Page 115 of Love Unscripted
Aaron snorted softly. “We’re professionals.”
“Sure you are.”
Aaron leaned his head back against the wall with a tired laugh. “You done?”
“Not even close,” Adam said cheerfully. “But I’ll pace myself. One week isn’t that long.”
Aaron shook his head as Adam grabbed his things and headed toward the door.
The gym fell quieter after he left.
For a moment, Aaron just sat there on the mat, sports bottle dangling loosely from his hand, the steady hum of the speakers filling the room.
What was Van Morrison singing?Slipping and sliding all along the waterfall with you, my brown-eyed girl…you, my brown-eyed girl…so hard to find my way, now that I’m all on my own. I saw you just the other day…
Why did all roads seem to lead back to Camille?
~*~*~*~
“What’s that you’re listening to?”
Aaron slid into the wide leather seat beside Camille as the last of first class settled. The Delta flight from L.A. to New York to attend the first series of radio shows hummed with pre-departure energy—overhead bins thudding shut, flight attendants doing final checks, the low murmur of business travelers already negotiating deals over email.
Camille had boarded before him. Of course she had. She was already tucked in, seatbelt fastened, tote neatly stowed, a bottle of water in the side compartment. No chaos. No rummaging.
She looked… serene.
At the airport earlier she’d given him a casual wave. Friendly. Polite. Distant. If they were doing “friends,” she was apparently letting him define the tone.
Fine. He could rise to the occasion.
She glanced at him now, slipped off her headphones, and—unexpectedly—held them out with a smile. “Listen.”
He hesitated only a second before placing them over his ears. As he adjusted them, he caught a faint scent—something light and warm. Perfume? Lotion? Camille.
Then—
The opening synth ofI don’t want to Miss a Thingblasted into his brain.
He mouthed along and imitated the performance as far as the cramped aisle space allowed, unable to stop himself. “…Lying close to you, feeling your heart beating. And I wonder what you’re dreaming, wondering if it’s me you’re seeing….”
Camille burst out laughing, covering her mouth as he committed fully to the performance.
A flight attendant paused mid-aisle, amused.
When the song tapered off, Aaron slipped the headphones down and handed them back. “Aerosmith? Really? What other secrets are you hiding?”
She looped the headphones around her neck. “Musically? While you prefer seventies pop, I lean toward rock.”
He scoffed. “Excuse me. I appreciate rock. The Who, for example?”
She swatted his arm. “Get out. Really? Baba O’Reilly is one of my favorites.”
“Mine too.”
Her eyes widened. “No.”
“Yes.”
