Chapter 5

Spandex Man, i.e. my kidnapper, flies me at a leisurely, but still terrifying pace, towards the ocean. Eventually, I start to relax and can appreciate how magical this is. Seriously, I’m in the arms of a gorgeous man who just saved me from a collapsing building. Plus, I’m actually getting tofly.

Now that the rain has ebbed away to an occasional drizzle, the night is calm and beautiful. The stars, as always, hide behind a veneer of light pollution, but the moon is bright. It hangs impossibly full, reflecting its gorgeous self out onto the inky ocean—an echoing duet for a lonely celestial outsider. In contrast to the chaos I just endured, this serenity is healing.

Which is a very un-me thing to think.

I don’t do serene. I do another-cup-of coffee-until-I produce-an-inhuman-amount-of-work-that-will-gain-me-a-scrap-of-my-boss’s-approval. I pair that with a side of tension headache—breakfast of champions.

When I’m on solid ground, I should really look up how long it takes Stockholm Syndrome to set in. I can’t imagine any other reason for my sudden zen. Luckily, my bag, along with my phone and my files, is still secure in my vice-like grip, strapped around my chest.

Truly, my neuroticism is my best trait.

Although, with the wind blowing through my hair (my poor elastic must have bit the dust at some point between the building collapsing and my person-propelled flight) and the moonlight on my skin, I close my eyes and pretend for a moment that I’m not a neurotic workaholic. I pretend that I’m someone who does whimsy.

Who does romance.

Call it Stockholm or call it the thrill of being alive rushing through my veins, or maybe even just call it plain old attraction, but there is a pull towards Mr. Spandex that I feel right down to my curling toes.

Between the moonlight and my blushing cheeks, all I know is that I’ve never had a night quite like this. I almost wish it could last forever. I wish that I could cast this moment into amber and treasure it always. I could glance at it and remember what it was to care about a feeling more than productivity for a change.

“This is amazing,” I say, trying to soften my voice from when I called him a kidnapper. “The flying I mean.”

He smiles down at me. “Yeah, I save a ton on transportation costs.”

“That’s—oh…”

“I’m joking,” he says quickly. “I don’t actually like fly to work. I have a car. A nice one. Very shiny.”

Peeking up from the safe cocoon of his arms, I take in his face. He’s biting his lip again and I’m pretty sure he’s blushing, although it’s hard to tell in this light. My heart makes a funny little jolt. As hot as I thought he was earlier, I’m now certain that he’s even cuter.

I just want to reach out and poke his little furrowed lines on his forehead every time he realizes that he’s said something completely awkward.

“Where do you work?” Work is a line of conversation that I’m much more at ease with. I could talk about work all day. I havetalked about work all day. Several of my first dates cited it as a reason that they didn’t want to go on a second date.

Mr. Tights sputters nervously, tripping over the beginnings of a multitude of various words. Briefly, he looks up to the sky and shakes his head ever so slightly.

“How about we start at the beginning?” he asks with a charming, practiced smile. A smile that looks nothing like the real one I see dart forward ever now and then. “Maybe we start with names and go from there?”

I nod, kind of digging this whole suave alpha thing he has going on, even if I prefer his bumbling self more.

“Okay,” I say slowly, adjusting myself in his arms to better look at his face. “What’s your name?”

He shoots me a toothpaste-commercial-perfect smile. I practically expect his smile to ping a sparkle at me. “You don’t recognize me?”

“No. And I’m usually pretty good with remembering people because I have a notebook where I record details about them.”

He laughs, like I told a joke. I didn’t.

With another cheesy grin, he takes one of his hands off me and taps the emblem on his chest. It’s a splash of horizontal blue with a red ball of sorts in the middle.

And it clicks.

“Y-you’re…” I stutter, my eyes wide. His smile deepens when he sees the recognition. “You’re the Crimson Streak!”

For the last little bit, this guy has been everywhere on social media and local news sites. Blurry pictures of him saving people or flying around have saturated the digital world, even my admittedly limited one.

He frowns. “I’m the Garnet Defender,” he says a bit dourly. “The guys who started that name—No, that’s not important. What’s important is that I’m the Garnet Defender and I’ve just saved your life.”

Then, he winks.

Is this guy for real?

Then again, the over-the-top charm is equal parts off-putting and attractive. It’s definitely working for me. It’s just not as swoony as his awkwardness.

Whatever. A handsome man in spandex is a handsome man in spandex.

“I’m Hailey Cox,” I say.

He gives me a smoldering smile. “It’s very nice to meet you, Hailey.” His voice comes out in a purr that makes me tingle all over. It’s a physical reaction I’ve never had to another man, let alone from his voice alone.

Also, I know it’s just a pleasantry (Dr. Debbie recommends saying it when you meet someone in her chapter on introductions), but the way he says it makes me feel like he really means it.

The Garnet Defender is happy to meet me.

“Can I ask you something?”

He smiles at me, his thumb brushing up and down on the side of my ribcage. “Hailey, you can ask me whatever you want.”

“Did you really save that whale from the fishing nets last week?”

It was the story that got the Garnet Defender on my radar. Posts about it were everywhere. On the far-away, blurry videos you can see that, out of nowhere, there is this streak of red through the sky—a streak that dives straight into the ocean.

In the background of the video, you can hear people yelling and panicking. Almost a full minute goes by with no sign of him. And then, bam! He bursts forth from the water with a baby orca above his head. He’s holding it in one hand. In his other, he has a mess of fishing equipment and netting. He tosses it a staggering distance to land on a nearby fishing vessel. The boat shakes when it lands.

Then, he sets down the whale and flies back into the air.

Later that day, I made a point to look into the boat’s company and sent them a strongly worded letter to remind them of best practices.

“Of course, I did,” the Garnet Defender answers, looking confused.

“It’s just, I was hoping it wasn’t faked—”

“Faked?” He sounds genuinely incredulous. “You think people would fake something like that.”

I stare at him. Is he joking?

“I would say most, if not all, of those types of videos are fake.”

Now, he stares at me. “And all those videos of people rescuing animals from shelters or abuse? Are those fake too?” His voice is back to being a bit higher and little more wobbly.

“Of course not,” I say. “Those are just done for attention.”

“What?” His voice cracks. “You’re a bit of a pessimist.”

I nod. “Thank you.”

He laughs. It’s a joyous, booming laugh that busts out of his chest and even gets me to crack the beginning of a smile.

“And you’ve definitely fallen for a Nigerian prince scam or two,” I kid.

His face goes serious. Maybe a little embarrassed as well.

“Have you?” I prod.

“Forget being a bit of a pessimist, you’re a full-on grump, aren’t you?” he teases.

“What’s more likely: superheroes have started appearing to stop drunk drivers from crashing into pedestrians or that some kid learned Photoshop and wants to pull a fast one on the internet?” I ask.

The Garnet Defender shrugs. “The first one.” I raise my eyebrow. “There are very few people who actually want to do bad. Practically everyone wants to do good. If they could, everyone would go around doing what I’ve been doing lately. I’m just the only one lucky enough to get the powers to do it.”

I wonder what kind of charmed life he’s lived to make him truly believe that. I recognize that I’m probably on the other end of the spectrum here, but I don’t agree with that at all. Day in and day out, I see people choosing bad. They hurt people and they hurt the environment just to get ahead.

No, I’m fully convinced that if most people were given his powers, they would not choose good at all. They would not become superheroes.

“And how did you get your powers?”

The Garnet Defender clears his throat. “That’s not important. What’s important is that all my heroics are real. And that you, Hailey Cox, are safe.” He’s back to using that deep, movie announcer voice of his that makes my skin hot, despite the pecking rain.

“Even though you’re taking me to a secondary location? Most likely to kill me.”

His face immediately becomes serious.

“That’s not funny.”

I shrug. “It’s kind of funny.”

He adjusts me from bride carry to a hold that presses me right up against him. My clothes are sopping wet, which means I’m freezing and my nipples are hard. They press against his chest in a way that feels way too good. In fact, everything about the way he’s holding me feels too good.

The smell of him in the rain overwhelms my senses. The feel of his body has me arching my back to be even closer to him. Again, I’m struck by just how much I’m drawn to him.

Usually, the feeling would be terrifying. I’m an attractive blonde with a great job, I don’t struggle for first dates. However, my terrible personality (their words, not mine) has them running at their first chance.

Except, maybe I don’t have to worry about that with him. I don’t have to think about to the inevitable heartbreak.

I want to celebrate being alive. I want to follow the sparks of my kick-started heart and see what happens. I want to forget everything that usually plagues my every thought and get lost in the bliss that is actually feeling something for once.

“Let’s be clear,” he rumbles, using the new position to look intently into my eyes. “Nothing about you being in danger is funny.”

His eyes continue to pierce me, like he wants me to feel every ounce of sincerity in his words. Oddly enough, I do.

“You don’t even know me,” I mumble. “How can you be so sure?”

The Garnet Defender looks away.

I guess I got too real. I usually don’t say things like that. I don’t hint at the vulnerability that I feel inside. Dr. Debbie’s book has a chapter on why people find it off-putting to be around people who put themselves down.

This is exactly why I should focus on the right here and right now with him. There’s clearly something about him that pulls me to him. Maybe it’s the adrenaline or his rock-hard body, whatever it is, I want him like I’ve never wanted anyone before.

I know I couldn’t keep him in the long-term, but for now?

Why not tonight?

“We’re here,” he says softly a moment later.

The hard ground under my feet startles me more than anything else I’ve experienced tonight. Although, there’s a good chance I’ve already started the all-important task of repressing trauma. In any case, I’m shocked to find myself on solid ground.

Which is to say on a penthouse balcony of, approximately, a fifteen-storey building. A penthouse, that is the most gargantuan, ostentatious penthouse I’ve ever seen, including on television. The balcony looks out almost directly over the water. From what I can see, the inside is a vast, open-concept that laughs in the face of square-footage and budgets.

It is beyond beautiful, but I don’t care about any of that. All I care about is that there’s a bedroom. And even that’s negotiable.

“Can I come in?” I ask, trying to make my voice sultry like in the movies.

The Garnet Defender gulps. Audibly. His Adam’s apple bobs as his eyes widen.

Well, if I didn’t want to fuck him before, I certainly do now.