The ride to the airport was quiet, which I attributed to the hangover. I didn’t think much of it because we were both on the struggle bus. I couldn’t even think about a mint julep without my stomach sloshing.
But when we boarded the plane, Emme more or less collapsed into her seat and curled herself into a ball. I didn’t know what to make of that. I kept an eye on her as we took off, glancing over the frame of my iPad every few minutes.
Once we were airborne, she pulled the hood up, tucked her knees into the sweater, and dropped her head to her folded arms. She was pale, none of her usual rosiness riding high on her cheeks. Even her lips were pale.
I leaned forward, my arms braced on my thighs. “What’s goin’ on over there, Muggsy?”
She shook her head but kept her eyes closed. “Cramps.”
Ah.
Well.
Okay.
I could work with that.
She’d always had a bad time with cramps. Gone in for surgery during college because of it too. Endometriosis. They’d said she’d probably need more surgeries. I didn’t know if she was at that point again. I just wanted to make it better.
I went to the back of the cabin to grab a few things from my bag and put the attendant to work making some hot chocolate. Kneeling in front of Emme, I pried her hand open and dropped a few tablets in her palm. “Take these,” I said, holding a glass of water for her. She accepted it with shaky fingers. “Good girl. How about some blankets?”
I slipped my hand under the sweater and pressed my palm to the small of her back. She’d always liked that when she had cramps in high school. She’d called me her hot water bottle. I’dbeen dumped twice—no, three times—by girls who’d found that troubling.
Maybe they’d been right but I’d never cared much. It wasn’t like I’d gone looking for girlfriends. They’d always appointed themselves to that role.
“You’re so warm,” she groaned.
“Then come sit with me while the meds kick in,” I said.
She considered this for several long seconds before giving me a resigned shrug. “Only if you tell me if it’s uncomfortable for you.”
I was more likely to chew my arm off, but I said, “Yeah.”
I reclined the seat all the way back and Emme settled on her side, her head on my chest and a leg thrown over one of mine. I tucked the blanket around her and rubbed her back while she dozed.
The hot chocolate was ready but I decided against waking Emme. We could always reheat it. Or make more. To my mind, the only reason to have this much money was to give the people in my life every single thing they needed, exactly when they needed it.
If my girl wanted a fresh cup of hot chocolate, she got a fresh cup of hot chocolate.
I stared at the ring on her finger as she slept. I’d spent an entire week looking for the right one. Jakobi almost strangled me. Apparently, other people didn’t need to visit eighteen jewelers in four cities to find the right ring. I doubted other people were hoping their fake fiancée actually fell in love with them before the jig was up.
Emme shifted a few times, which was only fair because I was about as soft as a concrete basement. Eventually, after some blanket fluffing and several frustrated huffs about the armrest being in her way, she ended up straddling my thigh.
We could’ve gotten away with this the same way we got away with a lot of the handsy shit we did—by systematically ignoring it—but something about this was different from kissing for cameras and jaw massages.
And that something was the way I started rocking her against my thigh as I rubbed her back.
At first I was just trying to shift the position of my irritable hip, but her breath caught and she pressed her face deep into my shoulder when we connected at a certain angle.
So I did it again.
It was gentle, barely more than a nudge when I stroked my palm up her spine. I kept that up for a few minutes, saying not a fucking word and keeping my gaze on the ceiling. The last thing we needed was some eye contact to make this too real.
Then Emme decided to participate.
When my hand moved up her back, she rolled her hips to meet the pressure. There was no way she didn’t notice my sharp inhale or the hard flex of my fingers against her skin.
The hood concealed most of her face and I was sure she preferred it that way. As much as I wanted to see her eyes glaze over with need, it was enough to watch her hips moving under the blanket and hear her tiny, half-swallowed sighs of pleasure.
