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He barely looks up. “You were seated over there. I’m not trying to be rude, but—”
I put my hand out, and he stares at it. “Before you refuse me, we have something in common.” I turn my backward baseball cap around to reveal the podcast’s logo.
“Yes, we’re both fans.” He gives me a tight smile.
“Ari.” He grips the armrest. He thinks I’m a stalker. “I’m the Distraction.”
His eyes dart to mine. “No, shit. They weren’t kidding. You’re gorgeous. Even in this state of relaxed dress.” He’s impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit. His eyes are a hypnotic icy green. His dirty blond hair swoops down but is held in place by product. He’s movie-star handsome. He pats the seat next to him. “My husband’s obsessed with all things Tess McGuire.”
“I’m flattered, but it’ll pass.”
“You know Alex doesn’t date.”
I don’t like how this conversation is moving. “I’ve heard.”
“What are you doing then?”
I shift in my seat. I don’t like this invasion of privacy. “And how’s your marriage? How’s Mikey in bed? What’s the last thing you fought about?” Even though I already know, I want to make a point.
“I’m sorry. That’s was rude. You’re right. I’m not Mike. I have a little more decorum. I love him for his brashness, but I shouldn’t have pushed. I’m simply protective. I leave the blunt to Mike.”
“It suits Mikey better. Thank you.” I stand up.
He places his hand gently on my forearm. “Please sit.”
I say, “Look, Alex, and I don’t even know. Hopefully, on the other side of vacation, we’ll have an answer for you and Mikey.”
“I’m so sorry. Please sit and tell me where you’re going? There’s a pool going.” My eyes widen, and he continues to explain, “Here’s my guess, your schedule’s too hectic for exotic. You’d spend too much time in flight. That rules out Australia, Africa, Maldives, and South America. My money’s on St. Bart’s.”
“St. Bart’s is lovely, but Alex should know first.”
“Another guess was Mexico, but the ocean, not the gulf.” I wrinkle my nose and look away. “Don’t play poker, Tess. You have a tell.”
Dammit.
I exhale. I’ve been dying to tell someone. “Punta Mita, Four Seasons.”
“I adore it. Michael thinks it’s too hot.”
“Yes. Enough about my sexcation. What are you working on?”
We pass the ride sipping train wine from the bar car. He’s profiling first-gen tech execs and what they’ve done since either having wild success or massive failures.
He toasts me. “Tess, I get it.”
“What?”
“Alex. So damn similar. I see that fidgety purple pen. Do you need to write?”
“Yes. Sorry. I figured out some bridge dialogue and section that’s been bothering me. It’s an important breadcrumb for character development.”
“Go ahead. You forget I’m surrounded by workaholics.” I pull my little LOVE notebook out and scribble madly. When I look up, he’s scrolling his phone. “You know that was twenty minutes.”
“I lose myself in it.”
“No worries. There’s something deeper to you. Alex has closed off so many of his reasons for striving for success. It’s like he’s on autopilot now. I feel your need to achieve. You drive is on your sleeve, so to speak.”
“Thank you?”
