finding Reese.: a SAFELIGHT novel vol.2 (SAFELIGHT Series) (32 page)

“Shh, Jax. You know I’d do that and more for you. I wouldn’t trade this time for anything.”

“I know, but still . . . All this time both of you have been chasing after me, and keeping me in check and shit, but I’m going to miss you a lot. I hope you guys have a motherfucking blast. Promise me that, Pardo.”

I nod and pull him in for a fierce hug. “Will you be okay, Jax?” He nods on my shoulder. “Good. If you need anything, know we’re only a phone call away.”

“Yes, mother,” he quips, and we both laugh again.

Stryder walks in with a broad smile. To think less than a day ago he was under the illusion Jackson and I were having an affair, thanks to his ex-fiancé. I’m thrilled that even though she tried to mess with us, in the end she didn’t get her way. If anything, my friendship with Jackson is stronger than ever, and my relationship with Stryder is in such a wonderful place. As the saying goes, “
Only time will tell.
” I’m so happy time and actions eventually revealed the truth.

“Are you driving, Jax?” Stryder asks. When Jackson nods, he throws the truck keys at him, and the three of us leave the ranch for the airport, enjoying the cloudless, sunny spring morning.

On the way to the airport, David Bowie’s “Modern Love” blares in the truck. While the boys snap their fingers and lip sync, I belt the song out from the backseat, and the boys look at me in the review mirror in awe.

It’s a short drive to the airport, and the closer we get the more excited I feel. Stryder hasn’t revealed our destination, but I’m positive I won’t be in the dark for long. It’s not like he can blindfold me through the airport . . . But the joke is on me when Jackson drives through a private gate. On the tarmac is a sleek cream-colored jet; “Bombardier Global 8000,” stamped on its tail. A crew of four is standing beside the impressive jet waiting to greet us. From afar I recognize Marc, the flight attendant who was assigned to our press tour.

I cross my arms against my chest and slump back in my seat frustrated that I still don’t know our destination. My petulancy doesn’t escape the guys; they break out in laughter in the front seat. Jackson parks by the private plane, and cuts the engine. Stryder hops down to open my door with a small bow and a devilish grin that has me raising my eyebrows with curiosity. As I’m taking a step down from the truck I observe Jackson in an animated conversation with the flight crew, pointing every so often in our general direction. As we approach I hear him talking.

“They are precious cargo. As soon as you land, I want an update, yes?”

The flight crew nods, and the pilot shakes Jackson’s hand. Both the pilot and co-pilot, as well as another flight attendant jog up the steps of the plane while Marc waits for us. Our eyes connect and he waves; I return the gesture.

“All right, guys, I hope you have a safe trip, and enjoy yourselves,” Jackson says, as he hugs us both. “Promise?”

“Sure thing, Jax,” Stryder replies, and pats Jackson on the shoulder. “You’ll be okay?”

“Yeah, man. I’ll be hitting the training center with Rob. He has an aggressive training plan that will kick my ass for three weeks before we go to Chile. I’ll be lucky if I ever walk again once he’s done with me,” Jackson giggles, releasing us. He holds my face with his gruff hands, and looks into my eyes determinedly. “Have fun, Pardo. Remember, there’s nothing a board and a wave can’t cure,” he hints with a wink and kisses my cheek. “Be good.” He releases me and steps back, whispering something into Stryder’s ear.

“Are you ready to board, Catalina?” Marc asks with a smile.

I nod at him, and then turn around to wave goodbye to Jackson. Stryder touches the small of my back with his warm hand and guides me up the small staircase. As soon as we enter the cabin, the captain and co-pilot greet us in the galley and shake our hands while Marc raises the ladder and closes the aircraft door.

The interior of the private plane is stark white with ultra-modern seats, and natural light pours into the cabin through the oval windows making it appear airy and spacious. I feel like a pauper sitting inside a millionaire’s private plane.

Stryder takes a seat on one of the leather chairs and urges me to sit in the one facing his. He takes my hand and squeezes it tight. “I’m not going to tell you where we’re going, so you’ll have to wait until we arrive. Having said that, I’m so happy you’re here with me, Catalina.”

I pat his knee and with my free hand. “Stryder, I’m so happy to be going away with you, but I must admit I’m a little nervous about this.”

Stryder chuckles and leans forward for a kiss. “Don’t be intimidated, baby. I wanted to do something special for you, and Jackson chipped in. Just enjoy it.”

Marc swings by with a small tray with two champagne glasses and a bowl of fresh strawberries and raspberries and places them on the small console next to our seats.

“Welcome aboard, Catalina and Stryder. It’s so nice to see you again.”

We sit on the tarmac for about fifteen minutes before the jet starts moving.

Flight attendants, please prepare for departure. Thank you.

Marc’s voice fills the cabin through the PA system speakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Marc. On behalf of Captain Williams and the entire flight crew, we welcome you to flight eleven with service to somewhere warm and sunny. Our flight time will be six hours and thirteen minutes. Make sure your seat belt is buckled, and welcome aboard.”

After Marc concludes the safety demonstration, I lift both champagne glasses from the console and pass one to Stryder. I don’t know if it’s the natural sunlight, or a reflection of how he feels, but his hazel eyes look mesmerizingly beautiful. They are on the greener side today and contrast incredibly with his crisp white polo, and today he is freshly shaven. His obsidian hair is longer than when we first met and every so often a couple of strands skim his well-defined cheekbones forcing him to tuck them behind his ear. To say Stryder looks oh-so-manly and unmistakably sexy is a huge understatement.

“You’re giving me that look again,” he whispers, his voice oozing sensuality and mischief. I smile, somewhat sobered, and I straighten in my seat with my finger tapping the glass. He leans forward and extends his glass of champagne. “Cheers, Raven Girl.”

Our glasses clink against each other’s, and I reply, “Cheers, Stud.”

Flight attendants, please prepare for takeoff.

We both take long sips from our glasses and giggle when the plane jerks forward. Marc swings by and whisks our glasses away, and we exchange smiles before he returns to the galley and sits down on the jump seat by the aircraft door.

The jet starts its accelerated journey down the runway. This is the worst part of taking a flight; the rattling and shaking usually makes me nervous, but today I feel incredibly comfortable. Maybe it’s the champagne or the company, but all I feel apart from the light trembling of the cabin is the happiness in my heart. I can’t stop smiling at the man before me, and with each furtive glance we exchange, I can’t wait to have him somewhere warm and sunny, and all to myself.

Time flies when you’re having fun, or so the saying goes. We manage to entertain ourselves with a healthy mix of poker, movies, music, and even a dance. I love how we can be ourselves, acting carefree without a worry in the world, each of us focused on the other. We’ve had more than our share of champagne, and if this is an indicator of what our vacation will be like then I can confidently say all of my nerves are out the window. After stopping in Miami to refuel we sneak in a nap for the remaining two and a half hours of our flight.

Ladies and gentlemen, we are making our final approach. I’m going to put on the fasten seatbelt sign. Flight attendants, please prepare the cabin for landing.

Marc collects our glasses, and we fasten our seatbelts. Stryder and Marc exchange a smile, and when Marc retreats to the galley and takes a seat, the jet lands several minutes later. It is early evening when we land, and I still don’t know where we are. Just as I’m about to ask Stryder where we are, Marc’s voice floods the cabin.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Isla Grande Airport. Local time is 6:23 in the evening and the temperature is eighty five degrees Fahrenheit. For your safety and comfort, please remain seated with your seat belt fastened until the Captain turns off the Fasten Seat Belt sign. On behalf of Captain Williams and the entire flight crew, I’d like to thank you for joining us today and we look forward to seeing you again. Enjoy your time here in Puerto Rico!”

My jaw drops in amazement when I realize where we are. Puerto Rico is where my grandmother was from, and I’ve always wanted to visit but never found an opportunity. Among the many things Stryder and I have talked about since we started dating was my wish to come here, and now that we’re here my eyes mist over at his thoughtfulness. Ignoring the Fasten Seatbelt sign, I unclip the belt and land in his lap, hugging and kissing him.

He touches my face, and his eyes shine brightly in the dim cabin. “Are you happy?” he whispers. “I’ve been here many times, and I’m eager to show you around.”

“I can’t wait!” I cry. My chest feels inflated to the point that I’m practically crying.

The jet comes to a complete stop, and after bidding farewell to Marc and the flight crew, we exit the aircraft, and jog down the steps towards a bright red Jeep waiting for us on the tarmac. Stryder puts our bags in the back seat, and we leave the airport listening to salsa on the radio. The humidity has my clothing sticking to my body, but the scent of the ocean is heavenly.

“Where are we headed, Stud?” I ask over the wind lapping through the windows of the Jeep.

“We’re headed to Old San Juan to spend the night. There’s this little bed and breakfast near the historic sites we’ll visit in the morning,” Stryder replies without taking his eyes off the road.

Even at night, the city streets are bursting with life. The locals drive past us with their sound systems blaring different types of music, and the young people sing happily at the red lights. The sidewalks are filled with people, and there’s festival music echoing through the streets. The flurry of activity reminds me of New York City, except the people have smiles on their faces, and there’s a bounce in their steps as they walk by.

Stryder looks at me and smiles. “I’ve been here twelve times over the past five years, and I have yet to meet an unhappy person. Everyone is so friendly, loving, and welcoming, Catalina.”

I nod and smile. The thought of Stryder knowing more about my culture than me is very odd, but Abuela did the best she could to teach me about life and our ancestry in the years I lived with her. She always said the island Puerto Ricans are very different from those living in New York City, and that I’d only understand what she meant the day I visited.

The first thing I notice is the humble smiles of those we encounter on the narrow cobblestone streets of Old San Juan. Music bleeds from the small bars in the colorful colonial-style buildings, and as we walk by the establishments I see people dancing salsa while the onlookers clap their hands to a pattern that is easy to distinguish: clap-clap-clap clap-clap. It’s ‘en clave’ which is the base beat pattern of salsa music. I stop at the entryway of the bar on Calle San Sebastián, and before I know it I’m dragging Stryder inside with me.

I’m mesmerized by the people dancing adjacent to the bar. There are young couples there, their bodies misted with perspiration yet their dancing so seductive it’s hard to look away. They all dance with rhythm and cadence like seasoned professionals, and when the song ends some take bows, while others hug and kiss and then retreat to the bar for drinks.

“Baby, let’s check into the hotel and we can come back,” Stryder whispers into my ear and clutches my hips from behind. He spins me around, and his eyes tell me he’s also in the mood to lay a few steps of his own against the tiled dance floor. I nod, and we walk across the street to the bed and breakfast to check-in.

“Bienvenidos, Señor y Señora Martynus,” the young lady behind the counter greets us.

As I’m about to correct her, Stryder leans in for a kiss, distracting me completely. As we break away, the clerk gives us our room assignment, and we walk down the narrow corridor towards the elevator. Our room is on the top floor with a balcony facing the busy, crowded streets. The king size bed is placed against the wall closest to the balcony, and thankfully the room is air-conditioned. My hair, which is usually straight, is frizzing up, and the desire to take a cooling shower in the marble-tiled bathroom has become a necessity.

I strip out of my clothes and jump into the shower, wondering what the hell am I going to wear in this hot weather. I wash my hair and come out of the bathroom in a white terrycloth bathrobe to find Stryder sitting on the edge of the bed. Next to him is a beautiful white dress with spaghetti straps, a cream-colored lacy bra and matching thong, and strappy white wedge sandals. I let out a contented sigh and straddle his lap; my lips crashing onto his.

“Do you like the outfit?” Stryder mumbles against my lips.

“Yes, thank you.” I breathe, and kiss him again. My hands tangle in his long hair, and we kiss until we’re both left breathless. His hands hold me in place, and a part of me is scandalized and shocked we aren’t moving things further along in bed. Instead, he breaks our hold.

“Get dressed. We need to have dinner. If we keep this up, we won’t be leaving this room until daybreak, and I
really
want to dance with you.” I let out a disappointed huff, and Stryder laughs, then rises. “I’m going to shower.” And just like that, he undresses in front of me leaving me a frazzled heap of need on the edge of the bed.

The dress is delicate and pretty; after putting on the sexy as sin underwear, I slip it on and look into the mirror, and I’m thrilled with what I see. To put it simply, I look happy; my cheeks are bright pink, and my dark eyes twinkle. My hair is starting to curl up on its own, and normally I would resort to an up-do. This time I blow out my bangs and put some mousse in, and leave it down. With make-up and sandals on, I open the wooden door that leads to the wrought-iron balcony, and look at the streets below. Music continues to pour from the bars below and my hips instinctively sway to and fro. I close my eyes and let the music move me, and I don’t open my eyes until I feel a pair of strong hands on my waist.