Page 11 of Aaron

After locking myself in the bathroom, I moan at my reflection. The ponytail that was so sleek this morning is loose and barely holding on for dear life. Dark circles are smudges under my eyes—raccoon much? Even with my Italian blood, my olive skin appears ghostly under the fluorescent light. The toilet seems innocent enough, but I know what it’s capable of. I turn on the water at the sink to help, then brace as I pull down my jeans and sit down. Even with the water running, it takes a hot minute, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I’m all done and didn’t get sucked out into the sky. After freshening up, I redo my hair, add a swipe of my cherry-flavored lip gloss, and add some blush so I don’t look quite so washed out. My reflection approves. I pull Maxy out of my pack and give him a tight squeeze, burying my face in his soft golden-brown fur and inhaling. He smells like home—lavender and a hint of roses—my two favorite scents.

“Thank you for having my back, Maxy.” He gives me his usual stare, which I know says, “Always.”

“You have to stay hidden for a while longer. When we get to the mountain, I’ll try to give you a tour. I’m sorry you can’t watch out the window.” I know he loves being able to see outside, even if it’s just at clouds.

One more kiss on his face, and I tuck him inside, make sure I didn’t leave anything behind, and head back to my seat.

When I settle into my seat, I put my backpack on the seat next to me and take out my computer. I click on my file and open it after a glance to make sure Harry isn’t watching. It’s time to give Gabi and Seth the relief they’ve been waiting for. I hated to leave them hanging in the middle of the spicy scene, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. After finishing their love scene, Seth cleans her up, then wraps her in his arms and cuddles her against his muscular chest. I smile at the screen, and a happy sigh escapes me. Cavolo.

Did Harry hear that? Nope, he’s sleeping, thank goodness. I did not want to have to explain that or have him look at my screen to see what I was writing. I need to invest in one of those privacy screens. Since I normally write at home or in the coffee shop, it’s not an issue, but it would be good for times like this.

Re-reading the last couple of paragraphs, I make a few tweaks to the text and then sit back and bask in my character’s cuddle session. This is one of my favorite parts—aftercare. I’ve only had sex with one boy. It was during my sophomore year of college. A frat boy who thought he was the shit. He wasn’t. And I doubt he’d know what aftercare was if it bit him on the ass.

Book boyfriends are the best—everything we want and nothing we don’t. I’ve read a few dark romances that got my pulse racing and gave me nightmares. Nope, I’m a softy, and I don’t watch horror movies, either. I shudder, remembering the time my brothers took me to see one when I was younger. I had nightmares for weeks.

When the flight attendant announces that we’re preparing to land, I’m surprised the rest of the trip went without incident. I keep hoping I’ll hear from Jac, but if she got married, she’s probably busy with her new husband. The girl is in for some surprises if Andrew is like she described. Dominant, but is he a real Daddy? Time will tell. We’re going to need major girl time so Jac can spill all the tea.

It’s crazy that just this morning I was wondering whether Daddies were real or unicorns. How did I miss all the signs from my brothers? Are other men I know Daddies, too? Hmm. How do they find their Littles? Are there really BDSM clubs that have Littles’ areas? Or do they have some kind of Daddy radar that helps them find their Little? It’s the way it happens in books, but I know better than most that fiction isn’t remotely close to real life.

Once I’ve turned off my phone and laptop, I put them into my backpack and stuff it under the seat in front of me. Then I double-check my seatbelt and try to relax. The flight was okay after I stopped texting with my brothers; too bad it won’t be that easy to get rid of them entirely.

We arrive on time. A couple more hours and I’ll get to see Jac. Joy bubbles up in my tummy thinking about it. I barely restrain shouting, “Yay,” when I see that the connecting flight is on time. Asheville, here I come. There’s plenty of time to find my new gate and board the plane—at least, I hope there is. I’d rather not have to run through another airport today.

“Is this the end of your trip, Cheri?” Harry asks as we wait for permission to exit the aircraft.

“Uhh, no. I have a connecting flight. How about you?” He seems nice, but I don’t know him. The less he knows, the better.

“This is home for me. I hope the rest of your trip goes smoothly. Don’t let your brothers stress you too much,” he answers, then stands to grab our suitcases from the overhead bin.

“I will or I won’t.” I grin and reach for my carry-on bag. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” He offers me a gentle smile, then backs into the aisle to allow me to pass in front of him—a true gentleman. Maybe he’s the unicorn, I think, and grin again as I wave goodbye to him.

After checking the departures board near my gate, I find my next flight is on time and will board in ten minutes. It’s on a different concourse—of course—Hartsfield-Jackson Airport in Atlanta is ridiculously large. If I ever had a connecting flight in the same terminal as my previous flight, I’d probably faint.

I find my gate with time to spare and take a quick detour to the bathroom. The last thing I want to do is have to go on the plane again. Taking my life in my hands once per journey is my maximum. After taking care of my potty business, I check my reflection. My T-shirt is a little wrinkled, but not too bad. My hair still looks okay, but a few tendrils have gotten loose. I’ll fix them before I take the car to Gallant Mountain.

Opening the zipper on my backpack, I check in with Maxy. “You doing okay in there? It won’t be much longer. Then we’ll get to check on our bestie and make sure she’s good.” He agrees. Since we’re alone in the restroom, I give him a kiss on the head before tucking him back inside and closing the bag.

The flight to Asheville is only an hour, and it’s a much smaller plane. They’re not my favorite at all, and there’s no first class. At least I reserved a window seat, but it’s at the back of the plane. It’s not a full flight, and the seat next to me is empty. I’m relieved I don’t have to worry about a stinky person for this part of the trip, either.

Once we’re airborne, I check my phone for the confirmation from the car service. I hope it’s not the same guy who drove Jaclyn to the mountain. She said he gave her the creeps, but it won’t stop me from going if he’s the driver. Of course, there’s always the chance we’ll land, and my brothers will be waiting for me. Now that would be a dumpster fire for sure.

It feels like we were only in the air for about ten minutes before they make the announcement to prepare for landing. Crazy. It went so quickly. I turn off my phone and tuck it away. When we land, the worst part is waiting for everyone to get off the plane before me. Back rows are sucky. At least it gives me plenty of time to make sure I have a ride to the mountain.

The Asheville Regional Airport is small, especially after being in Atlanta and San Francisco. It doesn’t take me long to find the exit. My first trip alone went pretty well, if I say so myself. I don’t know why my family freaks out over it. It was easy-peasy, except for almost missing my flight from San Francisco.

After I pass through the security area, I look for my brothers and sigh with relief when there’s no sign of them. In the bathroom, I fix my hair and put on more of my cherry-flavored lip gloss—my favorite flavor. Jac teases me about it, saying I only put it on so I can lick it off. She might be right.

When I’m as presentable as I can be without changing clothes, I go in search of my driver. I don’t have to look for long. As soon as I reach the main terminal area, there are a few people holding signs with people’s names.

I walk up to the woman holding the sign that says “Cherise Santini”—stupid wrong credit card—and smile as I introduce myself, “Hi, I’m Cherise Santini.”

“Hello, Ms. Santini. Do you still need a ride to Gallant Mountain?” she asks with a shuttered expression.

“Yes, I do. Thank you. I’m visiting a friend,” I answer. It’s the truth, even if I’m not expected. I wonder whether she knows the Gallants, and that’s why she’s being a little weird. I figure I’m right when she raises one eyebrow in surprise.

“I’m Abigail, but you can call me Abbie,” she says as I follow her outside. Abbie stops in front of a dark green pickup truck that looks like it’s seen better days. I know nothing about cars, so it’s probably okay. As long as we don’t get stuck in the middle of nowhere, I’m fine.