It’s my MO.
Sure, I’m lonely. But that’s not why I’m drawn to Savannah. She’s striking—high cheekbones, full, pouty lips, beautiful locks of golden hair, bottomless sea-blue eyes.
Maybe I’m a masochist, drawn to her vehement dislike for me.
Maybe that’s my kink.
At some point I must doze off, because the next thing I know I’m jolted awake by the head-butt I predicted. Savannah’s ponytail connects with my eye socket as she jerks her slumped head back. We’re descending, so my guess is that the change in air pressure woke her up.
Our eyes meet as the wheels touch down on the ground, hers wide and afraid. It’s taking every ounce of strength I have not to tuck that stray wave of hair behind her ear and caress her face. My heart’s racing, and I’m intoxicated by the scent of pineapples and Savannah’s close proximity to my…everything.
She’s still holding my hand. Her chest brushes my body with each heaving breath, and if I move myself an inch closer, our lips would be touching. Fuck. I want our lips to touch.
The tiniest frown appears, wrinkling her forehead as though she can read my mind, as though she knows I want to kiss her fear away, drawing it from her body and into mine so it can’t wreck her anymore. Her gaze flickers to my lips and back to my eyes. Like she might be thinking about kissing me too.
She wets her lips.
I shift in my seat.
She closes her eyes.
I lift my hand to cup her jaw.
The crackle of the speakers sparks us out of our stupor, and I jump back so far from her that I hit the back of my head off the window. She looks at my outstretched hand like I’m offering her a palm full of dog shit. Her expression morphs from the delicate, vulnerable, kiss-me face of just a split second ago, and is instead replaced by a scowl and venomous eyes.
Is she upset I didn’t kiss her? Is she upset I almost kissed her? Is she embarrassed about her fear of flying? Of piercing my thigh with her nails? Who knows? I certainly fucking don’t.
All I know is she’s looking at me like she’s contemplating my death, and if she stares at me much harder, she might actually succeed.
The “fasten seatbelt” sign turns off with a chime. The cabin door opens. And before I can blink, Savannah is on her feet, grabbing her purse from the overhead locker, and out the door without a backward glance.
I rub the back of my neck, staring at the hole in the side of the plane where she disappeared out onto the jet-way.
What the fuck just happened?
CHAPTER8
Savannah
Waiting for my bag to appear in front of me on the jet-bridge might be the longest four minutes—and counting—of my entire life. My anxious stare flicks back and forth between the passengers deplaning and the magic door my case will come through any second. The door that needs to hurry the fuck up and open so I can flee the scene before Justin steps off the goddamn plane.
He’s either waiting for everyone else to disembark to give me time to leave, or he’s trapped and no one will let him out into the aisle to leave. Either way, I’m happy. The longer they keep him there, the more chance I have of getting away without having to see him again.
I bounce my weight from leg to leg, while simultaneously trying to press my knees and thighs together, desperate for the restroom. Moms are always right—I should have gone before I left. Ugh. There was zero chance I was going to amble down the aisle of that death-trap in flight to try to pee. Hell no. I had no choice but to hold it through my entire ordeal. I’m paying for it now, though.
Goddammit, they need to hurry up with my bag.
And I better not fucking sneeze because I’m 100% sure I’ll piss myself.
Every time I board a flight I think it’ll be different, easier, not as terrifying, but it never fucking is. It’s always the same, every single time. I try not to let my fears dictate my life but this, this isn’t cool.
I know one thing’s for sure, unless I have a purse full of happy pills, I’m never boarding another plane again in my life.
Blowing out a hiss of air, I pray to the bladder gods they won’t embarrass me in this moment. Peeing yourself in front of your enemy isn’t sexy or funny.
My enemy.
Justin Ass is still my enemy, right?
