A Love Like This (Book 1) (60 page)

I
’
ve never even seen a
 
real
 
private plane
 
before
 
today because I was wasted when we took the private plane to Las Vegas.
 
 
I hold my head high as I walk up the stairs leading to the cabin.
 
I don
’
t want anyone to know how out of place I feel.
 
 
I
’
m wearing a
 
fitted black dress
 
Jimmy
 
Choo
 
strappy sandals
 
and trying my best to appear grown up.
 
But
 
when I step inside the plane
 
I want to
 
runaround the room like
 
an excited child.
 
The plane is plush.
 
It
 
has camel colored leather seats a full bar a bedroom with a king sized bed and a bathroom with a shower. There are four
 
men inside.
An attendant two pilots and
 
I recognize
 
the last man
 
as the body guard from the other day. He
’
s a bit smaller than the guards I had in LA but equally intimidating.
 
 
I
 
settle into a seat and the
attendant rushes over
 
with a glass of champagne on a tray.
 
He
’
s a bright faced eager young
 
Jamaican
 
man who doesn
’
t look a day over twelve.
 
 
Tucker sits in the seat next to me.

“
Are you nervous,
”
 
He says reaching over to hold my hand.

“
A little,
”
 
I say.

“
It
’
s an eight hour flight.
 
We can move around after takeoff.
 
Have another
 
glass of champagne,
”
 
He says waving the flight attendant over.
 
By the time we
 
are
 
airborne I
’
m
 
on my fourth drink
 
and all of my inhibitions are gone.
 
I wobble over to Tucker
’
s seat and take his hand.
 
 
“
Honeymoon starts now,
”
 
I say
 
pulling him into the bedroom.
 
We join the mile high club and after Tucker falls asleep I shower and change into shorts and a t-shirt.
 
When I step out of the room the
 
body guard is sitting by the plane
’
s entrance thumbing through a magazine and the
 
attendant is standing at attention.
 
My head is still spinning from all of the champagne I drank
 
and I find the chipper attendant a little
 
annoying.

“
May I get you anything,
”
 
He says with a big smile.

I shake my head no.
 
 
“
Have you been standing there the
 
whole time?
”

“
No
 
maa
’
m
 
I sat down,
”
 
He says.
 
 
 

“
How long until we arrive in Jamaica?
”

“
We will be landing in approximately five hours
 
maa
’
m.
”
 
 
Every time he says
 
maa
’
m
 
I
 
cringe
 
a little.
 
I plop down on one of the seats
 
and look around the plane.
 
 
The only time I
’
d ever seen
 
the inside of
 
a private plane was on an episode of cribs.
 
“
May I get you anything?
”

“
How about a deck of cards,
”
 
I say.

****

When
 
we arrive in Jamaica the flight attendant whose name
 
is Sasha
 
and I
 
are best
 
buds.
 
We ate cheese burgers and played cards.
 
It turns out he
’
s
 
from Kingston.
 
He promises to show me the authentic island.
 
He says he knows a place that makes the best jerk chicken in all of Jamaica
 
and the most scenic beaches.
 
Tucker sleeps the entire plane ride.
 
He emerges from the bedroom looking refreshed.
 
When the plane lands and we step out I
’
m assaulted by the heavy
 
humid air.
 
I
’
m dripping with sweat and
 
my hair is fluffy before my foot touches the last
 
step.
 
 
An SUV is waiting
on the tar mat
 
to take Tucker, the body guard and I to his family home.
 
As we drive down the road I
’
m taken aback by the beauty of the ocean
 
and thick foliage.
 
I grew up in Southern California.
 
I practically lived at the beach but I
’
ve never seen water like this before.
 
 
Most of the beaches I
’
ve been to in LA are polluted and the water is
 
sickly grey.
 
But the ocean here
 
seems to sparkle.
 
Tucker points out the window at a man with long dreadlocks and dark brown skin like leather.
 
The man is standing in front of a makeshift store hanging
 
lobsters near a
 
for sale sign.
 
 
 
It
’
s so strange to see tall beautiful hotels right next to tiny manmade stores.
 
 
I feel completely at ease even though the driver is weaving in and out of traffic as if he
’
s late for an appointment with the president.
 

We pull up to the guard post of a
 
gated community and our
 
driver exchanges words
 
with the guard in
 
Jamaican Patois
 
before
 
cruising
 
through the gate.
 
The man
 
who was speeding as if his pants were on fire a few minutes ago is suddenly the world
’
s most cautious driver.
 
He nods politely to the armed security guards that walk up and down the neatly paved tree lined streets
 
and drives as if he
’
s caring precious cargo.
 
 
The wait staff,
 
security and housekeepers are all black which feels strangely comforting.
 
Everyone is so warm and inviting that it
’
s like being at
 
a big family reunion.
 
There are about six large houses in the community.
 
The houses are all bright vibrant yellow with a large front yard.
 
Each yard has a neatly trimmed
 
lawn and two trees with
 
a hammock hanging between them.
 

We glide to a stop in front of the place that will be my home for the next few months.
 
I step out and walk up the three steps to the porch
 
and sit on the porch swing.
 
I can see an infinity pool and cabana on my left.
 
There
’
s a tennis court and spa to my right and a panoramic view of the ocean everywhere I turn.
 
It
’
s like a perfect
 
private
 
Stepford
 
city.
 
 
Tucker and the other men lug the bags into one of the bedrooms.
 
He tips the driver and sends the guard away.
 
“
Come on I
’
ll show you around,
”
 
Tucker says
 
taking my hand
 
and leading me inside the house.
 
From the moment I
 
step foot
 
onto the coral
 
colored
 
tile floor I feel at home.
 
 
I can tell Joan decorated the house all six bedrooms remind me of her house in Marin.
 
It
’
s elegant while still managing to be warm and inviting.

“
How long has your family owned this house?
”
 
I ask as I
 
walk towards the kitchen.

“
My mom bought it five or six years ago.
 
She said she needed a little
 
getaway.
 
I guess the villa in the south of France and the house in the Hamptons wasn
’
t good enough.
”
 
 
Tucker changes into swim trunks, a t-shirt
 
and flip flops and I squeeze my overstuffed
 
ass into a tiny white bikini then
 
wrap my whole body in a long sarong.
 
 
There are a
 
few residents in the pool and a volley ball game
in full swing on the beach.
 
 
“
We should join them,
”
 
Tucker says.
 
I am the absolute least athletic person in the whole world.
 

“
I
’
ll just watch,
”
 
I say scrunching my nose at the thought of jumping around trying to hit a ball.
 
Tucker smiles and kisses me then walks away.
 
I watch the reaction of some of the women when he pulls his shirt off.
 
I will never get use to that.
 
I
 
know how hard he
 
works for his body to look
 
the way it does
 
and I
’
m pretty sure he isn
’
t a cheater but
 
I can
’
t help feeling angry when women ogle him.
 
I take off my sarong and place it on the chair then
 
walk out to the water.
 
I am
 
unprepared for the sensation.
 
The water is as warm as a bathtub and I can see tiny colorful fish swimming around my ankles.
 
 
I step out a few more feet and dip
 
my head
 
under
 
water.
 
I adjust my swim
 
suit and slosh around.
 
 
I love this place and I can see myself staying here for a long time.
 
When I look up I have
 
a
small audience
 
of
 
men.
 
They
’
re watching me try to dislodge my swim suit from
 
my butt.
 
 
I
’
m about to walk out and find my
wrap when Tucker strolls
 
past
the group of guys and
 
stands at the water
’
s edge.