Page 30 of Fly with Me

Olive rolled her eyes. “Jesus fucking Christ, Lindsay.”

“I know you still blame me about last year, but you brought another woman here?” Lindsay scoffed and turned to Stella. “Typical. You know that Olive’s not exactly sta—”

“Lindsay. Stop.” Olive almost growled the word, but before she could say anything else, Stella cut in.

“I’m not another woman. I mean, obviously I am another woman. That is to say, I am a woman and I’m here with her, as in standing with her, but I’m not with—”

“Oh, you’re straight.” Lindsay shot Olive an acerbic grimace that said, You cannot be serious right now.

“No, I mean, I’m not straight. But we’re not.” Stella waved a nervous hand. “No. No. No. Nothing like that. No. We just met. We’re—uh, friends,” she ended weakly. “So, um. Not dating.”

A pang went through Olive at the sheer number of negative words in that monologue of half sentences. She couldn’t even be happy about the clear acknowledgment that Stella wasn’t straight because clearly Stella thought there was nothing between them. The kiss probably meant nothing to her.

Olive glared at Lindsay. “You have no right to be here. You have no right to say shit like that to my… friend.”

“I came to see you because I thought this weekend would be hard for you, and I wanted to check in. Derek was worried about you too, but of course he’s covering your shifts so he couldn’t come.” She sighed, almost fretfully. “Especially with all the news coverage about what happened on the plane. Must be triggering for you.”

“I’m fine.”

“I can see that.” Her eyes ran up and down Stella in an unflattering appraisal. “Look, if you’re going to be ‘friends’ with Olive”—her matte black manicured nails put air quotes around the word—“you need to be okay with her being hypercritical about every mistake you make and fielding sobbing two A.M. phone calls. Be ready for all the emotionally needy drama mixed with pathological commitment issues.”

Olive was so shocked that Lindsay would imply that she was the force of drama in the relationship, she couldn’t come up with a suitably biting reply. She couldn’t even focus on Lindsay at all. Instead, she stared at Stella, watching an unreadable expression appear there. What was she thinking?

“Stella, I’m not like—”

“Sure you’re not.” Lindsay narrowed her eyes and gave a derisive snort. “I’ll see you at work, Olive. Have just the bestest time ever, you kids.” Her voice became sunny but mocking.

Olive wanted to retort that it hadn’t escaped her that Lindsay had first dumped her for being “dramatic.”

God, did she really need to use that word to describe Olive’s anxiety and panic disorder?

The memory still stung. And after what happened with Jake, Lindsay’s complaint switched to Olive being “boring,” i.e., she was having a fucking major depressive episode after all the stress over her brother’s horrific accident. Olive wanted to call her on the fact Lindsay was conveniently showing up at her hotel right now only because of Olive’s stupid and unwanted fifteen minutes of fame. But mostly, she wanted this conversation to be over, so she didn’t bother replying. Olive turned apologetic eyes toward Stella and led her over to the elevator without another glance at Lindsay.

“I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s fine. She’s…?”

“An ex. We broke up a while ago.” And Olive was too drunk to explain Hurricane Lindsay to Stella. She didn’t want to be thinking about Lindsay. Olive unlocked the room and kicked off her shoes near the closet. Stella lined hers up neatly beside the door. They stood facing each other, barefoot, still drunk, but their happy, floaty Disney World bubble burst by the angry blonde in the lobby.

“You work together?”

“Kind of.” Olive winced.

A few wrinkles creased Stella’s forehead.

Did the universe have a vendetta against Olive getting laid?

“We can share the bed. If you need a heat source.” Olive offered a tentative smile. “I really don’t mind sleep cuddling.” She walked into the room and passed Stella a bottle of water. “I think we both should hydrate after everything we drank.”

“Hydration. Good.” Stella’s head snapped to face Olive’s. “There’s a pullout bed in the sitting room. We don’t have to share.”

“Oh, right. Yeah.”

Fuck. Where was a one-bed trope when a gal needed it?

Now would likely not be the moment for Olive to mention that the unexpected snuggle session of the afternoon had left her feeling happier than she’d been in recent memory and that their kiss on the roller coaster had so destroyed her that she was desperate to have Stella spread out in bed, where she could make her feel as amazing as she’d made Olive feel by showing up today. And along the way, she’d like to find out exactly what kind of noises she could get her to make off a roller coaster.

“The pullout’s fine,” Stella said flatly.