Page 8 of Feel It in the Air

She smiles brightly, her shoulders relaxing for a moment. “Right. Thank you. This was… I liked this. A lot.”

“Me too.”

“If it’s not too forward…” She licks her lips, that coy smile returning. Taking my hand, she pulls a pen from her bag, clicking and scribbling across my palm. “You should use that once you get back to Atlanta. The woman on the other end of that number looks forward to it.”

I don’t have time to look down at my hand before she’s cupped my face in hers, placing a chaste kiss to my lips. It’s soft, sweet, and sends me into a rush I’ve never experienced. My head feels light, my heart is racing, and my skin is on fire. My whole body lights up as if I’m the Christmas tree in the town square on Thanksgiving. Who knew four seconds of contact could do all that?

It’s over before I can register it all, with the most perfect woman I’ve ever encountered rushing away, dodging her way through a crowded airport bar. I watch her go, still dazed from her kiss, my lips tingling from the touch. I’m going to be dreaming of this moment for weeks.

Not to mention doing plenty of other dirty things thinking about her.

Absentmindedly, I grab my drink, thankful I got her number. Because that means all those dreams and dirty thoughts have the potential to be more. She has the potential to be more. The potential to be everything.

Meaning, I should text her now. When God drops an angel in your lap, that’s not the kind of thing you wait on, right?

Right.

So here we go.

Pulling out my phone, I glance down at my hand, and the world stops. My stomach lurches, the beer mixing with the food suddenly turning sour, making me sick. No, no. How could this happen? Shit. I look over at the pint glass. The condensation. Shit…I didn’t even think. Rookie mistake. But maybe there’s hope. I snap a photo of my hand and send it to Milo and Hux, the two brothers I think will be the most help.

Or at least the two who will be the least asshole-ish about this.

Because I need help.

Her number is smudged.