Trust (Wrong 3)

“Hey!” I protest.

He ignores me and, spotting my rolling suitcase on the top shelf—the shelf I need to stand on top of a chair to reach—he makes an easy reach for it and pulls it down. And yes, I catch a glimpse of his rock-hard abs when his shirt rises. I don’t stand a chance here, do I?

“I’m a teacher, Boyd. I can’t just miss class to do you a favor.”

He drops the suitcase on my bed and shoots me a smugly satisfied look. “What kind of amateur do you think I am? I know you’re off on Monday for Columbus Day. I’ll have you home by dinner time on Monday, Cinderella.”

“I don’t have a plane ticket,” I say, waving my arms in exasperation. He makes everything sound so easy.

He unzips my suitcase and lays it open ready for me to fill. “You don’t need a ticket. Any other objections?”

“This is way bigger than the favor I owe you. Huge,” I add, holding my hands apart to indicate something big.

“Fine. So I owe you a favor. Feel free to make it sexual.”

“You wish,” I snap back. What am I, sixteen? Wait, did he just offer to have sex with me? Or is he teasing me? I don’t really get it. I sigh loudly and dramatically. “What time is our flight?” I ask, opening a dresser drawer under my television. I stop and glance over at him when he doesn’t respond. He raises one eyebrow and doesn’t say anything. “Oh,” I reply mockingly. “You have a private plane, don’t you? We’re taking your candy plane to Vail.”

“It’s not technically a candy plane, but I’ll suggest having it covered in gumdrops at the next board meeting I show up for. Any other objections?”

“This seems like an inappropriate use of company resources for a company you’re barely involved in and own a fraction of.” I’m just stalling now. Clearly I’m going to Vail.

“We really need to work on your flattery skills,” he deadpans as he moves closer, looking amused as he stops in front of me. “I pay a fee to use the jet. I can put you in touch with someone at the IRS if you want to verify everything is on the up and up.” Then he glances into the drawer I’ve opened and his lip twitches. “Do you need help packing?”

It’s my underwear drawer, because of course that’s the one I’ve left hanging open.

“Go away.” I stick my elbow in his ribs and force him to step back. “Sit on the couch and keep your hands to yourself,” I instruct, then follow him to the sofa and grab my Dating and Sex for Dummies books off the coffee table and shove them into my sock drawer while he laughs. “You’re making me miss my show,” I gripe as I toss things into the suitcase.

“Your show? You sound like you’re eighty.” He glances at the TV behind me then back to me. “Murder on Mason Lane,” he says. “It was the neighbor. She was committing Medicare fraud using the victim’s deceased wife’s information. He caught on so she killed him.”

I gasp. “You spoiler! You spoiling spoiler who spoils!” Then I shrug. “This is a new episode. You don’t even know that. It’s the daughter. She killed him. I’ve had her pegged since the first commercial break.”

“You’re cute.”

“Just you wait,” I tell him, very satisfied with myself. I’m really good at guessing whodunnit.

“Sorry, you murder nerd, I worked on this case two years ago. It’s the neighbor.”

“Really?” I drop my makeup bag into the suitcase and check to see if he’s teasing me.

“I swear. I’ll tell you all the good shit the show left out once we’re on the plane.”

I survey Boyd with interest. I do have a lot of questions. “I thought you were in cyber crimes, not murder.”

“Murder isn’t a department,” he replies, shaking his head at me.

“You know what I mean.”

“Most crimes have a cyber component to them these days. There’s always a cyber trail.”

Shit, that’s hot.

Twelve

Boyd

I get her into the car and to the airport without any more complaining about this weekend trip. I knew springing it on her at the last moment was the way to go. Once she’d had a few moments to mull it over and argue with me she was fine. If I’d given her all week to think about it she’d have been a nervous wreck and talked herself out of it.

At least she’s good until we reach the plane. She pauses on the steps and turns to look at me, wrinkling her nose in suspicion.

“There better not be a bed on this plane, creep.”

I laugh and shake my head. “I don’t think any of the planes have a bedroom.”

“Planes? There’s more than one? Dang, I should have taken Everly seriously that time she suggested we open a candy store back when we were eight.” She jogs up the remaining steps—her leggings-covered ass directly in my line of sight—and I stifle a groan and try to focus on the pilot greeting us at the top of the stairs before I get a fucking hard-on like a teenager.

We take a couple of oversized seats next to each other and the lone flight attendant on the flight gives us blankets and dims the lights after verifying that we don’t want anything. As soon as we’re airborne I show Chloe how to recline the seat and kick up the footrest and she flashes me an awed grin that makes me pause. When is the last time I saw someone get excited about the equivalent of a La-Z-Boy? Have I ever? She’s not the first girl I’ve taken on a private jet, but I’m positive she’s the only girl who’s ever scowled at me about it.

If I’d taken Vanessa this weekend we’d have been fucking in the bathroom the moment the plane leveled out. But I wasn’t interested in bringing Vanessa. Or any of the other women I have listed in my phone who would have been happy to go. I was interested in dragging Chloe on this trip and I’m not even sure she likes me. She’s attracted to me, yes, but does she like me?

Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with me? Why do I care if she likes me? Liking me enough to fuck me is all that I should care about. Yet I find myself strangely interested in this girl. She’s beautiful. Awkward, sarcastic and captivating. Yet possibly the most skeptical girl I’ve ever met. There’s something about her that makes me want to dig a little deeper with her. She’s a challenge. Possibly a long-term challenge and I’ll play this favor game with her—for her—if that’s what it takes to keep her from running.