Shattered Ink

Rush

Something’s doing in my gut as I stand outside the Vegas airport in the slowly diminishing sunlight and watch Addison’s plane come in for a landing. It’s like a dozen furry little creatures are running around in there, banging up against shit. It’s not a totally unfamiliar feeling. It usually happens right before I see my girl. Along with the twitchy hands dance, and the cotton mouth bullshit. Yeah, that’s right, my body misses hers something deep and awful. It couldn’t give a shit about all the sex text and phone fondling we do. It wants her soft heat right up on it or it’s just not happy.

The plane lands nice and safe, and with a stupid-ass grin attached to my face, I head inside the terminal and go wait in my regular spot at baggage claim. She knows the spot real well. Will be expecting to see me there. Though today I got a little surprise up my sleeve. Or in my pocket.

I roll my eyes. Don’t know if it’s douche-like or romantic, but maybe I got a small piece of white paper with her name on it in my back pocket. And maybe I’m gonna take it out and hold it up above my head like a goof when she starts my way. And then, maybe, when she sees it—and me—she’ll come running. She’ll run at me and jump on me, wrap her sexy, long legs around my waist and just hold on tight. Hold on forever. And, fuck, as her ankles cross right above my ass, her mouth’ll cover mine and make me happy to be alive again, make the crazy in my belly recede.

Someone barks out something on the loudspeaker, and a few yards away the carousel conveyor belt kicks into gear and starts spitting out luggage. My peepers jack around, looking for her. That beautiful long brown hair and those mismatched eyes, all housed in the hottest, tightest, tastiest body on the planet.

It’s only about five minutes later that I spot her, behind a guy in a business suit and a couple who are clearly jazzed to get hitched by Elvis. Like a teenager in heat, my heart drops south and my dick starts to swell. I never realize just how badly I miss her until I see her face.

I reach around, fumble into my pocket and grab the paper, lift it above my head. It’s nothing much. Just some notebook scrap. But I want her to know how nuts I am to have her here. Back with me. Shit…home.

Dressed in jeans and a bright pink tank, her hair loose around her shoulders, she looks hot, as drop dead gorgeous as the motherfucking sunset outside, and I can’t wait to have her in my arms. But as she gets closer, I also see how tired she looks. Bone weary, as the songs say. Or is it stressed? I can’t tell. I push away from the wall I’ve been holding up and curse. I hate it. Want to wring its neck. Whatever it is that’s made her this way. School, me, late nights, parties—I stop myself right there. I stop myself because my gut is going tight. Like pissed, jealous, controlling-dude tight, and I don’t like that guy. He’s weak and an embarrassment to all who have dicks.

The couple headed for Elvis and wedded bliss take off to the right, and Addison’s gaze shifts to the very spot I’m standing in, her eyes instantly locking with mine. She stops inside the very center of the departing crowd, her face and her expression completely unreadable to me. It’s not her usual look, and something ice cold moves down my spine. I remember that she was quiet this morning on the phone, kinda distant. I’d chalked it up to nerves. She’d been rushing off to her econ final. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe there was something more to it.

Slowly, her gaze travels up my heavily inked arms to my face, to the scrap of paper above my head. She blinks for a second, staring at it. Then like the goddamn sun ripping out from behind the clouds, she smiles—so wide and so bright, I fucking die from relief. I’m about to slip the paper back in my pocket and jog over to her, grab her bag and haul her into my arms, kiss the shit out of her for about ten minutes, when she drops the black leather duffle at her feet and takes off toward me.

Around us, shit is happening, people are staring, that chick on the loudspeaker is announcing something. But we don’t care. I don’t care. Nothing exists except me and her. It’s always been that way with us. And I’m starting to believe it’s both our strength and our vulnerability.

“Rush!” She barrels into me, her arms going around my waist, her cheek hitting my chest.

But I got to see her, need to see those eyes, one blue, and the green one that belongs to me, up close and personal. I gotta see that she’s okay, that the stress I noticed earlier isn’t about me or us. My hands plunge into her hair, one curling around to cup her neck. With a whimper, her head drops back and she stares up at me with a look so frantic and hungry and lust-filled I’m thinking it’s a mirror to my own.

“Oh fuck, baby, I missed you,” I manage to get out before I drop my head and feast on her.