Oh So Wrong with Mr. Right & The Man She Loves to Hate
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Nadine Gonzalez
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One
Catch. That. Man.
Sasha had him in her sights. She took off, racing through the crowded airport, up an escalator and down a corridor, desperate to catch up with him before the crowd swallowed him up. The likelihood of that happening was slim. He was a striking Black man, taller than most. But he moved quickly, making long strides, smoothly dodging other travelers as he wheeled a smart carry-on suitcase behind him. Sasha was weighed down by her hefty luggage—a month’s worth of clothes—and had to shuffle just to keep up. Was this reasonable, hunting down a stranger at an airport? No, but her options were few. She’d just survived an emergency landing on a plane that looked like it had been pieced together by glue and prayers. The idea of camping out at the airport gate, awaiting the next flight out, made her sick. He was her ticket out.
Wait. Where did he go?
Sasha reached an elevator bank. He was nowhere in sight. The acid in her queasy, empty stomach churned. She wanted to scream, but didn’t quite have the energy. She gave up, and not just on pursuing him, on life altogether.
Screw this. She’d grab something to eat and sort it out. It had been a dumb idea from the start.
She located the nearest coffee shop on the airport map and steered her suitcase to Hot Cup of Joe, wondering if their breakfast sandwiches were any good. And that’s where she found him. He stood at a counter-height table, a Styrofoam cup in one hand, his phone in another, brows drawn as he read.
She walked up to him and dropped her travel bag on a vacant seat.
He glanced up from his phone and their eyes met.
By God, he was gorgeous.
That shouldn’t have been her first thought, but since it was she might as well unpack it. He was good-looking, emphasis on good—no bad-boy vibes here. He had warm brown skin, well-drawn features and the clearest brown eyes she’d ever seen. His short-cropped hair gave him classic boy-next-door appeal. Sasha was weary of those. Every girl’s first crush, they stole your heart in junior high and carelessly tossed it back before taking off for college.
He raised a brow, questioning.
She straightened up and tossed back a long box braid over her shoulder. “Remember me? We sat on the same flight, same aisle. You might’ve forgotten, but you helped me store my camera bag in the overhead compartment.”
He’d done more than that. When the plane lost altitude and started its tumultuous descent, he’d helped her with her seat belt. She’d rushed back to her seat from the restroom, where she’d gone to have a panic attack—for totally unrelated reasons—and had trouble clicking the parts together because her hands were shaking so much. He reached over and helped her, tugging on the end of the belt to make sure it was secure. To be fair, he’d checked on the elderly gentleman seated in between them, retrieving his glasses that fell off while he hastily adjusted his oxygen mask. Looking back, he was the only one on the whole damn plane who’d kept it together throughout the ordeal, including the pilot.
He set down his phone. “I remember you,” he said, his voice low and raspy.
“You have something I need,” she blurted out.
His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Is that right?”
“Yes. A ride.” Sasha raised a finger to silence him even though he hadn’t uttered a word. “Before you suggest that I rent a car, you should know that I tried. You scored the last one on the lot. How do I know this? I was in line at the rental car when they put up the NO AVAILABILITY sign. You were the last client they served. And, if you’re wondering in what world that automatically makes you my driver, the answer is: This one, a world where I’m stranded in the middle of nowhere and you scored the last rental car.”
She paused to catch her breath, suddenly light-headed.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She wasn’t. The emergency-landing trauma was the least of her issues. A tornado of gloom and doom had followed her from California to Georgia, where she’d made a brief stop for work, like an omen. Who was to say she wasn’t somehow responsible for bringing down the plane?
He took her hand and pressed two fingers to her inner wrist. Her pulse leaped to his touch. He withdrew. “Wait here. I’ll get you a water.”
“Coffee, too!” she called after him. “And a biscotti!”
Sasha watched him go, as cool as ever. Nothing she’d said or done had rattled him, even though she was, by her own standards, pretty much unhinged. What must he think of her? In his suede jacket and jeans that fit just so, he was every inch the sophisticated traveler. She, on the other hand, in her leggings and oversized sweatshirt, a pair of massive headphones dangling around her neck, looked as if she were on her way to the library to cram for finals.
He returned and set a short bottle of water and a tall cup of coffee before her. Hot Cup of Joe wasn’t fancy—no milk substitutes and no latte art here—but as promised, the coffee was piping hot.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He gently placed a caramel brownie on a napkin. “Sorry, no biscotti.”
She smiled gratefully. “That’s okay.”
There was a quiet stillness about him that she liked. It settled her. The coffee helped, too. As a seasoned traveler it was tough to admit that maybe, just maybe, the plane incident had spooked her.
“They’re servicing the car,” he said. “Once it’s ready, I’ll take you where you want to go.”
Sasha relaxed for the first time that day. This was far easier than she’d anticipated. She didn’t have to twist his arm or resort to blackmail.
“Thank you,” she repeated.
“Was Royal your final destination, or—”
“Royal is fine,” she said. “Drop me off at the county line. I’ll take it from there.”
He offered her an easy smile that killed any remaining apprehension. “I’ll take you home.”
“Royal isn’t home,” she said, quickly dispelling that notion.
“Where is home?”
His phone buzzed with a text message before she had a chance to answer. He read it and pocketed the phone. “They’re ready for us.”
Us. The little word wormed its way into her heart. Everything was going to be fine now. She had someone to rely on. Not that she needed a man to serve that purpose. She was independent and self-sufficient 99.9 percent of the time. Today was a fluke. Sadly, if they never met again, he would forever think of her as the woman who couldn’t swim her way out of a puddle.
Sasha finished gobbling up the brownie. Hopping to her feet, she reached for her bag. He beat her to it. “I’ll take it from here.”
Her battered little heart leaped for joy.
