A Mean Tongue and Codeine

Chapter 8

Maia looked back and forth from her phone while leaving the secure area of the Kansas City Airport. He told her he'd meet her by the baggage claim area, despite her protests that she was perfectly capable of either taking an Uber or finding wherever he parked.

A quick scan of the room revealed nothing. She sighed, rolling her eyes.

"I don't see you." She sent a quick text to Andrew, just ready to get to a place with a shower after a day of travelling.

"You would if you paid a bit more attention," A soft, familiar voice whispered in her ear while a strong pair of hands held her hips.

Like a habit, Maia fell back into the body behind her, letting her head rest against his shoulder. "Andrew," She breathed, before turning around and facing him, letting her duffel bag hit the floor.

No wonder she didn't recognize him, he had his glasses and a ball cap on with his hair tied tightly behind his head. She'd barely seen him in his glasses during their facetimes, never in person.

"You made it," He fell into her, dropping his head into the crook of her neck, as she wrapped her arms under his shoulders. "Finally," he whispered.

"It's so good to see you," she mumbled into his shoulder as she gave him a squeeze.

After a few moments, they pulled away from each other. Maia couldn't fight her smile at the sight of Andrew's green eyes looking down at her. He couldn't hide his grin either.

"Alright, shall we?" He picked up the duffel bag from the floor and slung it over his shoulder, then gestured towards the camera bag across Maia's body.

She rolled her eyes, "I'm perfectly capable of carrying my own stuff, you know."
He didn't reply, just emphasized his wordless gesture.

Another eye roll that turned into a smile. "Ridiculous," she chuckled as she handed him the bag. "Where to now? The theater?"

"I thought you might want to drop your bag off at the hotel before going there. I need to go put my contacts in anyway. That alright?" He opened a van door – almost the exact same as the one they used in Denver – and put her stuff in the backseat before holding it open for Maia.

She climbed in, raising an eyebrow at the driver in the front seat.

"I can't drive in America," he blushed, messing with the bun at the back of his head.

"You're ridiculous," Maia scrunched her nose at him. "Hotel is fine, I need a shower anyway."

As if he was waiting for her words, the driver shifted the van into drive and took off.

They entered through the back entrance, Andrew again insisting on carrying her bags as they rode the elevator up to the 8th floor. He pulled the key out of his back pocket and held the door open for her.

Maia walked into the pristinely clean hotel room, already dreaming about the sleep she'd have under the fluffy duvet after the show. Andrew followed behind her and set her stuff down on the couch. "My room's across the hall," he murmured. "Just, if you need anything after the show."

Maia sat on the edge of the bed and nodded. They stared at each other, Andrew standing in the middle of the room, Maia now picking at her fingernails, undoing the 3 weeks of healing they'd had in his absence.

Finally, Andrew cleared his throat. "Well, I'll leave you to it. Meet me in the hallway in an hour?"

Maia weakly smiled in agreement, and watched the door click shut. She cracked her neck, trying to shake off jitters he inexplicably gave her every time he was in the room. Her camera bag sat on the other side of the room, pulling her attention towards it. There was a job to do, she reminded herself, a job that could change her entire life if she was good enough. Rolling her shoulders, she grabbed her toiletries and made her way to the shower, ready to wash off the plane ick.