wrong with holding onto the pole? That’s what it’s here for.”
“Do you know how many germs are on that thing?”
“No, but I think we’ve established already that I don’t have the best luck when it comes to anything involving coordination. It’s almost a guarantee I’ll go flying if I let go of this pole.”
As if to prove her point, the doors slide shut and the train lurches forward, making her fist tighten. Then she looks down and I watch her hand relax into an almost non-existent grip. Like keeping a light hold will keep her from getting more germs on her hands.
“You’re right,” I say. “Plus, you’re boosting your immune system before we get on the airplane, so that’s good.”
She snorts a laugh and shakes her head. “See? You should be holding on with me. Wouldn’t want you to have a weak immune system before you get your ass kicked in Chicago tomorrow night.”
I love how she trash-talks me. It’s light-hearted and fun, but knowing she knows her hockey is wildly sexy. How has the universe not thrown us together before now?
Oh right. Because she only goes to hockey games if Chicago is playing. Fucking Chicago…
“I’ll have you know I can play through anything. Head cold, broken bones, broken teeth concussion—”
