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“What’s wrong with pizza?”
“Nothing, we just really need to broaden your horizons. We’ll add Italy to the list of places we’ll take you.”
“You’re going to have to drug me before I get on a flight that goes over an ocean.”
Dom’s phone buzzes in his pocket but he ignores it. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”
“You can’t control acts of nature, or freak accidents. What if an engine fell off or something?”
“That’s actually not as big of a deal as you would think. Plus, Sarge is trained to deal with situations like that.”
“Sarge?”
“My pilot, yes.”
He says it like he’s a shirt hanging in his closet, so fucking nonchalant that he has a freaking pilot. Will I ever get used to any of this?
“Okay, next question.”
Dom takes a deep breath in and braces himself. “I’m ready.”
“Would you rather have…feet for hands, or hands for feet?”
He blinks a few times, almost like he’s considering if I’ve lost my mind. “Hands for feet.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t shoot a gun with my foot. At least, I’ve never tried.”
I let out a laugh. “You would find a way to turn this violent.”
“It’s what I do.”
Dom’s phone vibrates again, this time on my leg.
“Do you need to check that?” I ask him.
“Yes.” But he doesn’t reach for it yet. “Does it matter if I don’twantto?”
“Yes.” I pull myself off of him. “Go, and hurry back before I think of other weird shit to ask you.”
He stands from the seat and immediately my heart tugs at his absence.
“Adler,” he greets the person on the other line.
I down the rest of my bourbon in an attempt to warm myself in another way. I turn toward the window and hug my knees to my chest while looking at the earth so far below. A few clouds flutter past, and I think of what it might be like to reach my hand out and feel them slip between my fingers.
That’s sort of what love feels like, something that’s there but just out of grasp, unable to be latched onto and held, fleeting and dissipating with just the change in barometric pressure.
A temptress to make you believe it's something you could have but is always out of reach.
I close my eyes and pretend Dom is finished with his call; his arms wrapped around me. I place Magnus here, too, his beautiful smile lighting up the whole plane. My mind flits to Coen, and even though I'm pissed at him for the way he treated me, I still want him here. I think I always will, no matter what happens. I hate myself for that, but it's hard to go against the gravitational pull we have on each other.
I don't mean to, but in this imaginary scenario, Simon is here, too. His attendance brings me comfort and a sense of fullness.
It isn’t long until I trick myself into feeling Dom’s arms around me and revel in his comfort as it lulls me to sleep.
* * *
