“Fancy. And hot. Smoking hot…in that ‘older white guy with money’ kind of way. No offense. But men, you know they age and look so good with that little bit of salt and pepper?” Nelle had snatched my phone and was examining every angle of Ford.
Not to worry—I’d done it a million times and found something sexy every time. “I know,” was all I said.
“Golf. I could have predicted.” Nelle kept after the conversation.
“I’m not very good.”
“I bet he is…”
That was pretty much how the remainder of the flight went. Nelle poking and prodding, me answering, and the two of us laughing. We even ordered little bottles of sparkling wine to add to our orange juice, and toasted to “bubbly traditions” after I made the mistake of recounting Ford and I sitting on the phone on a summery Sunday, toasting one another with a mimosa. At the time, it’d felt so silly and juvenile. But talking about it with Nelle made it feel special. In certain flashes of moments, I believed Ford and I were sustainable.
If I had thought I could shake Nelle when we arrived at the gate, I was sadly mistaken. My new bestie stayed by my side, watching me text Ford that I’d landed and seeing his text come through that he was across from the gate at the airport bar.
She marched right over there with me and stated proudly, “Nelle Worth. Nice to meet you, Ford. You got a good one here with Jamie, and I want to make sure you don’t forget it.”
He rewarded her with one of his gruff belly laughs and stood, pulled me close and kissed me—closed mouth—before saying, “Believe me, I’m not going to forget it.”
Satisfied, Nelle turned and pulled me in for a hug, reminding me, “You have my number. I’ll text you about the tickets when we get to DC. Make sure to come early to hang with the team on the court during warm-ups and stay after, so we get some pics.”
“I will,” I whispered, my face barely at her chest.
“Face masks for life,” she said, walking away, and I giggled.
“Well, looks like you made a friend.” Ford turned to me and took my hand in his. “WNBA?”
I nodded. “Yes, and now I’m apparently going to a game when I get back.”
“Hmmm, I’ll have to make sure I’m in town to go with you. Sounds fun.”
I squeezed his hand, and asked, “Where is our next flight?”
“This terminal. We have an hour. Want to go to the lounge? You can use the Wi-Fi and check in?”
“Oh, that sounds perfect.”
He led me off, grabbing my work bag in his free hand and never letting go of my other one. Work had been his final selling point on the trip. He wasn’t going to distract me, he’d assured me.
He didn’t know holding his hand alone was a major distraction.
Ford
“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” sounded in my ear as a lithe figure slipped into the seat next to me.
“It’s already seven here, so I figured it was safe,” I joked back. “All done with work, Fireball?”
I was rewarded with a throaty laugh at my mention of the latest nickname I’d come up with for her. It originated on our second night in Hawaii when we decided to skip dinner out in a restaurant and order room service. We’d gone two rounds in the sheets before dinner and one afterward. Later, as we lay in bed, James’s fiery hair spread out all around her like a messy lion’s mane, she looked at me and asked, “How soon until you can be ready again?”
I had to explain my stamina wasn’t what it was when I was twenty, and then she recounted her conversation from the plane with her busybody neighbor. Something about how we all have stuff, no matter the age, and her body wasn’t the same either. Of course, I commented her body was better, and she snarked it was better because she’d lost some weight—and I countered it was due to her luscious curves. This got me an eyeroll and a lecture on treating women like equals. Then the chat finally ended with my going down on James, my face buried in between her thighs. After a rip-roaring orgasm tore through her, my face slick with her while she screamed loud enough to wake the dead, I began calling her Fireball.
“Not here,” she instructed me now, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “In private,” she reminded me.
I secretly loved how she wanted to keep our intimacy behind closed doors. It was refreshing in a world full of Hollywood influencers who left zero to the imagination. “Oh I’ll do what I want here,” I teased before I gathered her to my side and kissed the top of her head. “I see you were on Zoom,” I commented when she was firmly back in her seat, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.
We’d been in Hawaii for a total of five days, and on two of them she’d flat ironed her hair into submission. The other day she’d done it for Zoom. I assumed the same about today.
“Don’t worry,” she said, leaning in. “As soon as you get me hot and sweaty later, it’ll curl right back up.”
Another thing I secretly loved about James was how she picked up on exactly what I was saying. Before she could move away, I snatched a kiss from her lips. “Love it when you talk dirty to me,” I whispered in her ear, tugging on her too-straight hair.
