Mach shiftedin the fancy leather airplane seat, trying to get comfortable. Failed. Tried again. Failed again.
Fuck it all, he was so tense, his neck was killing him. He rubbed at the base of his skull, but it didn’t help.
When Mach went back and forth between Denver and L.A. he generally booked a commercial flight. Getting from Point A to Point B was just as easy on a public flight and it was better for the environment, according to Courtney. She and the other guys flew commercial this time for the "appearance points." That was stupid since there was a private jet going too, but this was one of those Courtney strategy things no one questioned.
But this time he arranged for private transportation so Darla could have the real rock star experience. They borrowed the record label’s private jet—all white leather and polished gold. He leaned back, taking in the sheer decadence of the jet, the shiny wood finishes encasing them in lavish comfort. Shiny wood finishes everywhere—including the bathroom.
That seemed a bit of a waste since nobody cared if the bathroom was swanky.
The trip should’ve been fine. But it wasn’t, because Mach was on edge as soon as the landing gear lifted. What was he really doing here and why were all the figurative knots pulling tighter, an emotional noose he did not enjoy? The noose may have been all in his head, but his body’s reaction to it was intense and his neck was fucking sore.
Darla didn’t seem to notice his internal struggle as she dove into research on her phone to figure out what she wanted to do once they landed with the days they had together.
And all he did was watch her bite at her lip, take notes, then go back to the phone.
Not like a creep or anything. Like a guy who genuinely started to wonder what Darla thought about. What made the same features of her face light with fire and then fade into peace?
Then again, the hope for chatter was more than just a preference for wanting Darla to keep him on his toes. He’d just never been a guy to enjoy the quiet—he’d always slept with the radio on to keep him company.
"Here’s what we are going to do," Darla announced from the white leather seat across from him.
"Can’t wait to hear." He had told her to go crazy with his credit card since the last time he’d offered her anything at all in Denver, she chose donuts and a blender. He trusted her not to buy five Lamborghinis or a penthouse on the beach. This time she did seem to be more up for the challenge.
"I’ve got a list of things for us to do—like a scavenger hunt though L.A." Her eyes danced as she held up her notebook, the pages filled with scribbles. "And three guesses how we are going to do it?"
"I have no idea." A scavenger hunt through L.A.? That’s what she wanted to do, huh?
"On Segway scooters," she announced with jazz hands. "I found a rental place."
She might as well have announced they’d be doing their tour riding penguins because—
"There is zero fucking way I’m getting on one of those things," he countered.
She pulled her lips to the side. "Well, how are we going to get where we need to go?"
"There are five-thousand better ways than on one of those fuckin’ scooters." Mach ran his hand over his hair while he shook his head.
"Oh." She started scrolling on her phone again. "Well, I sort of already rented them." She grinned a flashy white smile. "Too late."
He had become used to the numb emotion of his usual days. Little thrills of excitement happened, sure, but he didn’t live in Technicolor. That’s why he liked Darla when she threw sass like she was on a parade float tossing candy to the littles.
"Can I see your list?" he asked, holding his hand out and curling his fingers inward as if to say "gimme."
She handed over the notebook, which he quickly scanned. There was a trip to the Griffith Observatory, checking out Mulholland Drive, a visit to the Hollywood Sign—all typical tourist stuff scrawled on the page.
"You’re trying to be predictable," he said as he clucked his tongue.
"Not predictable. I’m just making a plan. It’s totally different." She shrugged her slender shoulders, then rubbed on some lip gloss and smacked her mouth.
"Can I help you with your plan?" He flashed her what he hoped was an encouraging smile.
"Of course!" she said, eagerly.
"And you trust me to help you with your plan, no matter what it involves?"
"Is it legal?" She cocked her head to one side, studying him carefully.
He hesitated a second before replying. "Probably."
