Page 87 of Skins Game

When he’d walked around and got in the driver’s side, she asked, “So we’re not going to Connecticut at all?”

He smiled a confused frown. “Why do you want to go to Connecticut? There’s nothing to do in Connecticut. The eastern half of the state has some beaches, although Rhode Island is better for beach time.”

“I just—I don’t know—I want to see where you live. You’ve seen my apartment. You’ve slept over in my apartment.”

“I don’t even have any plants for you to meet. I’m never there. If I were in Connecticut any less, I’d stay in a hotel and establish residency someplace with lower taxes.”

Not California, then. “That seems—fiscally strategic.”

“You’ll love New York. I got us tickets toWickedtomorrow night.”

“And tonight?”

“Dinner reservations, and thenwe’llbe wicked.”

A little thrill ran over her arms and down her back. “Yeah, that does sound good.”

They talked about Sidewinder, movies, and the weather after that, Kingston dodging traffic on the freeways and Nicole along for the ride. The traffic was normal for Friday afternoon traffic, a boiling white-water river of vehicles.

Kingston was a good driver, Nicole had decided some months before, just assertive enough in Southern California traffic so that they didn’t get sideswiped by the crazy people, but not aggressive enough to make it any more dangerous.

When they’d gotten caught in a jam after a Chargers game let out once, Nicole had mentioned something to him about how crazy the traffic was that day, and he’d just shrugged. “I drive in Boston, and I travel to Delhi. Nothing scares me.”

They talked so much that Nicole barely noticed that they had missed the exit to the airport. “Hey! Wasn’t that the John Wayne exit?”

“We’ll take the next one.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been talking so much and let you drive. Now we have to go around the long way.”

“We didn’t miss the exit,” he said. “We’re going in the back way.”

“I didn’t even know there was a back way into John Wayne.”

“We’re not going to the commercial terminal. I booked us out of the FBO.”

“What’s an FBO?”

“Fixed-based operator. You’ll see.”

And then, Nicole had the weirdest airport experience of her entire life.

Nicole had flown before. She’d been to all the states on the western seaboard, plus other western states for trips with friends, school trips, and family vacations. She’d learned to ski in Colorado as a kid and wasn’t a fan.Too cold.She’d been to Cabo with friends and definitely was a fan of Cabo. Art and culture weren’t any farther than Los Angeles or San Francisco at most. She lived an hour or two from Disneyland, Knotts Berry Farm, and Universal Studios Hollywood. Las Vegas was a long car trip or a short plane hop away.

How far do you really need to travel when you live in California?

But that day, Nicole learned that an FBO is a private airport terminal.

When Kingston drove up to the very front of the building and parked, an attendant came out, asked his name, and drove the rental car away with their luggage in the trunk.

Nicole lifted her hand like she could catch the retreating car. “My backpack was in there!”

“They’ll put it on the plane,” Kingston told her.

“It’s fragile. It shouldn’t go in the hold. It’s my carry-on.”

He glanced down at her, amusement crinkling his eyes. “You brought your work laptop, didn’t you?”

“I’d feel weird without it. Besides, this is a work trip for you because you have to do the show. I might as well noodle on designs while you’re at the Javits Center all day.”