“Of course.”

I click on the flight as I walk through the room’s adjoining door to grab my purse. I take out the debit card and sit on the bed, beginning to type in my information. I wait for the server to process and am stunned when it comes back purchase denied.

“Must be a mistake,” I think out loud, then type it in again and again and again.

I click on my online banking information and log in, and the account shows four hundred dollars. I click through the transaction information and see that money, a lot of money, has been transferred into different accounts, none familiar. However, the situation is.

“I can’t believe this,” I whisper.

“Everything okay?” Finn asks as he pulls my bags in my room.

I nod and go back to try to find a cheaper flight. There’s nothing today, nothing tomorrow, and nothing I can afford for another two weeks.

I stand up, needing to have a moment alone. I don’t need an audience when I break down, especially not Finn. I need to think. I need to get home. This whole thing was a bad idea.

When Noah was a baby, showers renewed me when I was frustrated. They became my escape from the crying. They washed away the spit up that comes more often from a baby with reflux. They soothed my sore breasts and allowed me to let go of my emotions without anyone seeing me break.

Needing that same release, I strip down and get in, crying in anger, in frustration, and in self-doubt. Why did I need this job so badly? I had everything I needed, more than some people. I was a survivor in more ways than one.

I will get a bus ticket to get home. Then I will take more classes online so that, when Noah is in school full-time, I can maybe teach or assistant teach while working the online business.

Having a plan kicks my survivor’s instinct into overdrive.

I get out, throw my hair into a towel, and put on the hotel robe. Then I walk out into the room where Finn is showered and dressed.

I look at the bed where a pair of leggings and a long-sleeved, light blouse lay next to my white panties and matching bra.

“Get dressed, Sonya. You have a flight to catch.”

I look back at the bra and panties and my face burns.

He smirks. “When you have your boy all set, as your friend, I need to take you shopping. A body like yours should not be covered by panties like that.”

“I have nice ones,” I say defensively.

“I’m well aware. I have taken them off you. But these,” he says, reaching down and picking them up, letting them dangle from his fingers, “need to go.”

I snatch them up and then turn, putting me feet in them and pulling them up.

“Yaya, turn around. I need to see.” The humor he finds is evident in his voice.

“Not a chance,” I grumble, grabbing for my leggings.

When he grabs my arm and spins me around, I swat at his hand and he laughs.

“Well, I’ll be.”

“Stop picking on my panties, Finn Beckett.” I try not to laugh.

“Amazing.”

I pull my hand away and step into the leggings. “What’s amazing? That you ever thought you wanted me when I—”

“No, you somehow make white, cotton briefs look hot.”

“Now you’re okay with them?” I say, pulling my shirt over my head.

“Not just okay with ’em, I’m a fucking fan.”

I catch myself laughing and then shake my head. “I don’t know how you can make me laugh right now.” I pull the shirt down and grab my bra. I clasp it in front of me, twist it around, and pull my arms back in my shirtsleeves.

“We’re friends. Friends do stuff like that.”

“I never had many.” I stop myself. “Well, in school I did, but that’s because everyone knew my mother had money.”

“I have money; is that why we’re friends?”

“Of course not.” I take the towel off my head and run it over my wet hair.

“I’m sure your friends didn’t like you because of your family’s money.”

“Well, they sure as hell disappeared after Noah was born,” I comment as I walk the towel into the bathroom.

When I come out, he is sitting on the bed. I grab my phone and see a text alert from Delta.

Your flight is on time. Please arrive ninety minutes before departure to ensure enough time for security check.

I hear another message alarm. It’s Zeppelin’s “Black Dog.” I look over at him to see he is looking at his phone.

“I need to go pack an overnight bag. I thought I’d go visit my old man for a couple days.” He winks.

“In Ohio.” I don’t ask. I know the answer.

His eyes are sparkling as he nods, turns around, and walks into his room.

I get up and follow him. “You bought me a ticket?”

With his back still to me, he shrugs. If he wasn’t so very handsome, beautiful, thoughtful, and desired by me, I would throw a big fit. He’s lucky I’m just planning a little one.

“You can’t do that,” I say with conviction. “I was planning to take a bus. I would have figured it out. You—” When he turns and looks at me, I immediately stop.

“I can and I did.”

“I’m paying you back every cent. I am—”

“Damn straight you are,” he says, looking me up and down, making me warm and fuzzy all over. “I was thinking Mile High Club.”

“That’s sex on a plane,” I say flatly.

His smile grows. “That is correct.”

“So you bought me a ticket so you could what? Check something off a bucket list?”

“While the check mark on the Beckett list is a bonus for sure, I bought a ticket ’cause you apparently thought you had the funds and didn’t. That’s what a friend would do. It’s also something a selfish prick who hates to fly except when he’s next to you would do if he thought he might need to visit his old man for the first time in a couple years. It’s a win-win, Yaya.”

“I’m paying you back in cash,” I say sternly.

“How about you use the cash to buy some new, sexy panties and call it even?”

***

As we’re sitting at Orlando International, waiting to board, Finn’s knee starts to bounce.

I look over at him. “You okay?”

He nods once and stands. “Not used to sitting around.” He stretches, his shirt lifting slightly and exposing his little trail of hair.

I look up at him, and he sighs, pushing his Henley sleeves up. Then he leans down, placing one hand on each arm of the chair.

“You can’t get enough of me.”

“I so can—”

“Not.” He grabs the back of my head and pulls it forward, kissing the top of my head. “It’s cool, Yaya. I feel the same way.” He straightens and stretches one more time, this time exaggerating it a bit, and then grins at me before plopping down next to me again, linking his hands behind his head.

“I despise waiting, too,” I say.

He looks over at me. “You’ll be there soon.”

Our flight is called, and we find ourselves in the very back of the plane.

“Did you do this because you knew it was closest to the bathroom?” I ask, moving into the window seat as he puts my bag and then his in the overhead compartment.

“Safest seats on a plane,” he says seriously as he closes the overhead compartment.

I pat the seat next to me when he remains standing. He runs his hands through his silky, dark hair and then sits. He rests his elbows on his knees, leans forward, and looks at me.

“Yaya, you are stunning, but you look tired. You should try to sleep. You’re gonna be a busy mom in a few hours.”

“But who will feed you Blow Pops and hold your hand?”

“I’ll be fine.” He lifts the armrest that divides our seats.

“You sure?” I ask as I yawn. I am clearly in need of sleep, but apparently … stunning. I smile at the thought of him saying that word to describe me.

Later, I wake up feeling warm and content with my head on his lap. I look up and he looks down at me with a Blow Pop stick hanging out of his mouth. He pulls it out and licks his lips.

“Still got about an hour. Go back to sleep.”

“Aren’t you tired?”