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“You’ll laugh.” She’s blushing.
“By the look on your face, I’m guessing I will,” I say. “Tell me anyway.”
She tugs at the wrists of her hoodie. “When I was younger, I was obsessed with the Twilight movie series. I even made Thomas do a marathon with me where we watched them all in one day.”
“Twilight?” I rack my brain until I come up with what I think she’s talking about. Then I remember a tipsy argument a group of Beauties was having one day about werewolf versus vampire. Unsuccessfully, I try to hide disgust from my tone. “The one about the teenager that’s a vampire?”
“I told you you’d laugh.” She looks away.
“I’m not laughing.”
I’m trying not to throw up.
Anything to do with the romance genre and you can COUNT. ME. OUT. My brand of romance is the kind that comes with whips and chains. Not flowers and roses.
But…
This. Trip. Is. Not. About. Me.
I peel off my charred, black, crusty outer layer and go full-on gooey marshmallow. “Tell me more.” Swallowing back a bit of bile, my fingers fly over the keys.
Her voice is soft, wistful. “The movie was so beautiful. The forests so different from here. The cold, rocky beaches…I always wanted to tour where it was filmed.”
“That’s a good reason to visit somewhere. How long do you think we’ll need? Three days?”
“Sure,” she says, glancing over my shoulder, “If you think the guys can stomach it.”
“Give me just a minute to talk to the pilots and fill them in so we’re not waiting any longer on departure.”
Once everyone is settled, we go through the motions of pre-takeoff. A flight attendant comes by, and we go through the list. No, we don’t want anything to drink. Yes, one pillow and blanket (for her for later) and we’ll pass on the chocolate-covered strawberries.
Paisley gives me a look.
“Actually, leave the strawberries,” I tell the flight attendant.
She gives me another, longer look.
“And one champagne, please,” I add.
“Thank you. I need some bubbles for this trip. I don’t leave home much.” She sits beside me, happily nibbling and sipping as we reach the clouds. “You know,” she says, licking her lips in a sensual way my cock can’t handle, “I don’t know about the whole movie tour idea. I mean—is that fair to them?”
“Who?”
“The guys.” She giggles. “Seems a bit much to force big burly mafia men to traipse around the rainforest looking for vampires.”
“Wait. We’re looking for them?”
“I’m joking,” she says.
I read the hope in her face and shoot back with, “Kind of.”
She shrugs her shoulder. “I mean, if we see a Cullen, we see one. I can’t control that.”
“What’s a Cullen?” I ask. Thinking better of it, I shake my head. “Never mind.”
Alfie’s red head pops up over her seat rest. “Did you say Cullen?”
“Yes. We were talking about touring a few spots where they filmed Twilight,” Paisley says.
