Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
“I don’t really have any other choice. I can’t drive with my foot, so a rental is out.”
“What time was your flight today?”
“Eleven,” she says. “I take it yours is still good?”
I nod. “Supposed to take off on time at one.”
“That’s good. At least one of us is going to make it back to New York on time.”
“Are you on standby for my flight?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “My first standby flight isn’t until 3:15.”
Fucking hell. It’d be one thing if that takeoff were guaranteed, but on standby, she could be here for hours upon hours.
“Do you want me to—”
“You should probably start heading to your gate.” She nods toward the security checkpoint line that is filled with people waiting in several layers of stanchions, dismissing me before I can finish. “I heard the TSA line has been taking an extra thirty minutes.” She looks sad and defeated, and I’d do nearly anything to change that, but she’s made it pretty clear at this point that I should be on my way.
I force a smile full of more shit than sugar. “Good luck with standby. I hope you get on a flight soon.”
She offers a small wave goodbye, her way of telling me she’s done chatting, and all I can do is turn and head toward the TSA checkpoint.
But just before I enter the stanchions, I end up switching paths entirely.
I’m sure Katy Dayton has a plan she can live with. But goddammit, I have a better one, and I’m not taking no for an answer.
Katy
Eighteen hours and forty-four minutes. That’s how long the drive back to New York with Mack will take. And technically, since we’re already three hours in, there’re only fifteen hours and forty-four minutes to go.
Mack pulls the rental SUV into a gas station located just outside Montgomery, Alabama, and brings us to a stop beside an open pump, and I ask myself for the seventeenth time since we left Destin Airport how I ended up here.
The only answer I can come up with is…by force.
Don’t get me wrong, Mack canceling his flight that was in good standing just to drive my pathetic butt back is chivalrous in a way I didn’t know still existed. I’d checked the rest of the flights for the day, and every single one had a full seat map and a list of standby customers ten deep. I wasn’t getting on a flight today, barring a miracle, and Mack Houston saved the day.
Still, that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t have chosen to keep avoiding him and the giant sex-shaped elephant in the room if I’d been in complete control of the situation.
“I highly recommend you use this stop for a bathroom break and to load up on snacks because I’m going to try to keep us on the road until we’re outside of Atlanta,” he says as he puts the car in park and cuts the engine.
“And how far is that?”
“Four hours.” He winks and hops out of the driver’s seat. He shuts the door, but the driver’s side window is still open. “We need to get nine hours of driving in before we stop for the night. Otherwise, we won’t get back to New York on time.”
“So…we’re stopping somewhere for the night? Like at a hotel?”
“Yep.” He leans into the driver’s side window. “I didn’t get enough sleep to drive us eighteen hours straight through.”
The mere idea of sleeping in the same hotel room with the man I had sex with two nights ago is a little more than I’m prepared for, but…it’s not like I have a choice or any reason at all to bother him with my complaints.
He gave up his nonstop, quick flight to take on the task of an eighteen-hour road trip just so I didn’t get stranded in Destin.
If I’m going to bitch, it’s going to be to myself, in a dramatic inner monologue of cinematic proportions.
“You okay with that plan?” he asks when I don’t offer any kind of verbal response to his update.
“Of course. Sounds good.”
Mack turns toward the pump and starts the process of filling up the tank, and I decide to heed his advice and head into the gas station to pee and grab some snacks.
Thankfully, the restroom is clean and easy to navigate on crutches and doesn’t even give off the scary movie vibes that most gas station bathrooms do. No stark, neon lighting that keeps flickering ominously or brown stains on the worn-down tile floor that make you wonder who got murdered.
In no time at all, my bladder is emptied, my hands are washed, and I’m browsing the food and drinks sections inside the station. Potato chips, Twinkies, M&M’s, Reese’s Cups, the snack selection is a little too on point for someone who’s failed Weight Watchers twice in her adult life.