Spider

Come on, Betty, let us on the plane, my eyes beg.

But Betty bristles at me, her bushy gray eyebrows lowered in a scowl behind tiny reading glasses. Her lips thin as she gazes down at the beautiful piece of art. “Please remove your item from my desk, sir.”

I lean over the counter, widening my eyes, giving her the full-on Spider effect, or in other words: my gorgeous peepers with long black eyelashes. People tell me it’s a gaze that’s devastating to the female reproductive organs, and I question if she has working anatomy because she doesn’t seem fazed by my allure, even when I bite my lip. “Helene and I—that’s her name, Helene—have been together since I was fourteen.”

“That’s nice.” She’s already looking over my shoulder at the person behind me.

I forge on, lying through my teeth. “My girlfriend dumped me while I was here in New York.” The truth is it’s not hard to fake feeling low with a massive hangover. “She always had a cheating problem. Once it was my cousin she slept with—talk about some weird family get-togethers after that.” I sigh. “We came here to, you know, figure things out, and then she met him.”

“Look, Mr.—”

“Please, call me Spider.”

Her brows shoot straight up, her eyes bouncing back to the black widow tattoo on my neck. “Er, Mr. Spider, I’m sorry about your girlfriend. She sounds awful, but—”

“Have you ever been cheated on, Betty?”

She nods, albeit a little grudgingly.

I wave my hands at her. “You get it then—the heartbreak. God, the way she played me.”

“Was it your cousin again?”

I nod, dabbing at my eyes with a napkin I tucked in my pocket last night at the club. I peek at Betty, watching as she moves from foot to foot, her eyes weighing me, checking for sincerity.

“My dog died last week, too,” I toss out in a last-ditch effort, sinking to a whole new low for me.

The thing is, I’m headed to see my father, and just the thought of seeing him makes me want to puke. He’ll see what kind of shape I’m in and know the truth.

I need help.

But also . . . fuck him.

“What kind of dog?” Betty asks, startling me.

What kind of dog?

Shit. I freeze, unable to snatch a breed of dog out of thin air. Think of a dog! It’s not that hard. What’s that multicolored collie that had its own show in the seventies? Ah, my head. God, hangovers suck.

“Say Yorkie,” a female voice hisses in my ear from behind, the push of her words causing tingles to slide down my spine as she breathes against my neck. “They’re cute and small. She’ll like those. Plus, I’d really appreciate if you’d get out of my way so I can get on my plane. You’ve been holding up this line forever. It’s rude.”

The girl’s warmth leaves me as she takes a step back.

I feel summarily dismissed.

“Collie,” I say to a waiting Betty. “Like in Lassie, the TV show.”

“I like Yorkies myself,” Betty murmurs as she taps on her computer.

“Told you so,” grumbles the voice of the girl behind me.

I ignore her and place our latest CD on the desk, signing it quickly with a permanent marker from my backpack. “Someday I’m going to be famous, and this is my gift to you, and I’m not giving you this so you’ll take care of Helene . . . it’s because you’re a beautiful woman, Betty, and every beautiful woman deserves a little surprise in her day.” My lips kick up in a grin. “But, if you can find a way to get my guitar on the plane, well, that would just be icing on the cake. Maybe I’ll write a song about you—Betty has quite the ring to it.”

Lo and behold, a dimple appears on each of her cheeks as she takes the CD and gives me a considerably warmer look. “We have an area in first class that we usually reserve for coats and such. Maybe there’s room there. Let me check.”

Two seconds later she’s calling someone up, checking if they have a place for my guitar.

I smell victory.

Something soft pokes me in the back.

“What the—” I turn and see a large bed pillow currently being held by the girl who whispered in my ear. I move my gaze up and take her in.

Ruby red lips.

A tight black dress.

And a pair of high-top red Converse.

Damn. I bite my lip—and this time, it isn’t fake.

Pillow Girl checks all my boxes.

I half-expected some uptight old lady in a nun habit, but she doesn’t look old, maybe somewhere in the vicinity of my own age of twenty-two. She’s gorgeous in a way that makes guys—and girls—look twice, maybe three times, but I see beautiful babes all the time on the road.

Wide eyes stare back at me, landing on my tattoo and then dropping down to take in my shoulders, hips, and legs. I smile widely because I know I look tight. My face is near perfect, my shoulders are muscled, and my long legs look damn good in designer jeans.

“Sorry I poked you,” she says with an arch to her brow.

Somehow I don’t think she’s sorry. I think she was trying to get my attention.

I smile. “Ever fancy trying a neck pillow instead of that jumbo-sized thing?” I nod my head at her large, fluffy accessory. “They’re small and travel quite well. You can even purchase one in the airport.”

Full, perfect-as-fuck lips tighten. “I happen to like my pillow.”

I pause as a wave of déjà vu washes over me. There’s something about her face . . .

I cock my head. “Do I know you?”

She shakes her head but she doesn’t look sure.

I squint. “Are you sure we haven’t hooked up before?”

“We haven’t,” she says curtly. “I saw your band in Greenwich Village last night.”

Ah, the bar next to New York University. It had been a sold out show, and I didn’t get out of there until three in the morning.

I nod. “Shame. I don’t remember you.”

She shrugs. “I’m not surprised. You were covered up in girls.”

“We can get to know each other on the plane?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow in her direction.

She blinks as if I flustered her and it makes me grin.

“You aren’t my type.”

“Too bad,” I murmur. “You’re mine.”

Her eyes flare.

Betty hangs up the phone. “Good news! You can take the guitar on. There’s a flight attendant on board named Heidi who’ll be looking for you.”

Finally.

I grin broadly as Betty scans my pass, and with a sardonic Cheerio to the babe, I saunter off to board the plane, my thoughts on seeing my father for the first time in six months. He’s summoned me to his home in Highland Park, outside of Dallas, where he’s starting a whole new life. He wants me to meet his new wife where we can pretend to be one big happy family.

Whatever.

If I want his money, I have to play by his rules.

I walk down the jet-way and stop at the entrance to the plane, where a flight attendant is greeting the passengers.

“Heidi?” I say, my lips tipping up at the curvy redhead in the typical navy skirt and heels.

She smiles back, checking me out. “You must be the owner of the guitar.”

“Indeed.”

She laughs. “Great. I’ll just stow this in the coat closet in first class for you. You can grab it on your way out when we land.” Her smile widens. “Adore your accent. You in a band?”