Chapter Text
This was a bad idea.
The mantra had been stuck on repeat in your head for days. Currently, the point reiterated itself over the ambient noise of the airport bar. It looked like every airport bar you'd ever seen on TV. Cheap black furniture. Check. A wall of glass that sported a view of the airstrip. Check. Enough alcohol to drown one's sorrows and make bad ideas seem like good ones? Not quite, apparently.
To be fair, hiring an escort hadn't actually been your idea. You'd been fully prepared to attend Grandma Jackie's 90th all on your own. That was until you had found out that your cousin Tara was engaged.
Tara had made it her mission in life to find little ways to terrorize you. You'd always thought it was great having a cousin the same age, someone who was your best buddy. At least until junior high. A month into seventh grade, she dropped you like a hot potato and started running with the cool kids. Instead of just ignoring you like they had initially, she had recounted your most embarrassing tales to all of them. That time you tripped and fell flat on your face in the middle of the mall and your dress had flown up over your ass? Yep. When you were nine and convinced you could talk to fish? You betcha. Or when you detailed your fantasy wedding to Justin Timberlake? You know it.
To make things worse, you'd spent most of junior high and high school trying to win her favor back. You'd tag along to football games just to end up spending most of your time running back and forth, getting drinks and snacks for Tara and her squad. Any time one of her friends upset her, you would spend hours on the phone comforting her. The next day, they'd be best buds again, and you were either nonexistent or the butt of every joke. Then after working your ass off for a summer, you got a car first. And who gave them all rides regularly? That would be you, volunteer chauffeur.
Most people at least got to escape the mean girls at home. Not you. Tara's social mobility enabled her to join all the best clubs at school and garner enough attention from teachers and administrators that she was regularly showered with awards and recognitions.
It wasn't so much that you wanted into those clubs or to receive the accolades. You had joined the clubs you wanted and gotten enough fancy certificates and tiny plastic trophies to keep your self esteem afloat. But it would have been nice if every family event hadn't turned into a celebration of Tara's many accomplishments.
By the end of junior year, you'd finally accepted that you and Tara just weren't going to reclaim your friendship, and luckily, you found a small group of weirdos just like you to call your own. Going to separate colleges had made life even better.
The problem wasn't so much that Tara would be there, looking perfect, beaming as her father bragged on every aspect of the Golden Child’s life while her third fiance hung on her arm. You were used to that stuff.
The problem was this particular fiance. The Dreaded Ex. Or as everyone else referred to him, Johnny.
Johnny the artist, who you'd dated in high school, and then after college when you'd gone back to live at home for a couple of years. Johnny who you'd moved in with and helped put through art school, who you'd planned to move to New York with, who you'd planned your whole life around. You'd put off getting more schooling for him and even turned down a promotion that would’ve done wonders for your career at the time for him. Stupid. Never put your life on hold for anyone.
Johnny, the one who'd spent hours with you, planning the perfect, better than Justin Timberlake wedding for months. And then two weeks before the actual wedding, he was the one who told you he just wasn't "into it" anymore. Then he'd asked how soon you could move out.
"Well if it were me," your work bestie Delphie had said at lunch a week ago after listening to you bemoan the upcoming family weekend yet again, "I'd march right in there and cold-clock 'em both. Right in front of Grand-mama."
Despite your state of near hysterical despair, the image was amusing, especially since Delphie was gesturing with a leftover crab leg that she was about to crack.
"You see, older gals," she continued, "still need a little excitement."
You laughed. The idea held some appeal. Grandma would get a real kick out of it. She was the only one in the family who ever openly voiced her annoyance with Tara. Grandma would cut Tara off after a 15 minute presentation of her own many triumphs and pretend she didn't even realize Tara was still jabbering. And the first time you'd brought Johnny the Devil to a family event, Grandma had pulled you aside and said, "That boy ain't nothing but trouble." How you wished you'd listened.
Cold-clocking them both would be a great birthday gift. But you'd never really been one for violence, and physically attacking Tara and Johnny would only give her another spotlight. "Probably going to pass on that one."
Delphie shook her head, cracked the crab leg, and sucked out a bite.
“Isn’t there an office rule against seafood for lunch?" You thought about the incident a year ago when someone had warmed up leftover fish stew, stinking up the office for days.
"You got more important things to worry about." She pointed at you with the shell of the leg.
"Yeah, like how I'm going to avoid those two. I can't miss the party. Grandma only turns 90 once. The guilt trip would last a decade at least. But I cannot deal with the two of them. Not together." You slumped in your seat, stirring the unappetizing salad in front of you.
"There's always drugs."
You took a moment to calculate the number of edibles you would need. It was a big number. And probably, it would leave you a blithering mess. Grandma might like a couple, but your parents would be disappointed . "I don't think drugs are the answer."
She hmphed. "Then what you need is a buffer."
"A buffer?"
"Yeah, someone to run interference. Know what I would do?"
"Besides cold-clock them?"
She grinned. "Hire an escort. "
And so Delphie had planted the seed, watered it over the next couple of days, and eventually managed to talk you into calling an escort service.
Now you were waiting by yourself in an airport lounge, staring down at a $5 drink they'd charged $20 for, and waiting for Dudley to arrive. Dudley the computer analyst was cute enough. Nice enough. He knew the deal. You'd met for dinner the night before to arrange everything. He was average height with short, dark hair and glasses. If it weren't for the fact that his side job was male escort, he'd tick off all the items on your list. It was a short list, one that set the bar fairly low.
Dudley would make the weekend bearable.
The only problem was that Dudley was late. You'd agreed to meet up at the bar two hours before the flight, which was set to leave at 2 p.m. It was already 12:15.
Okay, he's not that late , you told yourself. I'll give him five more minutes before I text.
You sat at a table with a clear view of the glass doors, growing more anxious as people passed by.
12:16. Outside the big window, you could see a plane taxiing. If you didn't make it to the gate on time, they certainly wouldn't be waiting for you. And the latest update on your flight showed it leaving on time. You took a deep breath. It was going to be fine.
12:17. You perked up for a second when one of the glass doors swung open, but deflated just as quickly. It was just some guy who looked like he'd walked out of a big and tall catalog. He barely glanced around the lounge before heading straight to the bar and ordering two shots of tequila. Glasses clinked as the bartender responded, and you dropped your head to look at your phone. Even though it hadn't left your hand, you checked it for messages. Nothing.
You opened Instagram and scrolled. A picture of Tara and Johnny posing with Grandma and throwing peace signs popped up. Looked like the Golden Child and the Devil had arrived early.
No doubt Grandma had already had her fill, even though she was smiling in the picture. She was wearing a tiara and sunglasses, her wiry grey-white hair sticking out in all directions.
Tara winked, hand posed just so on Grandma's shoulder to show off the glittering rock on her finger. It was probably 10 times bigger than the ring Johnny had given you. Of course, he'd immediately asked for that back when you broke things off.
Johnny was smirking, assuring everyone in cyberspace that he was so much smarter and more creative than they were. His hair was long and tousled, the way he'd kept it when you were together. You couldn’t help the memory that rushed to mind: running your fingers through Johnny’s hair, dreaming of possibilities and a future together, a future you’d never thought to imagine before.
Your mind started spinning through what-ifs and why-mes.
Crap. You couldn't do this. What had you been thinking? There was still time to back out. You could just--
"You know, your screen's been dark for about two minutes."
You blinked and looked up. It was the big guy. Up close, he looked more biker than model. Kind of a mountain of a man. Brown skin, bald head, tattoos, muscles for days. You wouldn't want to be caught in a dark alley with him. Something told you Delphie probably wouldn't mind though. "Uhh…?" Based on looks and his drink order, you wouldn't have pegged him for one of those airport small talkers. But they do say you can't judge a book by its cover.
He grinned. It was blinding. Some long-forgotten inner teeny bopper inside you melted. What was happening? This guy wasn't even your type. Probably a reaction due to the self-induced stress and personal pity party.
He stood and closed the few feet to your table. "I'm Luke." He stuck out a hand as big as your face. You leaned back for a minute and then remembered your manners and briefly shook his hand before giving him your name.
He nodded. "You mind?" He pulled out the chair across from you, barely waiting for your permission before plopping down.
"I'm...sort of waiting on someone."
"Yeah," he put his hands behind his head, "about that. Dudley can't make it."
Your eyebrows went skyward. "How do you--?"
He cut you off. Rude. "The agency sent me. Ol' Dud had some stuff come up."
"What kind of stuff?"
He shrugged. "Didn't ask."
"But," you restrained yourself from sputtering, but only just, "he was fine last night! He couldn't even call?"
Luke waved it off like the world crumbling beneath you was no big deal. "Probably a family emergency. You know how it is."
You did not, in fact, know how it was. When emergencies arose, you always called or emailed whoever needed calling or emailing. You blinked. This meant you had no date. The thought sank in. That was it. There was no way you could go. You were just going to have to get used to years of guilt. Maybe a brief period of excommunication from the family. Besides, video chatting with Grandma was almost the same, right?
"Well," you finally said after it had sunk in, "I appreciate you coming to let me know." You stood and grabbed your suitcase. "But someone could've just called me. I assume my deposit will be refunded."
"Why would they refund you?"
Surely he was kidding. "Because they failed to provide me with," you looked around to make sure no one was listening and then leaned down to whisper, "an escort."
"Honey, " He leaned in, "I am the escort."
If he'd said he was going to sprout wings and fly you to Charleston on his back, you couldn't have been more surprised. You stood back and eyed him in his skin tight black tee, designer jeans, and boots. The shirt strained hard, trying its damnedest to contain the bulging muscles. You shook your head. "Nope."
He seemed torn between offense and amusement. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I specifically requested a guy like Dudley."
He rubbed his chin. "You mean whiter?"
Your eyes nearly bulged from their sockets. "No, I don't mean whiter," you yell-whispered, leaning closer.
An amused half grin told you he was enjoying screwing with you. "Why don't you sit back down and explain it to me then." The lack of actual request in his tone pissed you off.
You jerked your chair back and sat down, releasing the handle of your luggage. "I asked for a low key intellectual type, someone my family would actually expect to see me with. Not a muscled hunk of look-at-me alpha male."
"So you think I'm a hunk. That's a good start."
Exasperated, you threw your hands up. "Look. I'm sure you're a great," you dropped your voice again and ground out the word, " escort , but this just isn't going to work."
"And why's that?"
"No one will buy it. Do I look like the kind of girl who brings home pro-wrestler types?"
He looked you up and down. "I think you could bring home whoever you wanted."
You scoffed. "Well I don't. I bring home…" you trailed off, not sure what to say. Nice guys? Sometimes. Average guys? Usually. You finally settled on, "safe guys."
“I can guarantee you're safe with me," he told you while giving you a look that said he was nine kinds of trouble. You hadn't known it was possible to communicate self-assured swagger with just a look, but there it was.
You held his gaze for a full minute. Was it getting hotter? Probably just the cheap liquor. You took a steadying breath. "Look, I'm sorry you wasted your time coming all the way out here. I guess the service will pay for your time by keeping my deposit." Your $500 deposit. "Hopefully you can book another job for the weekend."
"Well since your credit card is on file, I'll still be getting paid the full fee regardless. Sounds like I've got the weekend off." He leaned his chair back and crossed his ankles under the table in one of those luxurious stretches that long-legged men enjoy. "Been a while since I had one of those."
It took you a moment to process his meaning. "Are you saying they're still going to charge me full price even though they didn't deliver?"
"If you take a look at the contract you signed, you’ll see you were guaranteed a male partner for your weekend activities. And here I am."
You felt like cussing up a storm and crumpling in on yourself at the same time. How was this even a thing that was happening to you? You should never have listened to Delphie. Now, you were out more than two months rent for a stupid escort you weren't even going to use.
Your phone vibrated with a DM from Tara. Another picture with Grandma. Except this time, Tara and Johnny were on either side of her and kissing her cheeks while smiling into the camera. Johnny, the Devil, and his soon to be wife, the Golden Child, were kissing your grandma. Your. Grandma.
Grandma had ditched the sunglasses and was staring the camera down, almost glowering, like she knew you were thinking about not coming and saving her from Tara's self-aggrandizing and Johnny's douchebaggery.
Can't wait to see you, cuz . Tara's message taunted.
You looked back up to find Luke studying you and quickly switched off the screen.
"So what's it going to be?"
Out of options, you bit your lip. This was such a bad idea.
"I guess we're spending the weekend in Charleston together."
He beamed another mega-watter.