“Bah, don’t worry, Jules,” Keane says, waving dismissively. “We’ll only teach the little brahita here G-rated stuff, I swear.” He swats at Coco’s tiny thigh. “Scooch over, Hot Coco. I’m gonna teach you everything you need to know to be able to rumble in the Morgan jungle like a pro.”
Coco giddily unbuckles her seatbelt and moves onto her dad’s lap, allowing Keane to assume her seat and commence his utterly ridiculous tutelage of her.
I watch my brother-the-professor and his enraptured student for several minutes, thoroughly entertained, but when the conversation moves from the highly entertaining topic of “The Art of Nicknaming” to the book on Coco’s lap, my bladder reminds me why I got up from my seat in the first place and I hightail it toward the restroom.
“What’s your favorite part?” I hear Keane ask Coco behind my back.
“When Charlotte writes stuff about Wilbur in her web.”
“What’s your favorite thing Charlotte writes?”
“‘Some pig.’”
Keane laughs. “Funny, that’s exactly what my last girlfriend wrote aboutmeinherweb!”
I slip inside the bathroom, chuckling to myself—fucking Peen—and then I lock the door behind me, unzip my fly, and... promptly freeze with my dick in my hand.
Oh my fucking God.
With lightning speed, I finish my business, barrel out of the bathroom, and flag down a flight attendant. “Excuse me,” I say, my heart racing. “Is there Wi-Fi on this flight?”
“Of course, sir.” She tells me how to access it and I careen back to my seat, a bat out of hell.
“Everything okay?” Colby asks as I settle into my seat next to him.
“Everything’s fantastic,” I reply, grabbing my laptop. “I just gotta send out a quick email and then all my dreams will magically come true.”
“Wow, if only everything in life were that easy.”
My chest tight, I bang out an email to Henn: “Henn Star! Samantha had a friend at the bar! A redhead named Charlotte. She was wearing the exact same uniform as Samantha, right down to the Delta logo on her scarf. She’s gotta be 27 or so because Samantha said they’ve been friends since second grade. OMFG! I don’t know if you’re already on your flight, but if you happen to get this message before you head out to the airport and can somehow get me Charlotte’s phone number ASAP, I’ll name my firstborn after you, boy or girl, I swear. Thank you!” I press send on the email and look at Colby, my skin on fire. “Captain Ahab’s back, motherfucker.”
“What’s going on? You look like a madman.”
“The specifics don’t matter, Bee. All that matters is that I’m on the hunt for my Argentinian whale again and I just figured out how to harpoon her.”
“Who is she?”
“The sexiest woman alive.”
“Aw, come on. You gotta give me more than that. What’s going on?”
I tell Colby everything, no detail left out, no matter how embarrassing, and when I’m done talking, Colby says, “Holy shit, Ry, you’ve gone completely insane.”
“I know. But maybe not quite as insane as it appears. I’ve also been working my ass off these past few months on the biggest deal of my life, so that’s kept me busy.” I quickly tell Colby a bit about the deal (the sale of a large industrial complex), and about how my big, fat commission has brought me that much closer to my lifelong dream of opening my own bar, and Colby congratulates me. “Plus,” I continue, “I’m sure these past three months of being a monk have at least in part been about licking my wounds from Olivia. I gotta be honest, I’m pretty skittish these days, brother. God help me if I get myself mixed up with another sociopath.”
Colby shakes his head. “See what happens when you don’t listen to me?”
“I’ll never disregard your advice again, Master Yoda.”
Colby looks thoughtful for a moment. “Seriously, though, this quest you’ve been on seems pretty fucking crazy. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, I know. But it can’t be helped. ‘The path to my fixed purpose is laid with iron rails, whereon my soul is grooved to run.’”
Colby looks at me funny.
“Moby Dick,” I say, answering his unspoken question.
“Why the fuck are you quotingMoby Dick?”
