"Come on, sleepyhead. Wake up."

At some point in our trip, Brack had moved up front. It enabled me to splay across the backseat with my legs pulled up in a fetal position.

"You awake?" he asked.

I sat up sleepily. "Yes, where are we?" It was no longer daylight.

"A small airport. We're taking off in about fifteen minutes and I thought you might want to use the bathroom and get a Coke and snacks out of the machine."

"You didn't tell me we were flying anywhere." The whine entered my voice. What the hell was wrong with me?

"You didn't ask, sunshine."

Sunshine- even I knew that was a stretch. "You won't be so happy when I puke during the flight." I replied grumpily. "Me and air travel don't get along."

"Hmm, that could be a problem. I'll make sure we have a plastic bag on board before takeoff," he replied with apparent humor. The moron obviously didn't believe me. He got out of the car and opened my door. "Time for you to get out. I need to get our bags into the plane. Mack checked out the building for safety. There's a small bathroom and a couple of vending machines inside. Here," he thrust a few dollar bills into my hand. "Get us both something. We'll have everything we need once we get to the island, but I could use something to elevate my blood sugar during the flight."

Island? My brain was fuzzy and I was barely awake, but I really think he said island. I watched him walk toward a small plane that couldn't possibly be taking us to an island. I squeezed my legs togetherbladder first, then questions. I approached Mack who stood next to the door leading into the small building and gave him a hurried nod. He grinned slightly and held the door for me.

The bathroom mirror didn't lie. I looked worse than I had that morning. Yuck, something was growing on my teeth and I needed a toothbrush. I could also feel a neat row of stitches inside a bald patch on the side of my head. The area was sore, but my vanity ached more. I looked like absolute hell. I washed my face and rinsed out my mouth before opening the bathroom door. The two machines against the far wall drew my attention. I would love nothing more than a soda, but good in, good out was my philosophy. I got a couple of bottled waters for me and a Coke for Brack. The munchy machine had nothing healthy. Brack mentioned blood sugar, so I paid for carb-filled chips and a disgusting cupcake of some sort. There was no way the man lived off this crap or he wouldn't look like he did. Muscled sex on a stick was a good analogy. I imagined long slow licks, musky sweat, and that deep voice saying my name. I was so bad. Too bad I currently looked like a Walking Dead zombie reject. Refusing to take a last peek at myself in the mirror, I went outside to get some questions answered.

Mack and the car were nowhere in sight. Brack waited next to the plane with his stupid aviator glasses turned in my direction. Did he ever remove them? I guess he did for hysterical females. Maybe I could use that to my advantage. Hysterical was something I wasn't accustomed to, but I would make an exception for those eyes. I turned my attention to the plane in order to take my mind off Brack. It was a very small plane. A tiny plane. How the hell would we fit?

"Where are the remote controls?" I asked in a voice more chipper than I actually felt.

"Controls?" he replied with apparent confusion.

I fought to keep a straight face. "Yeah, you know. That little pocket device that flies one of these toys."

He rewarded me with a full, genuine smile. "You must be feeling better," he stated as he guided me around the plane to the passenger door.

Two seats. I looked up at Brack. "You're piloting this thing?"

"You're very observant for a girl with a head injury." His fingers circled my waist and he lifted me into the seat. Hell, he barely strained to do it.

I tried calming my racing heart and underused libido. "You do have a pilot's license, right?" I asked as he laid a blanket across my lap.

His lips curled into another smile. "Yeah, it's one of those mail order things. I answered a few questions, paid twenty bucks, and they sent the certificate."

Wow, the man actually had a sense of humor. "You said island. Were you serious?"

"You'll be safe there and your body needs to heal. There will be plenty of time to laze around in the sun and gain your strength."

Things had been going so well for all of three minutes. Now he pissed me off again. "Do you have any idea what it takes to compete at my level?" I gave him my fierce competitive eyes without giving him a chance to answer. "You don't have a clue. I've played with sprained ankles, twisted knees, and pulled back muscles. A bump on the head won't slow me down. Please tell me you have exercise equipment, a court, and someone who can give me a run for my money on that court."

His lips twitched. I refused to acknowledge the possibility that he was laughing at me. "All that and more, angel." He closed the door and fiddled around with something on the outside of the plane before getting behind the controls.

He started the engine and my adrenaline ramped up. The cockpit was smaller than any plane I'd ever been in. We were practically kissing the controls. Brack flicked switches and turned knobs like he knew what he was doing. I pressed my head back into the seat and closed my eyes when the engine turned over.

"You really don't like to fly?" he inquired over the rumbling sound.

I practiced my airsick breathing hoping to keep the inevitable from happening. "No," I mumbled in reply.

"Sleep some more and we'll be there before you know it. Drink some water first." He placed a water bottle against my lips.

I took a healthy swig without opening my eyes. I heard his low chuckle and shivers ran across my skin. This man did something to me and if I weren't so intent on what would happen once we were airborne, I might give it some additional thought.

His warm breath entered my ear. "Green is not a good color on you, baby."

I knew he was goading me with the silly name calling, I just didn't know what the purpose was. I breathed out through my mouth and in through my nose. I heard him fiddling around some more and then a slight jolt as the aircraft rolled slightly. My fingers clenched the arm rests and for just a moment I held my breath.

Something wasn't right. Of course, when I flew, nothing was right. I had this nagging sensation somewhere in my brain that was telling me I needed to pay attention.

"You're not communicating with the tower," I all but shouted. Deep laughter was my answer. I opened my eyes and turned his way. He was watching the runway. Small white lights lit our path. "You can't just laugh and not answer," I hissed in irritation.

"You watch too much television. This is an uncontrolled airport and radio communication isn't necessary."

Okay, I could go with that. Oh shit. "This plane doesn't have any lights does it?"

Brack shook his head and sighed with seeming exasperation. "It has the required lights. Close your eyes and we'll be there before you know it."

We picked up speed and I slammed my eyes shut. I began counting silently inside my head as we lifted off. Within a few minutes, the plane banked and then slowly evened out. About ten minutes later, my count was at two-thousand one-hundred two. My eyes popped open and I groaned, "I need-" That was it. What I had in my stomach spewed into the blanket in my lap.

"Son of a bitch," Brack shouted.

I'm sure a few splatters hit him. I was just too sick to enjoy the moment. I heaved some more. He had no one to blame but himself. I'd warned him. I flew often and it always had the same effect on me. I couldn't take certain drugs to calm my motion sickness because of the International Tennis Federation's prohibited list. Dimenhydrinate, known as Dramamine, wasn't on the list, but there were certain things I didn't put in my body even if the ITF said I could. Puking was something I could live with. Well, maybe when there wasn't a muscle-bound Hercules sitting in a confined space beside me. The overwhelming smell of regurgitated food filled the cockpit and after a final heave, for now, I just felt embarrassment.

Brack stopped cursing long enough to ask, "Are you okay?"

I used a corner of the blanket to wipe my mouth. "I'll be fine for about twenty minutes." I took a slow deep breath. "I warned you."

"You do this every twenty minutes?" he asked in obvious horror.

I wanted to smile, but that was beyond me. "Like clockwork. I really hope you brought a barf bag or two like you promised."

He groaned. "I thought you were being difficult."

A smile almost escaped. "Who me? Difficult?" I used my sweet little post-throw up voice because what else could I do?