The Stopover (The Miles High Club #1) - T L Swan Page 0,150

I make my way to the check-in desk, and surprisingly there’s no line today. “Hello. I have a booking for Emily Foster.” I slide my license across the desk to the check-in clerk.

“Hello.” She types my name into her computer. “Ah yes, Ms. Foster. I see you have amended your booking to first class.”

I frown. “No.”

She rechecks the details. “Yes, your two tickets were upgraded late last night.”

“Two tickets?”

“Yes, a second was booked, and then they were both upgraded.”

Jameson.

“Oh, I see. Okay, thank you.” I collect my ticket and walk through security and make my way to the bar. I have nearly two hours before my flight leaves.

“What will it be?” the bartender asks as I take a seat.

“A margarita, please.”

I text Jameson.

Mr Miles, thank you for the upgrade.

It is very much appreciated.

Tell me, was the second seat for you or to make sure I didn’t sit next to someone else?

My drink is delivered, and a text bounces back.

My dear Miss Foster, I am outraged that you would think I could be so calculating.

Of course, I don’t want you sitting next to anyone else.

I know how irresistible you are.

xoxox

I smile as I sip my drink, and another text arrives.

Although, if I wasn’t playing hard to get and being non-pushy. I would have taken you on the company jet and initiated you to the real Miles High Club.

You wouldn’t walk for a week.

Enjoy the peaceful silence.

xoxox

I roll my lips to hide my smile, and I text back.

Goodbye Jameson.

Glad that your deviant behavior is still alive and well.

I was getting worried.

xoxoxo

A text comes straight in.

You have no idea.

And no watching Magic Mike, watch Grumpy Old Men instead.

It will make me more appealing.

xoxox

I sip my drink and find myself smiling goofily into space.

Things are going well . . . for the first time in a long time, I feel myself become a little excited for what’s to come.

Let’s see what happens.

I stare at the ceiling in the darkness from my bed. It’s midnight. My old bedroom brings a surprising comfort that I didn’t know I needed.

It’s great being here with my family, but New York seems so very far away.

I didn’t call Jameson like I said I would; in fact I haven’t spoken to him all night.

Being here with people who love me makes me realize how fragile I’ve been. I was completely alone and heartbroken in New York. I mean sure, I had Molly and Aaron, but I’ve known them all of three months. It’s not the same as having family around, the ones who will stand by your side through thick and thin.

I don’t know where I’m going with Jameson, only that I didn’t want to speak to him tonight. Why?

Maybe I’m never going to let go of this hurt; maybe he’s done irreversible damage.

Maybe I’m too good for him and his shit . . . there’s no maybe in that sentence—I know I am.

My phone vibrates on the side table, and I frown as I see the letter J light up.

I exhale heavily and answer, “Hello.”

“Hi.” He pauses for a moment. “You weren’t calling me tonight?”

“I got distracted.”

Silence down the phone. Eventually he speaks. “Em.”

“Yes.”

“Did you go there to get away from me?”

I roll my eyes in frustration. “No, Jameson,” I whisper angrily. “Why is everything about you? I booked this trip two weeks ago.”

“Okay, I just asked. Jesus. Why are you so angry?”

Tears form in my eyes. “You really have to ask?”

“You tell me why.”

Suddenly a volcano that I didn’t even know was there erupts inside of me. “Because I’m in love with a selfish fucking asshole, and I don’t know how to turn it off, and I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop and for you walk away again,” I blurt out in a rush.

He stays silent.

“And the way you just march back in and demand my forgiveness pisses me off.”

He listens.

“And you could have any woman in the world; they are lining up for you. So why are you putting me through this shit? I don’t want the heartache, Jameson.”

“Is that what you think? That I want any woman in the world?”

Tears roll down my face, and I swipe them away angrily. “I have no idea what you want anymore, Jameson.”

“Cut the fucking shit, Emily,” he snaps. “You listen, and you listen good. I don’t want anyone else. I’ve been promiscuous since I was eighteen years old. I’ve slept with a lot of women . . . and I mean a lot of women. You are