Like he’d care if I was okay or not.
“I asked, didn’t I?” His breath tickles the side of my heating cheek as he huffs out air.
I guess I answered him out loud.
“Is there anything I can do?”
The captain’s voice crackles over the speakers as he tells us there is a delay, and we need to stay seated on the plane with our seatbelts fastened for an indeterminate period of time before we can get a takeoff slot. A hysterical laugh bubbles up in my chest.
Once again: you couldn’t write this shit.
Tears sting my eyes as I flutter my eyelids in a vain attempt to keep them at bay.
“Hey, hey.” Justin pries my hand from the arm rest and slides his warm hand into my super sticky palm. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”
His tone doesn’t carry any sarcasm or condescension. I expect amusement on his face when I turn to look at him, not the deep furrow in his brow and concern swimming in those blues of his.
Danger. Danger.
I grope around in the basket of emotions behind my ribcage, frantically searching for the anger, resentment, and vehement dislike I have for this guy. He’s a cheater. I hate cheaters. I hate him. He hurt my friend and made her cry. He doesn’t deserve my time.
Cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater.
And yet, here he is, my teenage crush sitting next to me on a plane, face grave with concern, holding my hand to soothe my terror, and I don’t even think I hate it.
This is bad.
His face softens at whatever he sees as he stares at me. If I wasn’t already sweating from the terror of being stuck on this God-forsaken plane, I’d be perspiring under his gaze.
Stars above, he has pretty eyes.
This is really bad.
“Would a distraction help?”
It’s cute that he thinks he can distract me from the fact I’m on a plane, so I nod. Things couldn’t get worse than this, right?
“You want to talk to me about that book you’re reading?”
CHAPTER7
Justin
Savannah’s eyebrows shoot up, and my chest tightens even more. Book porn chat is not the distraction she was hoping for, it seems.
“I wasn’t judging your choice of genre at the coffee shop. I know you think I was, but I wasn’t. In fact, I’ve started a spicy romance book club for the hockey team.”
She stares at me like she’s waiting for the punchline.It has to be coming, her eyes say. She thinks I’m pulling her leg. “We read the book you had in your hand at the coffee shop by J.R. Blake for our September read. And last month we readFalse Startby Melissa Ivers.”
I’ve read her hockey romance series, but hadn’t yet read her football novella. Savannah looks kind of amazed I even know who Melissa Ivers is.
“I—” She clears her throat. “I haven’t read it.”
“It’s hilarious. I never knew there were so many euphemisms for dick.”
That draws a laugh from her. If there is one thing I’ve learned about reading romance novels it’s that just about everything can be made dirty. But man, Ivers takes it to another level.
“What’s this month’s book?” she asks cautiously.
