The Stopover (The Miles High Club 1)

I take his hands in mine. “I know this isn’t what you’re used to, but I wanted to take you out of your comfort zone. I really want to do this—it’s important to me. This is how uncomfortable I feel in your fancy apartment.”

“Not possible.” His eyes hold mine, and then he exhales in defeat. “Fine.” He begins to study the directions again; the light is fading, and he’s squinting to see.

I go to the supply box and take out the two headlights and put one on his head and then my own. I switch them on.

He looks up at me deadpan.

I put my hand over my mouth as I get the giggles, and he continues reading the directions.

“Okay, it says the poles are in a separate bag,” he says.

“Got them.”

“And we need to peg out the corners.”

“Already done it.” I rub my hand down his back and onto his behind. He swats me away.

“We need to put the poles in the end and hoist them up.”

“Okay.” I lean up to kiss him.

“Emily.” He looks at me, and the flashlight strapped to his forehead shines in my eyes. “I smell like a toxic dumping ground of bug poison, and I have never felt so unsexy in my entire life. I wouldn’t be surprised if my dick has been poisoned off like a weed.”

I burst out laughing. “You could never be unsexy to me, and your dick is more of a tree than a weed.”

He raises his eyebrow, unimpressed.

I get the uncontrollable giggles. He really does look ridiculous. I want to take a photo for Alan, but I know he would go postal. He’s teetering on the edge here.

“Okay, let’s just get in and do it, and then we can pump up the bed.” I smile.

His face falls. “We have to pump up a bed?”

“No. You have to blow it up with your mouth,” I tease.

He throws the directions in the air. “That’s it—I’m out.”

I burst out laughing. “No, you don’t. I’m only teasing. We have a pump.”

He puts his hand on his hips and stares at me for a moment.

“Jameson.” I smile softly. “This weekend is symbolic in our relationship. You’re expecting me to give up everything I know to live in a world that’s completely foreign to me.”

He stares at me.

“I’m just asking you for three days.” I bounce on the spot. “Please. Can you just do this . . . for me?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, and I know I’ve nearly got him. I lean up and kiss his big lips. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

“Fine,” he snaps as he bends and picks the directions up and begins to reread them. “Get me the longest pole.”

Two hours later, the tent is finally up. The bed is ready, and I put out two fold-up chairs. “Come sit with me.” I smile as I open a bottle of red wine.

He sits down beside me, and I pass him his glass. I brought two wineglasses. I knew if I tried to make him drink out of a plastic cup, it would have been all over.

He sits in his cheap fold-up chair and takes his glass from me, and I smile and raise mine to him. “To a successful escape from Alcatraz.”

He smirks and takes a sip and looks around at the darkness. “Okay, so what do we do now?”