Believe It Or Not (An Eddie Munson Story)

Fly With Me

Eddie's POV:

"You have the tickets right, sweetheart?" I call down the hallway as I set my duffel bag by the door. Ripley is shuffling around in the master bedroom and I hear her muttering something, but the words are too muffled for me to hear.

After a moment, she comes down the hall with the tickets held proudly over her head. A smile is plastered across her face and I let my eyes wander over her body as she sets her own bag beside mine on the ground.

She's in a light wash pair of jeans and a white tank top. She's got a light, pink jacket over the tank top and it's zipped over her belly, but resting open around her breasts. Ripley's face is clean, clear, and glowing. Her blonde curls are bunched up in a messy bun atop her head.

"I've got the tickets and I think we are all set." She beams up at me and I can't help but to smile back at her, the giddiness in her expression catching.

When I let it slip to Joe that my birthday is this week, he let the entire band take the week off. He pushed out our schedule in favor of me spending some much needed time with my girl and I couldn't be more excited about it.

The only hiccup was a party invite to Brett Michael's Vegas mansion Joe had already RSVP'ed to on my behalf. After some consideration, I figured it would be best if I still went, but make Ripley tag along. When I told her we were going to Vegas, she had an influx of emotions ranging from excitement to panic to worry.

Her first thought, of course, was Orion. Where would he go while we traveled? Would he be alright without us for a few days? What if he needs us? The mom nerves were fierce, but Ripley's mom luckily volunteered to watch Orion and spent at least three hours on the phone with Ripley assuring her that she has done this once before and a few nights were nothing in comparison to raising her on her own. This gives Mrs. Marro an opportunity to take some much needed time off at the hospital as well.

When we dropped the baby off this morning, Ripley and her mom chatted for a long while before I eventually had to pry my girl away. She cried silently on the way home, but when I asked if she wanted to cancel, she insisted it was just her normal response to be sad, but we do really need this trip and she is excited.

Now, as we hop into the van and head toward the airport, I believe her excitement. She's practically bouncing in her seat as her eyes take in the passing scenery as we head into Indianapolis.

The entire way, we speculate about what Vegas may be like. Ripley had gone to the book store last week when I came home and told her about the trip, and she bought a travel guide on Las Vegas. The book has a lot of insightful tips, landmarks, and tourist attractions. Ripley gushed over the photos of the strip and the picture of the cactus. The whole ordeal was so adorable that I could barely keep from kissing her senseless.

"What do you think Brett Michael's house will be like?" Ripley asks, pushing some baby hairs from her eyes as I open my window to smoke.

"Probably huge and filled with gaudy furniture and even gaudier people," I shrug, taking a drag from my cigarette.

Ripley gasps at my nonchalant and honest answer.

"Why are we going then?" She asks, a laugh in her voice.

"It's good to make friends," I answer with a cheeky smile and Ripley snorts.

"Besides, it'll be great for these guys to see me with you. They are insistent that I can't be happy with just one girl. But they don't know my girl. I'm tired of having to deal with their crap."

Ripley gives me a solemn look. I finish my cigarette and roll up my video. My hand finds her thigh and I give it a reassuring squeeze.

"I don't like that they want to help you stray," Ripley says softly and after a long pause. I massage up and down her jean clad thigh, shooting her a serious look.