Her message lifts the corners of my mouth into a small smile, and I feel a pang in my chest. It’ll be a while before I see her again, which is especially hard since this time it’s my choice, not school or the military keeping us apart.
Another message from her pops up just as my thumb moves to lock the screen.
Rory
And Wes, I love you.
There’s a weird sting behind my eyes at her words. I must be more tired than I thought because I don’t cry. Not that I’m crying now, it must just be the stale air kicking up dust in here or something. I blink a couple of times to clear thedustand start gathering my belongings.
My forceful tug on the straps of my backpack is followed by the sound of ripping fabric. A groan slips out of me, shoulders slumping forward, and I rest my head against the plastic tray table. I take agentler approach to finish pulling it free but can see there’s a decent tear down the side. Huffing out a breath, I move the bag with care, like it’s a bomb that could detonate at any moment.
The aisle ahead empties out so I stand to grab my larger carry-on from the overhead compartment. The wheels get stuck somewhere between a Hello Kitty suitcase and a diaper bag, and my patience wanes.
“Shit.” I mumble the curse under my breath, but a mother in the row behind me still gives me side-eye.
Seriously, I need off this damn plane. Is that really so much to ask? Stretching up higher, I give it a yank, only to lose my balance and go careening backward. My back collides with the person behind me, and when I turn to apologize the loosed bag slides down and hits my shoulder, pushing me further off-balance. My right knee, already pulsating with pain from sixteen hours of sitting, twists and buckles.
The moment stands still but also moves in high-definition, and I can do nothing but let it happen.
The thud of my bag hitting the ground is nothing compared to the loudoofthat comes from the flight attendant I land directly on top of. Our faces are only inches apart, bodies pressed close, my throbbing knee bracketed between her thighs.
Shit. This is not just any flight attendant. This istheflight attendant. The one I’ve struggled to keep my eyes off the entire flight. The one who’s been resolutely avoiding said eyesfor theentireflight.I have her full attention now and I am not prepared for what I see in her gaze. There’s fire in the stunning grey depths, like molten graphite, and she looks like she could burn through me with just a thought. I can’t exactly blame her. With my body pressed againsthers, the difference in our stature is accentuated. At six-two, I’m pretty sure I’m crushing the woman beneath me, who must be at least a foot shorter.
Oh god, I’m crushing her.
I pull an arm free, but all I manage to do is grab her chest in my attempt to push myself up. She makes the most adorable squealing sound that in other circumstances would have me laughing, but the look that follows it replaces any humor with mortification.
“I’m so sorry, I was just… I wasn’t… I mean, I didn’t…” I’m a bumbling fool who can’t form words.
I manage to press the offending hand to the floor next to her and push up until I can leverage myself into a standing position. I suck in a breath through my teeth as I put weight on my knee. A sharp pain radiates out from where my scars pull the skin tight. I should have wrapped it like Rory told me to. Freaking know-it-all little sisters. The shooting pain in my knee, though, is no distraction from the sight in front of me.
Now that I’ve put space between us, I can really see her. I can also feel the stares of everyone still on the plane pressing in on me. They can relax—it might feel like a full hour since I collided with this woman, but I know it’s only been a minute or two at most. I avoid their gazes as I let mine roam over her, telling myself I’m just making sure she’s alright, but knowing it’s really because she’s stunning.
Her skirt has ridden up a couple inches and her blouse is askew, not tucked in neatly like it was the whole flight. Her chestnut brown hair is splayed out behind her and, in my own disheveled state, I’m having an even harder time not staring. How is she more appealing now than when she was all prim and proper? I catch her eye when Ireach her face, and the blush across her cheeks at my perusal matches her perfect pink lips. She glances away again, clearly embarrassed. Is it bad that I really like that blush and the fact that I put it there?
Her eyes flick back to my face as I reach down, offering her my hand, but they drop again when she slips her smaller one into mine. It’s soft and warm against my calloused palm, and I can’t stop my thumb from grazing across the top just once. I decide to flex my muscles a little when I pull her up, and she has to stop herself with her free hand so she doesn’t slam into my chest. I suck in another breath at her touch and her grey eyes lock onto mine.
Well, this is new. I can’t remember the last time I felt such an immediate attraction to a woman. The connection between us breaks just as quick when she pushes away, releasing my hand to busy herself with straightening her uniform.
“Sorry, I—” I’m stopped from continuing when a throat clears and I come to the startling realization that we are still blocking the aisle. The passengers in the rows ahead are long gone, and I can sense the impatience from those remaining behind us. I sidestep into the nearest row of empty seats, grabbing my bags as I go, and she steps into the row opposite me. Now there’s nothing to do but watch each other.
My watching is blatant and bold, because that’s who I am. Hers is more covert, stealing glances from under her long, beautiful lashes that bring out the smoky color of her eyes. I should say something, but every time I’m about to, another person walks between us and breaks our eye contact. I was nearly at the back of the plane, yet now it feels like there’s an infinite number of passengers streaming up theaisle. With every passing moment, the tension builds and tightens like the string of a bow pulled taut.
When the last passengers have exited the plane and it’s only me and her remaining, we stand locked in a stare down across the aisle. She doesn’t seem to have any trouble making eye contact now, although I’m not sure the blazing look of irritation is what I was going for with my glances earlier.
“Are you planning to deplane?” Her Australian accent would make me weak in the knees if I wasn’t already. I imagine the way she’s crossing her arms over her chest is to close herself off from me, but its effect is outright sinful. Her shirt pulls tight across her chest, and I’m doing everything in my power to be a gentleman and keep my eyes on her face right now.
The other flight attendants are already moving about the cabin and getting their turnover checklists complete, yet here we stand.
“Oh, yeah. I just wanted to apologize again. Are you okay?” The words tumble out as I give her another once-over.
“I’m fine, thanks.” She bites out the words, but then her voice softens a little when she asks, “Are you?”
I'm pretty sure she’s only asking because it’s her job, but I delude myself into thinking it’s because she cares.
“I’m fine.” My brain tells me to stop there, but my mouth just keeps going. “I’m also sorry that I grabbed you… your… I didn’t mean to. It was an accident.”
Have I never held a conversation before? I rarely stumble over my words, but the fresh blush staining her cheeks makes me lose the ability to form sentences altogether. Damn, she is beautiful.
