Fool Me Twice by Lizzie Morton

 

 

Two

 

Britney

 

You can do this, I tell myself, watching Becket from a distance. He’s sitting waiting to board the plane at the departure gate. He doesn’t look like the asshole I imagined him to be, he looks hurt, broken. My heart tugs. Get it together, Brit. I bustle forwards, making sure to catch his attention. He looks up in my direction. Bingo.

A voice from a speaker overhead announces it’s time to board the flight. Becket’s gaze breaks and he looks away from me. He probably thinks he won’t see me again. Wrong.

Luck was on our side. The flight only had a couple of seats left. Thankfully, none of them were above economy, otherwise, Fiona would have gone berserk over the cost. Whatever it takes unless it costs a lot of money. My seat is conveniently next to Becket’s. Coincidence? No. Another prime example of Leigh’s skills when it comes to this job, and how far she’s willing to take things to get the scoop.

Becket stands, picking up his bag and then gets in line to get on the plane. I walk over and join the line further down, so as not to make it too obvious I’m following him. I take a deep breath, it’s game time.

“Excuse me. Sorry, sir. Excuse me,” I say sweetly as I move along the center aisle.

I can see Becket sitting a few rows up from where I’m standing. The cap on his head is the only discreet part of him—he’s well over a head taller than the rest of the people around us. Fleetingly, he looks up and his eyes find mine. Just as quickly he looks away. That’s until his luck runs out and I stop at his row.

“Sorry. I need to get to my seat.”

“No problem,” he drawls out, a smirk on his face.

This is the asshole I expected.

He stands and I move past him to my seat, making sure my body brushes against his as I do. He freezes from the contact and when I look down, the bulge in his pants tells me everything I need to know. Pretending I’m none the wiser to his body’s reaction to mine, I go about settling in my seat. He’s still standing stock still, staring straight ahead. The bulge in his pants is now in my direct eye line.

Trying to ignore it, I look up at him and say, “Do you want the window seat?”

He shakes his head and looks down at me. His nostrils flare as he snaps, “I’m fine. I don’t like the window seat.”

Fluttering my eyelashes, I reply, “Everyone loves the window seat …”

“Not when it involves looking at New York City.”

Not quite the answer I was expecting. New York is one of the most exciting cities in the world. What can he hate so much about a city everybody loves? I’m about to ask when I remember I have a job to do.

I raise an eyebrow. “Who shat on your parade?”

Internally I cringe at the words that have just spilled out of my mouth. They’re not part of the plan, Brit. I’m meant to be wooing him not pissing him off. It’s instinctive. I’m merely reacting to the few words he’s shared and his body language, which has alarm bells ringing. He’s brash and standoffish, like he couldn’t care less about the person sitting next to him. The only person he appears to care about is himself.

He’s an asshole basically. Just like the media says.

“Nobody,” he sighs.

He’s back to looking defeated and my heart flutters. I don’t know how to take him. One second, he’s hot, the next, he’s cold. We’ve not been together more than a few minutes. The flight is over one hundred and twenty. I’m screwed.

I watch as he sits down slowly, not missing the way he shifts his crotch region away. Unfortunately for him, I’ve already seen the evidence of his face value attraction to me. He rests his head back against his seat and closes his eyes, very obviously wanting to go to sleep. Sorry Becket, that’s not part of the plan. I can’t woo you if you’re unconscious. 

“So …” I say bright eyed.

He ignores me and blatantly fakes being asleep. Nobody dozes off that fast.

“I know you’re awake,” I say, unable to hide the smile in my voice.

He opens one eye and looks at me. “Are you always this perky?”

He did not just describe me as perky. I bite back a snarky response, trying to remember the point of all this. “I’m not perky, just friendly,” I reply. “Are you always this grumpy after a breakup?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

His other eye flicks open. “I never told you I’d broken up with someone.”

Think on your feet, Brit. I roll my eyes, making it appear as though I couldn’t care less whether he’d broken up with someone or not. “It’s obvious,” I say. “Nobody hates New York that much, not unless someone’s made them feel that way. I simply figured out the obvious.”

He frowns, before closing his eyes and grumbling, “Whatever.”

Another few minutes of back and forth, not very chatty, chit chat pass by before I try and push for more information.

“So, you did break up with someone,” I say, after he almost bites my head off informing me, he’s had the worst twenty-four hours of his life. A little dramatic if you ask me.

“That’s none of your business.”

My instant reaction is to narrow my eyes, but then remembering what the plan is, I plaster on the sweetest smile I can manage. We hold eye contact for a few seconds and my heart feels like it’s about to burst out of my chest. When it becomes unbearable, we both look away.

“I’m Britney.” It’s the first genuine thing I’ve said since we met.

Of course, this is what sets him off. “How fitting,” he says.

I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs. “Well, you know …”

He is not about to go there. He can’t be that much of an ass, surely. “No, I’m afraid I don’t,” I reply, shaking my head.

“It’s fitting you’d be named after a crazy-ass celeb. Psycho comes to mind.”

Do not lose your cool, I tell myself.I never expected the articles about his unlikeable personality to be true. Well, if that’s the way he wants to play it, then I’ll give him a reason to think I’m crazy. It’s like flicking on a light switch and tears begin to well in my eyes.

“Excuse me?” I make sure my voice comes out strangled, as if I’m in physical pain by the comment he’s made. “You think I’m a psycho?” I throw in an extra snivel just for good measure.

That’s all it takes for him to start backtracking. “Maybe not psycho per se, but you’re definitely some level of crazy.”

So much for an apology. He really is a douche. I need time to rethink my plan, so rather than responding, I ignore him and turn to look out the window. I silently say goodbye to New York as the ground below disappears.

 

***

 

We’re being thrown around in our seats and all I can think is that I’m too young to die. Turbulence, that’s what the Captain informed us this was. Yeah, right. What a nice way of putting it, when really, we’re plummeting to Earth, about to cross over to the other side. I’m paralyzed by fear, which is the only thing stopping me from getting down on my knees, making the sign of the cross and praying to God. Becket meanwhile is drowning his sorrows in the vast amount of Scotch he ordered earlier.

“Here,” he says, passing me one of the last two remaining glasses.

I catch his eye in the dim emergency lighting, and suddenly it’s like I’m stuck in a trance. Each time we make eye contact it gets worse. It feels like the world stops. Not a bad thing when for us, it most likely is about to come to an end, it’s a welcome distraction.

He places the glass in my hand, breaking the moment.

Quietly, I reply, “Thanks.” I’m not thankful. I despise Scotch. Especially the smell. But I’m not about to open that can of worms. Right now, it’s irrelevant.

I raise the glass to my lips, about to down another drink of the thing I hate the most, when Becket places a hand on my wrist. I look at him confused as the plane rumbles, watching as he raises his own glass in the air.

“To the end,” he toasts.

Talk about morbid. I knock the drink back at the same time he does.

“I broke up with my girlfriend of four years.”

I nearly choke on the drink.

The plane drops a few feet, and my stomach goes with it. I close my eyes and grip the seat so hard I’m surprised my nails don’t pull away from my skin. What I don’t expect is for Becket to carry on talking. Of course, in the moment we’re about to die, he chooses to become almost likeable, as he relays the events of the day before his breakup with Abby. He’s totally unaware of the fact that I’m here and witnessing it all with my own two eyes.

The plane lurches again.

“Shit!” I squeak, squeezing my eyes shut as tight as I can. I don’t want to see the end.

“I’m not the perfect athlete everyone thinks I am.”

I open one eye and look at him side-on.

“I once did drugs.”

He’s telling me his secrets as a distraction. He’s handing over everything I need to ruin his future on a plate. Ironically, I don’t need any of this now—the disastrous plane ride is going to do the job for me.

He carries on speaking for a while, and I sit and listen. Focusing on his voice, instead of our impending doom.

When he stops speaking, I take a deep breath and reveal a secret of my own. “I hate my job.”

He chuckles. “Who doesn’t hate their job?”

I stare straight ahead, not wanting to look at him when I say, “No seriously, I detest it. It’s the worst job I could have chosen. I have to do things I hate, but I have no choice.” Like screwing you over, even though I have a strong suspicion you’re not the asshole everyone thinks you are.

“I was charged with assault as a kid.”

My head whips around and I’m drawn into emerald eyes. He’s told me a couple of his secrets but this—it’s the kind of thing that could blow up his NFL career. This is exactly the kind of thing Fiona wanted me to get. Dirt. The question is, can I do it? Can I screw him over? Especially when he’s looking at me in such a way that I’m ready to tell him the real reason why I’m on this plane.

I don’t know what to do or say, but I have to do something. I’m too close to the end to mess all this up.

“I’m a virgin!”

Becket stares at me dumbfounded. With excellent timing the plane plunges downwards and I’m at serious risk of puking everywhere. We’re going to die.

The next thing I know, Becket’s lips are on mine, hot and urgent. This time I’m frozen for completely different reasons; forgetting where we are, what’s happening, who I am. He pulls away, but I remain still with my eyes closed, wanting to stay in whatever brief moment of bliss that was, away from reality.

The plane dips again and people scream all around us. I’m not scared any more though, because Becket is back kissing away the fear. The guy, I’m meant to be tearing apart, is holding me together.

The minutes pass and I allow him to keep kissing me. I don’t feel calmer, quite the opposite; he’s sparked a fire that burnt out years ago. We’re so absorbed in one another, we don’t even notice that the turbulence we were sure was going to result in the plane crashing, has come to an end. The emergency lights go out and the cabin is illuminated once more. We slowly pull away from each other and Becket looks away, assessing what is going on further down the cabin.

Overhead the speaker crackles and the Captain informs us again of what’s happened, just in case we hadn’t been aware. I block everything out, staring straight ahead at the seat in front of me, trying to make sense of what I’m feeling. I look at him out of the corner of my eye, drinking in each part of his solid frame. This was exactly what wasn’t meant to happen. This wasn’t part of the plan.

I’ve screwed up and now I have to screw him over.

I don’t know if I can do it.

The way he’s continuing to be so nice doesn’t help. I feel like I’m sitting next to a completely different person and it’s unsettling. I like this nice side of him, and I can’t. He shouldn’t be around me. I’m no good for him. 

Becket pulls an odd face when I say, “Listen …”

I’m ready for walking away from this whole ridiculous scenario. I never wanted to be a part of this to begin with. Us parting ways is for the best.

He holds up his hands before I can say anything else. “No hard feelings. We were caught up in the moment. Let’s leave it at that,” his voice lacks confidence, but I hear what I want to, because I need to.

I can’t let my mind believe otherwise.

I swallow over the lump in my throat at the same time relief washes over me. I feel put out at the thought the kiss may not have meant as much to him, but at the same time I’m relieved he’s given me an out. He’s made it easy for me not to do this.

My gaze flickers down the plane and I see Leigh looking back at us from her seat. She looks as frazzled as I feel. It serves her right for putting us in this position. She stares directly at me, eyes narrowed. She’s not going to let me get away with leaving things like this. She’s the reminder I need. If we do this and it works, I can pay off my debts, put my past behind me and untie myself from her and Fiona. From my mom. I might finally feel like I’m free. That’s why, even though every part of me is screaming for me not to, telling me that it’s wrong to do this, I plaster on a smile. When I turn back to Becket, he’s looking at me like I’m crazy again. I don’t blame him. With my rapid change in moods, I can’t keep up with myself.

“What are you doing when we land?” I ask.

He frowns and answers, “After that … I need a strong drink, or ten. So, I’ll be heading straight to a bar. You?”

Once again, he’s making this all too easy. “Maybe I could join you?” Say no, Becket.

But he doesn’t. Even though I want him to. After some persistence on my part, he backs down and agrees to go for a drink with me.

It’s the worst decision he’ll ever make.