Stoked (9 page)

“Now.” I glance over my shoulder, take a breath and heave the pack over my shoulder, yank up the handle of my new suitcase. “Thanks. I’ll email you when I get there.”

The cop glares at Electra as I start to walk away. She just raises an eyebrow, like, ‘what’re you gonna do?’ and it’s so her that it makes me laugh. Which makes it easier to take those steps carrying me away from everything familiar into the land of everything I don’t know about.

It’s pretty chaotic inside, too, but there are plenty of signs. I take an escalator up to the next floor and peer at the boards for my airline, which is not Air New Zealand yet, but a domestic carrier that will fly me to Los Angeles. Since Electra insisted I had to be here three full hours ahead of time, there’s not much of a line. There’s a machine to check in, but because it’s international, a woman comes over to do it manually, examine my documents, take my suitcase. “New Zealand, huh?” she says, looking at my crisp new New Zealand passport. It’s beautiful, black with silver fern leaves along the edge. “You’re going home?”

“Kind of. I’m going to see my dad.” I frown a little. “I haven’t been there since I was six. I haven’t even been on a plane that I remember.”

“What an adventure! I’d love to go to New Zealand. It’s on my bucket list.” She frowns a little as my boarding pass prints. “This is not a great seat. They’ve stuck you in the middle. I bet you’d like a window.”

“Yes, please, if I can.”

“Let’s see what I can do.” She taps and peers and taps and peers, then smiles. “There we go. I’ve got you all set.” She hands me all the documents in a slick folder. “Have a great trip.”

“Thanks.” I turn and then look back. “Where do I go?”

She smiles, takes back my papers and slips my boarding pass out and explains the various numbers. “This tells you what gate you need. You’re at A-32.  This says what time the plane boards, so you want to be there by then.” Points. “This is your seat number. They are numbered from the front to the back, so the higher the number, the farther back you are.” She looks at me with patience. “Anything else?”

“No.” I give her my funny face. “I’m scared to death, can you tell?”

“Not at all, sweetheart. You look like a backpacker off to roam Europe.” She winks. “Have a good time.”

The backpack is too heavy. I realize this within 25 steps. I should have put more in my suitcase, but everything I read said that sometimes things get lost in transit, and if I end up in New Zealand without my suitcase, I at least want some books. That’s what it is, mainly, books I found at garage sales and used bookstores, to keep me entertained. The first flight is two hours, then there’s a layover of four hours, and then I’m on a plane all night and get to Auckland in the morning, then wait for another plane to Nelson, on the South Island. That flight is only an hour, and my dad said the layover will be spent going through customs. He walked me through the process and I’m feeling okay about that part. It helps to have a New Zealand passport. He said that will mean I have a much faster time going through at the other end.

It’s easy to find security, because of the long, long lines. I’m headed down the escalator when my phone buzzes against my butt. I pull it out and smile when I see the name on the screen. Tyler Smith is my boyfriend, kind of. We’ve only been together a little while, but it’s been intense, and from my end, life-altering. He wanted to drive me to the airport and see me off, but by the time we talked about it, Electra had already offered, and I knew it would hurt her if I didn’t let her do it. I’m doubly glad I did now, considering how emotional she was as we parted.

“Hey,” I say into the phone. My heart, so unsettled this morning, does another flip-flop. It’s hard to leave him. We had been fighting when I made the impulsive decision to make this trip, and by the time we were back together, I was committed to leaving. 

“Hey,” he says back. “Where are you?”

“On the escalator down to security. Already checked in and everything. So proud of myself!”

“Good job. Look to your right, on the mezzanine by the French cafe.”

“What?” I whirl my head around, and there he is, leaning on the railing, his hair falling around his face, giving it a frame it hardly needs. The lines of cheekbone and eyebrows and nose are perfect and clean, his mouth soft and invitingly kissable. He’s the kind of guy you do a double-take over no matter where you see him.

But it’s the expression in his eyes that captures me, again. He’s staring right at me, the aquamarine of the irises practically glowing. As I grin up at him, the escalator is taking me down and he says, “Better watch where you’re going.”

I turn around just in time to get myself off the stairs. “You didn’t tell me you were coming!” I say, and as I’m looking up at him, I’m talking, trying to find a place to get out of the way. He just leans on the railing, as if he’s Juliet and I’m Romeo. The idea makes me laugh. “Oh, Juliet,” I breathe. “Won’t you come down and give me a kiss?”

Even at this distance, I can see the wickedness in his grin. “I’m getting a pretty good view down your shirt, actually.”

“What?” I slap a hand over my neckline. It’s perfectly fine, looped with a long red paisley scarf I found at Goodwill for 50 cents.

He laughs. “Just wishful thinking, I guess.” He starts to move, heading for the stairs I just rode down. “Do you want to come up here? More choices for a cup of coffee.”

I glance behind me at the crowds going into security. “Shouldn’t I be heading for my gate? Electra said it’s important to get through security.”

“What time do you board?”

I only know this because the woman told me. “12:30”

“That’s two and a half hours,” he says, waiting at the top of the stairs. He’s wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt that clings to his lean chest and flat belly, and jeans. A girl behind him eyes his rear end and I must scowl because he glances over his shoulder. “See? You’re leaving me to roving masses.”

“Not fair,” I say and glare at him. But a ping arrows through my gut. I was the one who said it would be stupid to make vows of faithfulness while I’m gone, but I am tempted to change my mind. He’s beautiful and smart and charming. There will be women who want to be his lover. His girlfriend. More, even. “I have to do this, you know that.”

“I know.” He drops the phone, putting it against his chest, and holds out a hand toward me.
Come here
.

He knows his way around airports. If he says it’s okay for me to wait to go through security, I trust him. He might not be happy about me leaving, but he wouldn’t sabotage it. I head for the stairs and keep my eyes on him as the escalator carries me toward him. A rustling heat moves beneath my skin as I eye his succulent mouth, allowing myself to think of what it will taste like in five, four, three, two....one.

“Hi,” he breathes, and gathers me into him, pressing our bodies together and bending his head down for a kiss. My lips and tongue sizzle against his and we both lose it for a second, kissing almost drunkenly, as if we haven’t seen each other in months, rather than two days. I feel the hardness of his belly and thighs against mine, and his hands slide under my shirt, hot and smooth against my skin.

I pull back. “Whew. Enough.”

He puts his forehead against mine, just the tips of our noses touching. “I’m going to miss you so much, Jess. My heart is on fire.”

“I know,” I whisper, “me, too. And I’m scared, too, half to death. Like, what am I doing?” I finger his collar, touch his neck, his throat. “It’s so far away and I don’t know my dad and what if I miss a plane or....it’s terrible?”

He straightens. “Come on. Let’s get you some coffee.” He reaches for my backpack and I’m only too glad to let him take it for a minute.

“Jesus!” he says, pretending to stagger under the weight. “What’s in here?”

“Books, mostly.”

He gives me a glance, heaving the pack on his left shoulder and taking my hand in his right. “You have an iPad.”

“I know.”

He shakes his head slightly. “We’re gonna fix this. You don’t need all these paper books.”

“But I—“

“I’ll send them to you, promise. You don’t have to physically lug them. You’ll give yourself a hernia.”

I’m laughing. “It’s not that bad.”

“Close.”

He orders coffee for us both from a barista at a cafe, and we carry them to a table overlooking the hubbub below. The sound of hundreds of voices reach us, and I’m suddenly excited to be part of them, people who go places. I look at him with that happiness in my eyes. “I am scared,” I tell him. “But I’m also super excited.”

He smiles, then pushes my backpack over to me. “I’m going to make it better. Unpack this thing.”

“I have, like underwear and....stuff in here,” I say, not naming my tampons which are so not going to be on the table.

“Just the stuff that’s so heavy, Jess. The books.”

Dutifully, I start pulling things out. The iPad in a protective case. The notebook in case I want to write down my thoughts. A clean shirt and socks. And books. Seven of them, four hardcovers. As I stack them on the table, he’s giving me the raised eyebrows. “I know,” I say. “I have a sickness.”

“Let’s just get them on your iPad instead of your shoulder, huh?”

“I don’t have that kind of spare cash.”

“I’ve got you covered.”

I’m going to protest that he doesn’t have to take care of me, as I’ve been since we met, but he just looks at me. “Seriously, Jess?”

“Whatever.” I point to the titles. “Some of them are kind of old. And I might want at least one paper book in case of—“

“Apocalypse?” he teases, grabbing my iPad. “In case you’re kidnapped by white slavers and dragged away to Indonesia?”

“A person would want a book under those circumstances.”

“True.” He taps into the ebook store and passes the machine over. “Password, please.”

I type it in. He takes it back and types in a credit card number. “Now you have one-click ordering. Whatever books you want, get them, okay?”

“I’ll pay you back.”

He nudges my knee with his own. “I’ll look forward to that.” He glances toward the counter where we bought our coffee. “I’m hungry. You want anything?”

I look up from the online bookstore and give him a half-grin. “Subtle, dude.”

He touches my shoulder as he stands. “Get some books. I’ll be right back.”

It’s almost overwhelming to look for books in a bookstore with millions of titles. I start with the ones I found at Goodwill. Two of them are not available in ebooks, but two of them are. I find all the paperbacks in e-versions. Two historical romances, two travel books, one saga. I close the iPad with a sense of relief. I’m covered. And honestly, I might not want to spend Tyler’s money on anything else, but for books, I might be tempted. I know he means it, and it will make him happy to buy me books.

And food. He comes back with egg sandwiches, a bowl of cubed fruit and two forks, and little patties of hash browns. “You are hungry!” I say as he sits back down.

“I didn’t eat this morning.” He arranges napkins, one for me, one for him, and gives me a sandwich and hash brown package, then opens the container of fruit and hands me a napkin. “Do you like ketchup on potatoes?” He pulls packets out of his jeans pocket.

“No, thanks.” I do pick up the salt packets. “When is your hearing?”

“End of the week.” He gives a little shrug. “My lawyer is sure they’ll drop the charges and end the parole on time, if I take another round of anger management classes.”

I take a bite of my sandwich and study his face for a minute before I speak. He won’t quite meet my eyes and I know he’s ashamed of the fight with Rick. “You know, I’m not saying it was right to beat the shit out of him, but you weren’t really out of line. You knew he’d attacked me. He put his hands on me, you knew—“I pinch a piece of hash brown off the cake and give him a wicked lift of my eyebrows “—that I wasn’t wearing underwear. Kind of cave man, but pretty normal, considering.”

He shakes his head. “Thanks, but it was a pretty big fuck up on my part.” He spears a cube of cantaloupe. “Hauling his ass out of there and throwing him on the sidewalk is one thing. Losing it and beating the hell out of him is the problem.”

He meets my eye then, glances away, and I see him swallow. It occurs to me that he’s
ashamed
.  I reach for him, curling my fingers around the sinewy length of his forearm. “Tyler,” I say. “Look at me.”

After a second, he does. I hold his gaze steadily. “I believe in you.”

He pulls my fingers up to his mouth and kisses them fiercely. “Thank you.” Then, in an effort to lighten things up, he offers me the fruit on his fork and I lean forward and snatch it with my teeth, growling. He laughs.

We watch the flow of people below us, families with little kids pulling pastel colored suitcases on wheels and annoyed looking businessmen and everyone in between, old and young, fat and thin, black and white and brown and everything else. “It’s a big world, isn’t it?” I say.

“It is. And you get to go back to the place where you spent your childhood. I’m looking forward to seeing it through your eyes.”

The flutter starts in my tummy again and I touch it. “Yeah.”

“Somebody told me once when I was really freaked over an event once,” he says, putting his warm hand over mine, “that I could think of that feeling as nervousness or anticipation.”

“Right.” I put my other hand on top of his. “It would be easier if I wasn’t going alone.”

“I know. But you’re going to be fine. You’re smart. You have an adventurous nature.”

I give him a skeptical glance. “I do?”

He brushes my hair away from my face, tosses a lock over my shoulder. “You’re curious and interested in the world and ready to fly halfway around the world. It’s going to be a epic adventure.”

I smile. “Thanks.”

We finish the meal and then it’s time to head toward security. Without the weight of books, my pack is fine, and as I pull the straps on my shoulders, I say, “That’s better, thanks.”

“Anytime. I mean it, too, get as many books as you like. I will not mind.”

I nod.

The security lines have thinned considerably, and he walks with me through the snaky passage, waiting. “You need your boarding pass and your ID.”