Playboy Pilot

“You could say that.”

“You’re a little dodgy, you know that?”

“And you’re fucking adorable. What’s your name?”

“I told you my name.”

“Oh, that’s right. Sydney…and your last name’s Opera-House. Sydney Opera-House.” He laughed, lifting the magazine and pointing to the actual Sydney Opera House on the cover. “Why did you lie to me, Perky?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t like giving my real name out to strangers.”

“That’s not it. You’re not shy. You don’t even wear a fucking bra in public, for God’s sake. And it took you almost a full minute to cover your tits after you knew I could see them. You’re not reserved, and you’re certainly not being cautious.”

“So, then why do you think I lied about my name?”

“I think it gave you a thrill to pretend you were someone else. You figured you’re never gonna see me again, so why not? Am I right?”

“You think you have me pegged as a careless thrill-seeker? You’ve known me for what…ten minutes?”

“It takes one to know one.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes. It’s how I live my life…always looking for the next thrill, never in one place.” After a moment of silence, he squinted his eyes with an examining look. “You don’t know where you’re going.”

“How do you know that?”

“When I first walked up behind you, you were talking to yourself, wondering where you should go. Remember?”

“Oh. That’s right. Yes. I’m taking myself on a trip…Trip.”

“What are you leaning toward?”

“I still have no idea.”

He startled me when he put his hand on my shoulder. “What are you running away from, Kendall?”

My heart beat faster. I moved backwards, away from him a bit.

“How did you know my name?”

He reached into his back pocket and waved a passport. “You really need to be more careful traveling alone. You walk away for one second, someone could slip something in your drink or take your belongings.”

“That’s mine? How did you get that?”

“When you walked away to look for a napkin, it fell out of your purse. I picked it up, took a peek at your name. Kendall Sparks. I like it. You’re lucky you can trust me.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” I huffed, snatching the passport.

We stood there for a bit just staring at each other. His mouth curved into a smile, and for the first time I noticed the dimple on his chin.

“I saw her standing there,” he said.

“What?”

“The Beatles song. I Saw Her Standing There.”

“What about it?” I asked.