Hearts in Extra Time (An Atlanta Skyline Novella)

  Hearts in Extra Time

  An Atlanta Skyline Novella

  Rebecca Crowley

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  Opening Chapter of Saving Hearts

  About the Author

  Also by Rebecca Crowley

  One

  “Is this seat taken?”

  Stella groaned inwardly. Bad weather up and down the East Coast meant the airport lounge was full with delayed passengers, the din of schedule-related cell-phone conversations drowning out the instrumental versions of Christmas carols playing over the speakers, but thus far piling her belongings on the table and scowling at anyone who approached had kept potential seatmates at bay.

  “I guess not,” she grumbled, and began repacking the carry-on she’d emptied onto the table with deliberate, exaggerated slowness.

  She carefully wound up the cord of her hair straighteners. Painstakingly folded a silk shawl into a tiny square. Squinted into a pill bottle and counted its contents under her breath.

  Even she was bored by the time she began cleaning the lenses of her sunglasses, yet her interloper waited patiently beside the steadily-emptying spare seat, undeterred.

  “Thanks,” he said smoothly, slinging his duffel on the floor and dropping into the chair. So lowered, she finally came face-to-face with her unwelcome guest.

  Who turned out to be surprisingly attractive.

  Dark blond hair, true-blue eyes, wryly curved lips that looked exceptionally kissable, if she were the kissing type.

  Which she was most definitely not. She returned her attention to the dense legal document open on her screen, frowning as she picked up where she’d left off.

  “Busy in here.”

  Great. A talker.

  Stella kept quiet, hoping he got the point.

  He didn’t.

  “Seems like everyone’s flights are delayed. Mine is. I’ve been here for hours. Nothing’s moving. Good thing we’ve still got two weeks until Christmas or this place would be chaos.”

  She closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to the temples throbbing with another tension headache. This stupid vacation had already put her under pressure at work, and the weather that pushed her morning flight into the afternoon cost her half a day in the office. A chatty tablemate who couldn’t take a hint was the last thing she needed.

  She reopened her eyes and squinted at the deal agreement. So. If the last quarter’s financial results—

  “Where are you headed?”

  Seriously?

  “Atlanta.” She made the word as clipped and unfriendly as she could—and was slightly embarrassed by just how rude it came out.

  Means to an end, she told herself. Now, according to the terms of the deal—

  “Hey, me too. Were you on the eight AM flight that’s now more likely to arrive at eight PM?”

  Of course she was. And now she’d probably have to sit next to him for the two-hour flight, too—if the damn plane ever left.

  “What’re you doing in Miami?” he continued, despite her lack of response.

  Might as well tell him the truth. Hopefully it would shut him up.

  “Honeymoon.”

  His broad, confident smile finally faltered. “Oh. Is your husband—”

  “I’m not married. My fiancé hooked up with a twenty-two-year-old in a nightclub and decided he wasn’t ready to settle down after all. The Caribbean cruise honeymoon was nonrefundable, so I went on my own.”

  She watched him over the edge of her laptop, waiting for a cringe of awkwardness, and then a palpable retreat from her romantic catastrophe. She’d seen it a hundred times on her cruise. From would-be suitors at the bar to kindly widows on a girls’ trip, as soon as she shared the reason for her solo status people shrank away like she might be contagious.

  And considering years of serial monogamy had dumped her straight back to the beginning, maybe they were right.

  Well, the single men of the world could rest easy—she was placing herself in quarantine before jumping back into the dating pool. Her best friend’s prediction that she’d fall in love on her cruise hadn’t come true, but seven days doing everything alone gave her some much-needed perspective. Her ex told her he wanted to have more fun, so she was going to have fun too, dammit.

  Just as soon as she got this deal agreement reviewed. And answered a week’s worth of email. And rescheduled the two meetings she’d miss today, and chased three people for responses, and started on that deal agreement due on Thursday…

  She winced at the pain knotting in her temple. She had to get back to work.

  Except her seatmate hadn’t recoiled in horror at her relationship failure. He hadn’t clucked his tongue sympathetically, or widened his eyes in shock. He didn’t even look uncomfortable.

  Instead he grinned.

  “Did you have fun?”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “On the cruise. Did you have a good time?”

  “Actually, yes. I had a great time.”

  “Awesome,” he enthused. His smile was full-faced and boyish, softening the hard angles of a square jaw.

  “Where in the Caribbean did you go?” he asked.

  Her inbox flashed with a new email. She glanced at the preview long enough to ascertain it wasn’t urgent enough to override her review of the deal agreement—which reminded her this conversation wasn’t urgent enough, either.

  “Lots of places. I really need to get some work done.”

  He raised his palms. “Go for it. I won’t say another word. I’m Aaron Jackson, by the way.”

  She examined the hand he stuck around her laptop. She had a thing for hands, and his was perfect. Big, long-fingered, just a little rough.

  She shook it weakly, then snatched her own back, but not fast enough. The jolt of crackling attraction at his touch already sped up her arm, raising the tiny hairs on her skin before fizzling out in her heart.

  Oh, hell no. She’d just spent the last week testing her discipline on the cruise ship, spending forty minutes in the gym every morning, denying herself the extra desserts and glasses of wine she’d craved. No way would she let herself slip now, and stumble down another misguided path toward what she thought was a happily-ever-after that turned out to be a big, empty nothing. Her ex’s departure was a brick through the window of her life, and she’d spent the last three months carefully piecing it together again. Now she was finally tucked safely back into the order and control she thrived on, and she wouldn’t let anything derail her.

  Not even a warm, strong hand attached to a pair of bright blue eyes that seemed to be permanently widened in excitement.

  “Stella Schuster,” she told him tartly before ducking behind her laptop. She just needed to get this deal agreement reviewed and sent off, then she could tackle the growing mountain of her inbox. Now, where was she?

  She focused on the document she’d long grown sick of reading, managing to shut out almost all of her noisy surroundings save a nagging awareness of Aaron. She read through delayed flight announcements, overloud cell phone conversations, even a man who hadn’t realized his headphones weren’t plugged in and the entire lounge could hear the action film playing on his tablet.

  Then Aaron shifted slightly in his seat and she lost concentration entirely.

  It took twice as long as it should, but eventually Stella completed her review of the agreemen
t, compiled her notes into an email and fired it off to the deal team.

  She rolled her neck and flexed her jaw. Since her breakup she’d developed a bad habit of unconsciously clenching her teeth until her head pounded with pain no amount of over-the-counter meds could extinguish. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then clicked to open her inbox.

  Hi Stella, I hear your flight is delayed? Hope you get home soon. Please would you review the attached deal agreement ASAP? Rich was supposed to do it in your absence but he’s slammed today. Thx.

  Her back teeth snapped together so hard the pain rippling up her jaw made her squint.

  Rich was not slammed. He was lazy. She had thought taking some vacation would finally force him to step up, but apparently not. She pried her teeth apart and bit her lower lip as she furiously tapped out a response, deleted it, retyped a milder one, deleted it, wondered if it might not be easier just to do it herself, opened the document, read the first page…

  “Can I get you something to drink?”

  She peered at Aaron, slowly tunneling out of her heavy irritation.

  She was pretty thirsty, as it happened. She’d been so intent on not surrendering her table that she’d barely left her seat. A drink, especially a drink she didn’t have to stand up to obtain, sounded heavenly.

  She exhaled, trying to breathe out her anxiety like she’d been taught in the yoga class she took on the ship. She could let the man bring her a drink. Didn’t mean she would end up sleeping with him.

  “Yes,” she replied decisively, slamming her laptop shut. Rich would have to clean up his own mess this time. She was officially offline.

  “What’ll it be?”

  “Gin and tonic.”

  “Done.”

  She watched him cross the room to the self-service bar, admiring the easy, self-possessed way he wove through the crowded lounge. His slim-fitting jeans and snug, waffle-knit shirt suggested he spent more time on the move than behind a desk. Too bad she was on romantic hiatus, because that ass… She fanned herself with her boarding pass, wondering if Miami was always this hot in December.

  He returned with a gin and tonic and a bottled beer, which he clinked against her glass before they sipped in unison.

  He nodded to her laptop. “Finished?”

  “For now. I was supposed to be in the office this afternoon, so I have a lot to do.”

  “You’re stuck in an airport. Surely no one expects you to be productive.”

  She arched a brow. “What do you do, Aaron?”

  “Defensive midfielder for Atlanta Skyline.”

  Her face must’ve been as blank as her mind, because he added, “I’m a professional soccer player.”

  No wonder he wasn’t acquainted with the ups and downs of remote working. “Is that why you’re in Miami? Did you have a game?”

  He shook his head. “Season’s over. Atlanta won the league.”

  It took her a second to realize she was supposed to be impressed.

  “Oh, that’s great.” She hoped she sounded sincere.

  He blatantly wasn’t fooled, but he let her off the hook. “I met up with a few friends from other teams for a week of R and R. Now they’ll all probably get home before I’ve even left. Luckily my big plan for the day was to shove a ton of laundry in the machine and order pizza. I guess your schedule was a little busier.”

  “It always is,” she said glumly.

  “Tell me about this job that’s so important you have to do it from an airport. Can they do brain surgery over WiFi these days?”

  She laughed, sharp and bitter. “Well, when you put it that way… I’m a lawyer. Mostly M&A for private equity. Basically I keep a bunch of aggressive, macho deal-makers on the right side of the law. Sometimes I’m the only person in the world who will tell them ‘no.’”

  “Is it fun?”

  “That’s not the word I’d choose, but I enjoy it.”

  “You don’t look like you’re enjoying it.”

  She glanced guiltily at her closed laptop, thinking of that unread deal agreement. “I have a lot to catch up on after being away.”

  “Don’t they have someone covering for you?”

  “Yeah, but he’s useless.” She opened her laptop, then looked up sharply when Aaron pushed it shut.

  “He’s in the office. You’re in an airport. He can take one for the team.”

  Indignation flared automatically at his firm tone. Who the hell did he think he was? If she didn’t get back online as soon as possible and brief herself on the deal and rush to read through the deal agreement and synthesize her comments as quickly as she could, and then—

  Pain squealed in the center of her skull and ricocheted through the roots of her teeth. She pressed her palms over her eyes, blocking out the harsh fluorescent lighting.

  She’d spent so much of her vacation trying to de-stress and escape from the tension headaches that plagued her more days than they didn’t. She’d attended yoga classes, booked a massage, spent a small fortune on aromatherapy products, and promised herself she’d leave the ship with a new, laidback approach to life.

  She’d been back on land less than a day and she could barely see through the tension narrowing her eyes and tightening her jaw.

  Her ex had left her to clean up the mess of a cancelled wedding. Her colleagues regularly left her to clean up their professional messes.

  Time to stop picking up after men who couldn’t care less.

  She opened her laptop long enough to power it down, then slid it into her bag.

  “How’s our flight looking?” she asked.

  Aaron checked his phone. “Delayed ’til five o’clock now.”

  “Then I’m getting another drink.” She stood before she could change her mind. “Want anything?”

  He cast a subtly appraising gaze up and down her body, and his subsequent smile heated her from the crown of her head to the tips of her freshly painted toes.

  “I’d love another beer,” he replied easily.

  She turned toward the bar with an acknowledging nod.

  Fuck it. She was Fun Stella now, and Fun Stella flirted. Fun Stella played hooky from work to drink gin with a stranger. Fun Stella might even have stranger sex, if she could find an appropriate venue in the airport.

  Okay, semi-public stranger sex was a big step, but a gin and tonic with a hot pro-athlete was right up Fun Stella’s alley. She smiled to herself as she scooped ice into her glass, making up a new mantra to match her new attitude.

  Fun, fun, here I come.

  Two

  “I had no idea that I could scream so loud—or that it would come out so high-pitched.”

  “And it was just a cat?”

  “A scary cat,” Aaron responded, sending Stella into another fit of giggles.

  He took a slug of beer, watching her down the length of the bottle. Over the last three hours she’d transformed from scowling, open hostility as she reluctantly shared her table to a funny, clever, undeniably sexy woman. He couldn’t imagine what possessed her ex-fiancé to call off the wedding, but he wished he could thank him. He was having so much fun with Stella that every time their flight was pushed back another half-hour he had to stop himself from punching the air.

  She wiped tears of laughter from the corners of eyes the same aquamarine as the Miami ocean. Her curly, auburn hair was piled atop her head, with little ringlets springing out near her temples and along the back of her neck. She’d proven good company and a great view, especially when she took a trip to the bar and he could admire her perfectly round, almost cruelly squeezable ass.

  Normally he avoided women on the rebound. They had too many complicated emotions, too much baggage, and usually weren’t as capable of no-strings sex as they wanted to be. The idea of changing his otherwise ideal bachelor’s life to fit into a relationship was about as appealing as a root canal, so he’d learned it was better to stay away from rebounders altogether than risk waking up next to someone crying over their ex or wanting to talk
about commitment during morning-after coffee.

  For Stella, though, he might make an exception. She flirted hard, made him laugh even harder, and seemed to have genuinely moved on from her broken engagement.

  He’d never had sex in an airport, but he was a firm believer that there was a first time for almost everything.

  Stella raised her chin and pressed her sweating glass to her neck. He watched a water droplet slide a trail down her flawless, peachy skin and disappear between the breasts he’d been admiring for hours.

  “It’s boiling in here. Do you think the air conditioning is working?”

  “It’s the crowd. Too many bodies crammed in a small space.”

  As the afternoon wore on the lounge had filled to capacity. Delayed passengers camped on every spare bit of floor, and the walk to the bar had become a maze of plugged-in laptops and phone charger cords.

  “Maybe we should get out of here. Go for a walk. Get some air.” Her eyes held his as she spoke, and he tried to interpret her meaning. Was get some air code for fuck each other’s brains out? He hoped so.

  “Maybe we should.”

  “Although we’ll lose our table,” she murmured distractedly, and his excitement waned. Stella Schuster was a lot of wonderful things, but it didn’t take a forensic psychologist to see that spontaneity was not in her DNA. Although she’d loosened up over several rounds of complimentary drinks, he bet she lived most of her daily life as the stressed, grumpy workaholic he’d encountered when he first sat down.

  He steered clear of workaholic stress-heads for the same reason he dodged rebounders—too intense, too devoted. His parents were prime examples. They spent so much energy on their respective careers that their divorce shouldn’t have been the surprise it was to his adolescent self. There were only twenty-four hours in a day, so if you spent twelve of them at the office it stood to reason that some of that time was being deducted from the marriage.