Wild Card

by Elsie Silver

For the ones who were told their dreams were too dreamy but who went on to make them come true anyway. And for my awful high school English teacher, Mr. C, who looked me in the eye at sixteen years old and told me I’d never be a good writer. Thanks for the motivation.

kick rocks, Mr. C

I’m stuck in an airport, and everyone is annoying me.

grumpy right off the bat. I love it

“Yeah, honestly…it’s cozy.” Yep. There it is. Whoever she is, she’s enjoying this. Must be fucking nice because I’m ready to crawl right out of my skin.

I’d empty my entire bank account just to sleep in my own bed tonight. To be alone with some fucking peace and quiet. To decompress. Instead, I am fully compressed. Every muscle feels tight, and my jaw hurts from clenching it. Even my lungs feel constricted. This was the last thing I needed after having my entire world turned upside down.

“Yeah, canceled.” That too-happy voice floats through the air toward me. “It’s okay. It is what it is. I’m going to make the most of it! When life gives you lemons…” It squeezes the acid right in your fucking eyes.

I can’t believe I just used that woman’s line on this guy, but I’m getting a kick out of confronting him, so I borrow another sentiment from Miss Happy. “Yeah, it’s like when life gives you lemons, don’t be an asshole to the service staff. Or something like that.”

Watching him waddle away in a huff makes my lips twitch. And here I thought nothing could make me smile tonight.

I glance up, and there she is. The lemonade girl. Woman. Because there is nothing girlish about her. She carries herself with a confident ease, wearing soft, feminine curves like she invented them. And that voice? It’s the furthest thing from girlish. That voice is all grown-up. It’s not giddy or overly bright. It’s all honey and spice, smooth with a hint of heat—borderline sensual without even trying.

No wonder he’s practically panting. He’s just encountered a modern-day Marilyn Monroe—but she’s even more buxom. Loose, platinum waves fall next to full cheeks and a button nose. But it’s her big blue doe eyes that are a fucking kick to the gut. They’re so vibrant, I swear they trend toward a lavender tone. I shift in my seat and focus back on my phone. I’m too damn old to be gawking at a pretty girl in the airport. Scrolling the news is far more appropriate.

“Something funny?” I hear that voice again, closer this time. And when I look up, she’s standing right in front of me. And fuck me if for a moment I don’t feel as tongue-tied as the kid I was just laughing at. I stare back at her, feeling like I could squirm under the weight of her soulful gaze.

I deemed her pretty before, but I was wrong—she’s fucking gorgeous.

“No one else is sitting here.” I cross my arms and lean back, creating some space between us. “How do you know?” Her head tilts, the overhead lights highlighting the apples of her cheeks. “No bag. No phone. And you are giving off some serious stay-the-fuck-away energy.” I quirk a disbelieving brow at the woman. “Stay-the-fuck-away energy?” She hits me with a conspiratorial smile. “Yes. If you were a house, I would sage you.” Ah, more granola, woo-woo, make-lemonade, salt-of-the-earth shit. Exactly what I’m in the mood for.

So, no, Bash, the grump whose dark, heavy brows are tugged down tight with an adorable little wrinkle at the top of his nose, does not put me off at all. I know what a truly mean expression looks like—the kind that precedes words sharp enough to wound. This isn’t it. Instead, he looks like all bluster and chiseled features. If I had to use one word to describe him, it would be masculine. From head to toe.

Chunky black leather boots, no-nonsense Levi’s, and a soft, boxy flannel shirt give him a total lumberjack vibe. A grumpy lumberjack. But it’s his face that’s most eye-catching. Not traditionally handsome, not conventionally pretty. His nose is strong, his jaw square, and his thick beard is neatly trimmed. Streaks of silver dust through his dark-brown hair that’s trimmed close on the sides and styled neatly on top.

“Strikes me that we’re all fucked tonight, and any open chair is fair game. If you don’t like me, then I fear I cannot help you. But if you just don’t like margaritas, then I’m happy to help you out by drinking both. I don’t have anywhere to be tonight, and I do love a good margarita.” His full mouth pops open as though he’s about to say something, but no words come. He just stares back at me like I’m an exotic bird he’s never seen before. Finally, he mumbles, “I like you just fine.”

“Yeah, that guy was a fucking loser. I can tell you that much.” I nod my agreement when I hear Bash mumble, “Maybe you should sage him instead.” My eyes widen as I take him in, not finding a single other sign that he just deadpanned a comment like that. So I play along. “Absolutely. I’ll take that under advisement. Maybe if we track him down tonight, I could offer a two-for-one deal and get both of you cleansed up.” That earns me another scowl, which only makes me laugh.

One quick glance down and my eyes catch on the tag attached to his bag. It would appear “Bash” is short for Sebastian Rousseau. Even his name is hot, I think to myself distractedly.

Bash winces. “This is gonna be sweet as hell.” “There is some good news.” His dark gaze flicks to mine, and an airy flutter in my chest distracts me for a beat. “The good news…” I lick my lips. “The good news is that there is tequila floating around in all that sugary juice.” He nods, not looking away. And though I’m not usually one to squirm under a man’s attention, I feel my cheeks flush as this one looks me over. His gaze is appreciative, and I revel in it. “That’s a great point. And when stuck in an airport overnight, some tequila is better than no tequila.” I straighten, propping my forearms against the table as I lean closer. “Absolutely. I’m certain this will make us feel better. What with life giving us limes and all that.”

“Cheers. To limes.” Bash gives his head a slight shake before lifting his glass and clinking it against mine. “To limes.”

“Okay, Top Gun. I’m sure someone whose home was saved by your perfect aim and huge set of brass balls would describe your contribution as ‘exaggerated.’” He snorts and looks away. “You’ve got a way with words. That’s for sure.” I flip my hand in a rolling motion and tip my head forward in a dramatic bow. “Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all night.” My head pops up, and I wink at him. “No, literally, I’m fucking stuck here.” A ghost of a smile touches his lips, and god, I bask in it. I’m certain that when I sat down, he found me annoying, and now I have weaseled my way into an entirely different territory.

“I don’t know. For starters, I don’t look how people expect a yoga instructor to look.” His gaze rakes over my body, chin tipping down and then back up. And the only thing I see in his eyes is appreciation. “What do you mean? You look like a yoga instructor to me.” He says it so simply and with a slightly confused tone. It’s…endearing. Refreshing. I lift a shoulder, playing his response off casually. “I meant my size.” At that his brows furrow. Confusion morphing into irritation. “People are stupid,” he grumbles simply.

I blink up at her, wanting to go back to the part about her dad. Or the comment about her size. Because I barely know her, but I’m pissed off that anyone could make her feel that way about herself. I’ve been in her presence for just over an hour, and I can tell she’s got a knack for helping people. For making a dark room feel just a little bit brighter. And that’s not something you can learn in the pages of a book.

I wince. Kids. That’s a sore spot tonight, but she doesn’t notice the sobering effect her words have on me. She just carries on, unruffled. “And if the story ends with I lay on a dirty floor unsuccessfully trying to fall asleep for hours, it’s going to be the worst story. Don’t live life with regrets, Sebastian.” Fuck me. It’s like she’s found my fresh wound and is squeezing her limes right into it.

“Come on. Don’t quit on me now. I have a deep inner need to make you like me, and I feel like I’m getting close.” With a roll of my eyes, I toss back the last of my margarita. “I like you just fine, Gwen,” I grumble as I reach for her hand. “That’s what you keep saying. But I’m not settling for fine,” she volleys, giving my arm an eager tug.

It feels strange to be holding hands with a woman I only just met. And yet, as she leads me out of the restaurant, I don’t pull away. I let her thread her dainty fingers through mine, as though we’ve done this a thousand times before. Heat hums through my hand, racing up the veins in my arm. She warms me. And a cautious optimism surges from within. It makes me think that maybe—just maybe—despite my surliness and sour mood, she ...

My eyes drop to her round ass—jeans hugging her hourglass shape perfectly, curved hips swaying confidently with every stride. Yeah, she’s hot as hell. She’s fucking trouble.

“Where are we going?” She shrugs, gazing around with an expression of wonder on her face and a flash of amusement on her features. “I don’t know. Do we need a plan? Maybe we’ll just walk along, and something will catch our eye.” My Adam’s apple bobs in my throat as I regard her and wonder what the hell was in those margaritas. Because my mind is consumed by one thought: something has caught my eye. She peeks at me. “I know what you need.” I flush, feeling like a kid caught gawking. I sure hope not. “You need a pick-me-up before we go on our adventure.” “I think all the coffee shops are closed.”

She doesn’t call me over, but I go all the same, intrigued by the woman and her zest for life. I could use a little of that zest, and I know it—I just don’t know how to find it. Not when it feels like the last several years of my life have been one big cosmic joke.

“Okay. Well, just sit here for a while then.” I sneak a glance in her direction to see that her eyes are now closed and her lips are tipped up in a soft smile. “And do what?” Her smile widens, but her lashes stay down, casting shadows over her apple cheeks. “Nothing.” “Do nothing?” Doing nothing is not my forte.

The way her brain works is…refreshing. And I want to know more about it. I think I’d like to spend some time in her brain just so I can get the hell out of mine.

Peaceful. I turn and face the window, considering her words. Peaceful. It’s the last thing I’ve felt lately. But as I stare at the snow, falling thick and soft, I have to admit I feel a glimmer of it stir within me—a soft corner amid all my rough edges.

I wouldn’t say that my mind is blank, but it’s…soothed.

“You can follow along if you want to do some energy-boosting poses.” “That’s okay. I suspect I’d injure myself if I tried to do that.”

She’s borderline hypnotic. Flexible and feminine. And there’s something incredibly bold about her doing this right here and now, beside a man she barely knows. She doesn’t give a fuck what I think. Nor should she. And I admire that about her.

This night has been one surprise after another. I don’t know how I got here, but it almost feels like I’m having fun. Stuck in an airport. With a fucking stranger. And what a stranger she is. I’m not usually taken with new people I meet. I usually have my guard up, reinforced and sky-high. Rock and ice. But Gwen has blasted right through.

“Were you watching me the whole time?” I feel my cheeks flush, but what’s the point in denying it? She could probably tell anyway. “Yes.”

“I knew you’d be good at your job. The snowflake thing almost worked.” She brightens, like a ray of sunshine in the middle of a dark winter night. Her entire body lifts with the simple compliment, and she clasps her hands together in front of her chest. “Yeah?” I give her a firm, reassuring nod, wanting to leave no doubt in her mind as to the sincerity of my comment. “Absolutely.” Her face breaks into the most heartrending smile. And all it does is make me want to pay her more compliments.

His surliness doesn’t put me off. Strangely, it charms me.

“Second, these figurines are probably as old as me. I promise you no one was making figurines of Minnie Mouse doing yoga back then.” I give a solemn nod, still staring ahead at yoga Minnie. “Right. In the olden days.” That gets me a snort. “Something like that.” “How old are you, then? Like, do you just look phenomenal for someone born in 1928? Because the sign says that’s when they were created.” His beleaguered sigh as he straightens has me clamping my lips down tight to cover my amusement.

“How old are you, Gwen?” His dark eyes spark, and the question drips with—I don’t know what to call it. Promise? Knowing? He has to know I’m younger, but I’m also not so young that I’m afraid to take him by the hand and drag him out of the bar just to get him alone.

“Aren’t you tired?” he asks, not dropping my hand this time. “Sure.” I shrug. “But tired is kind of relative. I have been more tired. And there are worse things to be than tired. I’ll let my body rest tomorrow. Tonight, we make memories.”

“Gwen.” “Don’t Gwen me.” A dimple on his right cheek pops up. “Gwenyth?” “Nope.” I continue taking slow steps back toward the conveyor. “Gwendolyn?” I wink at him. “Nope. Sorry, that’s first-date information.” He blinks. And blinks again. He looks so floored by what I’ve just said, I can’t keep myself from smiling. I’m about to turn from him, ready to face the walkway, but his words bring me up short. “What are we calling tonight, then?”

“Oh, tonight? Tonight is just our meet-cute. It’s the night we’ll tell our kids about one day. Remember?”

A small giggle spills from my lips. Because honestly, I’m being ridiculous, and I’m well aware of it. This stoic, almost-forty-year-old man will not want to do the equivalent of trying to go up the down escalator. But I don’t let that stop me. My arms pump as I work my way farther down. This is me. I still want to be silly sometimes. I love to explore. I like to look at the glass as half-full. Hell, I will happily make lemonade.

“Fuck, Gwen. You…” I peek over at him, and his eyes are trained on the belt below us as he shakes his head before settling on, “You have no idea how badly I needed this.” “What? To race some weird girl in the airport?” He chuckles, and my spine tingles. “No. To blow off some steam.”

“Found out I have a kid I never knew about. Met him for the first time yesterday.”

His gaze slides over to mine. “What’s that saying again? When life gives you lemons?” I tap a finger against my lips. “Hmm, I’m not familiar with that one. The only one I know is When life gives you limes…” His lips turn up in a faint smile as he nudges his shoulder against mine.

“I’ve only got about an hour,” he says. “Is that all?” The words come out softer than I intend. It seems like the night went by in a flash, and a heavy weight settles in my gut over the impending cutoff. I don’t want tonight to be over yet. “Yes. Only an hour to ask for your number.” My eyes snap to his, red-rimmed and clearly tired. “Me playing chase on the moving walkway didn’t scare you off?” He shoves a hand into his pocket and pulls his phone out, hitting me with a gravelly “Not at all.”

Last names feel serious. And yet, there is something serious about what happened tonight. A connection. It’s hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that I’ve met a lot of people in my life but they don’t get under my skin the way Sebastian Rousseau has.

“I don’t care. I’ll figure it out. I want to see you again.”