Holy fucking hell.
Those were the only three words that kept running over and over in my mind as I watched the beautiful vision right in front of me stretch up slightly and shove her bag into the overhead. About three amazing inches of stomach splayed out bare for the world to view. But it wasn't the stomach that was getting to me.
It was the hair.
Lauren had shown up at the airport a fucking strawberry blonde. Okay, maybe strawberry blonde isn't right. Reddish blonde? Dark blonde?
I dunno what color girls would call it. All I know is that the last time I saw her she was a brunette and now...
Blonde.
Unlike Heather, who was a good five inches shorter than me, Lauren was my height. She was all legs and girly bits and...
I was addicted. I positioned myself right against her, locking her into position as I put my own bag up in the overhang. Her hips pressed right into mine and I knew that I wasn't going to get off the flight without joining the mile high club. Again.
"I missed you," she said out of the corner of her mouth, a mouth that was curled up seductively at the corners. She reached behind her, tweaking my left nipple. I sucked in a breath, my hand sliding just barely into the crack that was showing from her low-slung pants. A thong, maybe. I was going more towards commando. The temperature spiked up another few thousand degrees.
"How much?" I asked as she shifted away, a laugh getting caught in her throat. She took the window seat, flopping down and running her hand over her long, messy braid. I almost connected my tightening groin with the upraised armrest, trying, but failing, to suavely get into my seat beside her.
Somehow, she had made me sixteen again. Experienced Nick Carter was a buffoon.
I watched as her hand fell from her braid and she leaned down, straddling her laptop bag. While hunched over, her hand shot out and grabbed the back of my calf. She ran her hand as far up as it would go and then slid it over so that she had a nice chunk of my thigh.
"Enough that I almost felt like a damn fangirl," she admitted. "Your fans document your every move."
"I know," I said. She didn't have to tell me. It had been tricky at the airport. When I had seen blonde Miss Lauren across the way, I had wanted to hump her right there. Of course, that was hard to do when you have about a hundred fans posed with IPhones ready to post pictures where a certain girlfriend could easily see them...
Suddenly, Lauren let go of my thigh and I got a clear view of cleavage. I turned around in my seat, practically salivating like one of Pavlov's dogs. My eyes focused on the bathroom.
"I might need some assistance once we reach elevation," I said slowly. Her body swiveled and I knew her eyes followed the same trajectory I had just taken. She clicked her tongue.
"Dirty," she said.
"I brought hand sanitizer," I blurted. I almost choked on my own tongue. Did I seriously just say that?
Lauren's laugh confirmed my stupidity. "Might have to trade in your man card for that," she said.
My mouth curved into a smile. "You won't be saying that soon," I teased. Her eyes darkened.
The sexual innuendos hit a fevered pitch as the rest of my crew settled down. I had my boy Andrew, a couple security guards, and my PR people to make sure I got to events on time. Or at least as close as Backstreet time would allow. Needless to say, I had surrounded myself with people who knew me well enough not to be too shocked that I was being a player. Andrew didn't even look up as Lauren and I both slid into the bathroom - and he was sitting right next to it.
I didn't have a lot of time to think about the fact that he was about to hear a lot of bumping, moaning, and grinding. The minute the door closed behind Lauren, she had her hands on the bottom of my shirt and I had my teeth locked somewhere in the proximity of her left boob.
I've got to admit that I've had sex in airplane bathrooms a few times. I'm certainly not a rookie when it comes to the mile high club. Unfortunately, the best days of large private planes were behind me. The first class bathrooms are way better than just coach, but they still leave a lot to be desired. Like size. It's not always easy maneuvering in a space barely big enough for a toilet and a sink. That's why you've got to use the sink as your friend and the toilet as your enemy.
"Crap!" Lauren cried as I half-dropped her onto the ledge of the sink. The plane had hit a bump and my best laid plan had failed. She scooted herself up onto the pedestal and I felt the muscles in her legs tighten as she wrapped those long puppies around my waist. She smiled and ran her hands into my hair, her long nails massaging the scalp.
"You know your fangirls call it Thor?" she asked as I worked at my jeans. I paused, looking at her in surprise.
"They have conversations about it?"
Lauren smirked. "They speculate."
"Did you join in?"
Her eyes sparkled. "I might have added a comment."
"I hope you gave me credit."
Her hands replaced mine on the zipper. "Oh, trust me. I gave you credit."
Lauren proved it by giving me a lot more than credit. Unfortunately, I guess I either forgot how thin the walls of plane bathrooms are, or Lauren and I together just created more chaos than even I was capable of singly. My super hero strength combined with the sheer force of banging her against the sink must have done something to the laws of nature (don't ask me what). One minute I was close to putting Mt. Vesivius to shame...
The next minute there was a large hole in the wall, Lauren was contorted backwards, her boobs on display to all first class passengers and her braid practically touching the ground. Andrew was screaming, having crawled out of the way just in time, but not before pieces of wall had gotten lodged in his hair.
I swear, if it wasn't for the fact that I had a pissed off stewardess heading towards me at a hundred miles an hour, I think Lauren and I still would have finished.
She's just pretty cool like that.
Heather
I was sitting at the desk, staring at yet another rejection letter. Sorry, it said, your work that you've poured your sweat, blood, tears and hopes into for years of your life is too shitty for us to print for human eyes to see.
Well it didn't exactly say that. It just felt like that's what it said.
Anyways, that's when the phone rang.
I glanced at the caller ID. "Twice in one day, Brian? This has gotta be some kind of record."
"Have you been online?" his breath was a little short.
"Online?" I asked, glancing at the closed laptop. "No, why?" Instinctively, my hands reached for the computer.
"Okay. Um. Don't. Don't until you've talked to Nick, okay?"
"Brian?"
"Talk to Nick."
And just like that he'd hung up. I stared at the phone as the dial tone took over and puzzled as I put it back to its cradle. My eyes traveled back to the sleeping computer. Then my heart skipped a beat. Of course. It all made sense. My mouth went a little bit dry.
I imagined the picture I was about to see as I clicked the buttons on the PC to wake it up. His tall, thin frame, leaning over a glass case. The pale blue and white boxes in a stack by his arm. Jealous fans drooling in windows. Andrew standing by his side on his cell phone, explaining why their appointments in Germany were cancelled. I pictured Nick coming waltzing in the door ready to sweep me off my feet with a rock the size of Pluto on a band of platinum.
I started mentally planning the wedding. Italy on the beach. Nick in jeans. Me in a beautiful gown.
I could totally finish my novel, once I'd had the most romantic moment of my entire life... I'd feel inspired, and I'd knock out some of the hottest romance anyone had seen in years. I could almost picture the article where NY Times interviewed me asking where I'd gotten my inspiration.
"I was inspired," I said outloud, as though answering the reporter, "By Nick, when he asked me to marry him. Oh, the look on Nick's face when---"
But I stopped midword because front and center on TMZ was, indeed, Nick's face. But it was not looming over the glass cases of Tiffany's as I'd expected it to be. In fact, there were no diamonds anywhere in the entire image. The closest thing to a rock was the rock-hard nipples on the bare tits of Lauren Kitt protruding through the broken wall of an airplane bathroom.
"Oh. My. God," I whispered.
Brian
“What in the hell were you thinking?”
“Well, for starters, I was thinking that airplanes walls were sturdier than that. I mean, dude, hit a little bit of turbulence and boom she’s sitting on Andrew’s lap.” Nick’s voice was saturated with amusement. “I mean dude, how many times have you taken a leak on a flight and hit turbulence and you catch your balance by leaning on the wall, right? Dude just think; one of these times, you could go though the wall and your wanker’s out there for the world to see and –“
“NICK!” I growled the name and he shut up instantly. “Nick, have you even thought about Heather?”
Nick hesitated, “I’m working on it.”
“Working on what?”
I could almost hear the shug in his voice, “The – you know – cover story. I’m thinking Lauren was probably sick and she needed someone to rub her back.”
“Nick, Lauren is not flat enough that anyone would believe you thought her breasts were her back.”
He hesitated. “Brian, I just—I dunno, Heather hasn’t been putting out a lot lately and I needed some – you know, relief.”
The last thing in the world I wanted to know about was whether Heather was putting out or not. In my mind, she was still a four year old with jelly fingers and pig tails. I shuddered at the thought of Heather and Nick and Nick and Heather and – “UGH! I don’t wanna hear it,” I groaned, “Nick c’mon, dude, I didn’t introduce you to Heather so you could drag her around on your little love party string like you do every other girl. Hell, I didn’t introduce you two so you could decide to go out with her in the first place, but that’s okay.”
Nick laughed, “Kentucky ladies are finer than I remembered them being the first time you took me to your momma’s.”
“I dunno why you think Kentucky ladiesare any different than regular ladies, Nick, but okay.”
“It’s like – I dunno, it’s the pig tails and cowboy boots and all that --- that --- what the hell is the name of that checkerboardy cloth again dude?”
“Gingham?”
“Yeah, that.”
I sighed and massaged my forehead. “This is so not what we were talking about.”
“What were we talking about?” Nick forgot topic flows so easily it was ridiculous. It was that ADHD in him.
“About Heather,” I reminded him, “And what you’re going to say to her?”
“Oh yeah. So, yeah. Lauren was sick. I was comforting her.”
“How about the truth?” I asked. “There’s a revolutionary idea.”
Nick mused quietly, “The truth dawg? Really?”
“Yes Nick, the truth. I think you should talk to Heather, come clean about this whatever-you-have-going-on-with Lauren and do like… I dunno, couples therapy or something.”
Nick snorted. “Couple’s therapy? Are you fuckin’ kidding me?”
“Nick, she’s a fantastic woman,” I said, “And it’s not everyday that a fantastic woman is willing to put up with you and your bullshit. You need to invest something into this relationship. Couple’s therapy will help you and before you know it you’ll be happier than ever. With Heather.”
“Like you are with Leighanne?”
I felt my mouth go dry. “Yes,” I said quietly.
Nick laughed, “She listening in on us again? Hi Leighanne.”
“She is not listening in again,” I stammered, looking at the LCD on the phone cradle - she wasn’t - “I’m not unhappy.”
Nick’s laugh didn’t die. “Okay, you go on about that couple’s therapy til ya blue in the face, man, but just remember eventually people will think you’re a smurf. Cos you’re short like that.”
