Page 13 of Not Safe for Work

“I know you’re obsessed with me, but don’t worry, Tris, I’ll be okay.”

I turn to glare, trying to convey the fathomless depth of my desire to see him jump from this plane somewhere over the Pacific. Ideally, without a parachute.

When the overhead announcements come on, the blond flight attendant gives me a look that suggests she’ll be keeping an eye on me if I’m not paying attention to the safety procedures.

With a huff, I settle back into my seat, daydreaming about the next three weeks. It’s not all bad, even if I’m stuck with my least-favorite person ever. I wish Molly were here—we’d have had such a good time sneaking in some delicious food and going shopping in between whatever the powers that be at WMC have planned for us.

But Google assured me the resort has over six hundred rooms and like six pools and nine bars and twelve restaurants. Plenty of space to ensure I’ll see Rafe as little as possible.

Sure, this is a work trip, but I’m also planning for some R&R. If the only reason I’m here is to make David Gallagher look good, then I’m not wasting this chance to enjoy an all-expenses-paid bit of paradise.

My period just ended, I’m fresh from a Brazilian wax, and I just had my eyebrows rebladed. After four years of casual flings, I swore off men and sex when the last one wanted to get more serious. I wasn’t ready for serious. I’m still not.

But what was an act of self-preservation became a certified drought, and at this point, the only person I’m punishing is me. Not only am I working on my tan and reading as many romance novels as I can, but Molly’s right, and it’s time to find someone hot to make out with. I desperately need to get laid.

But… I also can’t help but focus on the actual reason for this trip.

Most of me has given up on my future with WMC, but I can’t help but nourish a small kernel of hope. What if I could secure one of those spots in the training program? What if I could turn things around? Or what if I’m just kidding myself?

I did fire off the application for the job I was considering with EnviroTech a few days ago to remind myself that it is probably time to move on.

What happened in my past is the past, and I don’t have to keep being grateful to a company that doesn’t value anything I have to offer just because they gave me a job when no one else would.

But my confidence is also shot, and I don’t like my odds.

I sigh as my gaze flicks to Rafe, who’s lying with his head back and his eyes closed. I study his annoyingly pretty face for several moments, noticing how his eyelashes are long enough to create shadows over the arcs of his cheekbones.

Then I shake my head, put in my earbuds, and put on some music as I stare out the window.

A few hours later, I’m awakened by the sound of an overhead voice announcing a patch of turbulence. When I open my eyes, I notice Rafe appears to be speaking. My phone lies on the console between us, and he’s eyeing it with mistrust.

“Mmm hmmfmd mmf,” he says as I blink.

I pull out one of my earbuds. “What?”

“How many times are you going to listen to that song?” He gestures to the screen of my phone where Spotify shows the cover of Taylor Swift’s Folklore. I’ve been listening to “Exile” on repeat.

“Why? What difference does it make to you?”

“It’s weird. Who listens to the same song for two hours?”

I sit up in my seat, not just annoyed but on the verge of homicidal.

“Um, I do? And it’s not weird. Plenty of people do it. Ask anyone.”

“I don’t know anyone who does that. I don’t do that.”

I exhale a long-suffering sigh. “Okay, Rafe. If you don’t do it, then I guess no one can.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Why would this bother you? Am I hurting anyone? I like this song, okay?”

“It doesn’t bother me. It seems to bother you.”

I give him an incredulous look. “You’re the one who started this!”

“I don’t care if you want to listen to the same song for hours.” His tone suggests I’m being the unreasonable one, and I wonder what the maximum prison sentence is for causing a violent incident on a trans-Pacific flight.