Catch

“Are you a pervert?”

Jesus. I hope to hell I’m in the middle of a drunken dream where I’m rocking a hard-on on an airplane while sitting next to a ninety-year-old woman with eyelashes that look like the legs of a tarantula.

“I asked you a question.” The same high-pitched, gravelly voice creeps into my ear.

I crack open an eye and look at the seat next to me.

No dream. This is a fucking nightmare.

She circles one of her long red fingernails in the air before she points it down. “Your willy is wide awake, sonny boy.”

I shut my eye again and shake my head. “Why are you looking down there?”

“It’s that view or the clouds, so…”

I huff out a laugh. “I need a blanket.”

“No.” She leans closer until her breath gusts over my cheek. “You need a woman.”

I open my eyes. “I’m Keats.”

“Is that a name? Keats?”

“It’s my name.”

She rolls her big brown eyes. “What happened to John or Larry? I remember when almost every boy in school was named Walter.”

“My brother is named Berk, and my sister is named Sinclair,” I offer.

“Were your parents high when they chose those names?”

It’s likely. When we were kids, our parents would send us to bed early and then go out on the balcony to smoke weed every Friday night. I didn’t know that’s what they did until a kid in high school offered me a blunt, and I recognized the smell.

“They’re creative,” I say. “What’s your name?”

“Mary.”

“Mary,” I repeat. “Like Maren.”

She rubs her nose. “No, like Mary. What’s a Maren?”

I glance down at my watch. It’s still over an hour until we land at LaGuardia. “She’s a woman.”

She sets back in her seat to study me. “Is she the woman?”

I perk a brow. “The woman?”

“The woman who is responsible for that bulge in your pants.” She glances down. “He went to sleep now.”

I shake my head. “Maren is my assistant.”

“You like her,” she snaps back.

She’s a stranger. What harm could come from telling her the truth? “I do like her.”

“Does she like you, Keats?” She draws my name out slowly over her tongue. “Keats. So odd that it’s a name.”

“I think she does.”

“With confidence like that, how could she not?” She shakes her head. “You’re a good-looking guy, looks like you’re packing a lot in your pants, and you smell good. You’re a winner, so own it.”

“I’m a winner?” I laugh.

“Look in a mirror.” She pokes a finger into my shoulder. “Back in the day, I would have chased you.”

“I consider that one of the greatest compliments I’ve ever received, Mary.”

“Promise me, you won’t let this girl slip away.” She pats my hand. “Tell Maren that Mary says you’re quite the catch.”

“What about you?” I question. “You must have a Walter or two lining up to take you out?”

Running a hand over her short gray hair, she laughs. “A lady never tells.”

The flight attendant approaches us. “Is there anything I can get for either of you?”

I shake my head. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

Mary pipes up. “My friend Keats looks sleepy. He’s going to need a blanket for his lap.”Chapter 31MarenKeats: The plane just touched down. I’ll make it.

My ass drops onto the corner of my bed out of pure relief. I feel as though I’ve been holding my breath for hours.

Keats was delayed by a day in Orlando as he worked out a deal to represent his newest client. He promised me he’d be back in Manhattan in time for the Newmans’ anniversary party tonight, but I was nervous.

I’m confident that I could have handled attending on my own, but I’m thankful that I won’t have to.

I type out a quick response.

Maren: Go home and get ready. I’ll meet you at Howerton House.

His reply is instant.

Keats: Are you sure? I can pick you up.

I’m touched by the offer, but it’s out of his way. Howerton House is in mid-town. The venue features a garden terrace, a loft, and a ballroom. I’ve never been, but I’m excited to see it and Keats.

Maren: I’m sure. See you soon.

I take a second to stare at my screen before I hit send.

Keats: See you there.

“Please tell me that Keats texted you.”

I look up to see Arietta standing in the doorway of my bedroom. I slide my phone into the pocket of the robe I’m wearing. “He’s back in New York.”

She moves across the floor with Dudley in her arms. She’s been cradling him since we picked him up from Donovan’s office yesterday afternoon. He implanted the microchip in Dudley and gave him a checkup and a bath.

Arietta commented that she liked the shampoo’s peach fragrance, so he handed her a bottle and told her not to bathe him too often. I don’t know how long she’ll be able to resist that temptation.

“Thank goodness,” she says. “It’s makeup time, Maren.”