All expenses paid.
Just you and me.
About you: You’re fun loving, adventurous and you have a wicked sense of humor. You’re spontaneous, open minded and creative. You live for today because you never know what tomorrow holds.
I’m Erin and this isn’t your usual Craigslist Ad. I’m twenty-four, and full disclosure, I’m dying. But I don’t want your pity. What I want is your help. I’m not looking for a nanny, or for someone to hold my hand. I want a friend, a confidante, a partner in crime.
I want you.
I’ve barely slept, which I guess is good considering the eighteen-hour flight I have ahead of me. Unless she’s going to want to talk the whole way, in which case no sleep is bad. Of course she is. Women always want to talk. Dying women probably take that to a whole other level. I chastise myself for being so insensitive. Let’s see if I can get through this trip without offending the girl. Or more realistically, let’s see if I can get through the week.
I stroll through departures, scanning the crowd for Erin. I’ve only met her twice now, but she was kind of unforgettable—hot in a she-has-no-idea-how-hot-she-is kind of way. Even that first time, all wet and dishevelled, she was mesmerizing.
My eyes fall on her and a smile tugs at my lips. She’s bent over her open bag, her long blond hair hanging loosely over her shoulder. It feels kind of wrong that I’m checking her out, given her situation, but I can’t help myself. I give it another minute before I walk over to join her.
“Hey,” I say.
She jumps, straightening up. Her face reddens when she faces me.
“You’re supposed to do the packing thing at home,” I tease her. Half her luggage is dumped onto the floor next to her, and I love that she doesn’t seem to give a shit.
“I’m looking for something,” she retorts, narrowing her stunning blue eyes.
I raise my eyebrows curiously and grin.
“It’s not important.”
“It obviously is,” I argue. I’m enjoying playing with her. “And the fact that you don’t want to tell me what it is makes me wonder…”
“Well stop wondering,” she replies. “If you want to do something useful, help me zip this up. It’s stuck.” She bends back over and gives the zip a yank, as if to prove her point.
“It’s stuck because you have this caught in it.” I grab hold of the offending material and back the zipper up. It releases, and I proudly hold it up. “Lacy and transparent,” I say when I realise I’m holding a pair of her panties. I let out a low whistle. “I’m impressed.”
She blushes and snatches them out of my hand, shoving them back in her suitcase. She zips it closed and glares at me. “I’m beginning to regret this already,” she growls.
“Never regret lacy panties, Erin,” I tease. “But seriously, I’m just messing with you. This trip will be great. Trust me. We’ll have fun.”
When she’s not writing, she can usually be found looking for something to read.