Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
He’s playful. Challenging. He’s direct and dirty. Rough and tender. I know, too, he’s recently divorced—I looked him up online after we met. He’s still nursing wounds from it—he told me as much during our brief time together.
But all we’ve truly done is flirt and fuck around.
Is a one-night stand worth all this maneuvering? I did have to change my flight to make this impromptu trip happen. Fine, I’m still returning to London on Saturday as Bernard wants, so he shouldn’t care. But still, what if my boss asks a bunch of questions about my travel?
I already have my father’s reputation to live down. Don’t need one of my own.
But I can’t linger on what-ifs when it’s time to get out of the car.
“Thanks so much,” I say to the driver, then immediately whip out my phone. I need friend therapy and I need it straightaway. I text Sarah as I head through the jumbo revolving door at the terminal.
Hunter: Tell me this is a bad idea.
Sarah: It’s a brilliant idea.
Hunter: Is Bernard going to give me the third degree for leaving from the Vegas airport tomorrow instead of SFO?
Sarah: OMFG. Why would he care what airport you fly out of if you arrive in London the same day?
Hunter: Fair point. Okay, you’re right. I’ll keep you.
Sarah: Go pop your cherry.
Hunter: I’ve always wondered though, is that the right term for a guy?
Sarah: Go pop your banana, then. How’s that?
Hunter: It’ll do. Love you.
I channel Sarah’s brazen confidence as I drop on my shades and march to security, feeling like that famous line from Risky Business.
Sometimes you gotta say what the fuck.
At the head of the line, I hand the TSA agent my passport and flash a smile. “I’m going to Vegas for the evening,” I say.
“Take off the shades, Bond,” says the bored agent.
“Oh, right,” I say, then whip them off.
After she checks my passport, she sends me through. On the other side, I tuck the shades away in my messenger bag. I stride down the concourse, heading to gate twenty-six, adrenaline setting the pace once more.
This is the real what the fuck.
I’m spending a night on the town with a hot guy. I bet tonight is better than all the ziplines in Costa Rica.
11
EGGPLANT FARMERS
Nate
When linemen chase me like tigers hunting prey, I don’t think.
I do.
With steely determination, I carry out my aim to catch the ball and carry it as far as superhumanly possible.
But as I shuffle forward in the security line, all I’m doing is thinking too much. Stewing on questions I haven’t had to deal with in years.
I knew all of Oliver’s habits down pat. He was always late to the airport, he was always late getting out of the hotel room, he was always the last one to the gate.
But see, I knew that. So I budgeted for it.
What if Hunter’s rude to flight attendants? Tips poorly? Or takes way too many selfies?
I don’t even know his last name.
He wouldn’t let me pay for his ticket change. I offered, but he said he’d handle it himself. All the more reason for me to cover everything else. It’s only right that I foot the bill. Besides, I like my luxuries.
Once I’m on the other side of security, I grab my carry-on from the belt and head toward the concourse, trying to put the unknowns out of my head.
I’ll hope for the best. And what’s the worst that could happen in twenty-four hours in Vegas with my buddies?
Ah, shit. I better let those dickheads know I’m bringing a date. William is bringing his boyfriend, but Luke, Tanner, and Bryan will be solo.
As I head to the gate, I fire off a text to Luke, who plays for the New York Leopards, and to Tanner, a shortstop for New York’s baseball team. Then Bryan. I grew up down the street from him, and we played football and baseball together in high school. His sports career didn’t end there, but it did end after a few years in the majors. Now he’s working as a contractor. The crew landed in Vegas last night.
Nate: Hold the presses. I found a date.
Luke: Miracles happen.
Tanner: Yes, Nate. The date is October 12th. Good job.
Bryan: Also, you fucking show-off.
Tanner: Bet I can find a date too. Guys, did you see that bartender downstairs? He wanted to go back to my room last night, didn’t he?
Luke: True. Nate, you should know Tanner did well, all things considered. I mean, he had about one-third as many guys all over him as I did. So, that’s not too bad.
Bryan: Luke, truly, your ego is enormous.
Luke: Among other things.
Luke attaches a video clip of a hot farmer plucking a giant eggplant off a bush, then stroking it. In case I didn’t get it. I laugh, shaking my head at their give-no-fucks attitudes. They don’t care what the hell I do. It’s one-ups-man-ship every day with my buds.