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“Oh dear! Of course, Honey. I completely understand,” the old woman responds, going to stand. “My stomach hates mornings too.”
That much I already know.
I rub my lips together, shaking my head at the ridiculousness. The woman digs in her old leather purse, and I quickly find the strength to peer up at Lake from the corner of my eye. He's already staring down at me with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that makes my stomach do that uncomfortable twisting thing again.
“Some Tums for you, dear,” she says, handing him a few round tablets.
“You are my lifesaver,” he replies, handing her his ticket. “Thank you so much for your kindness. Hope you enjoy the seat.”
Her eyes widen when she peers down at the ticket, and I assume she’s just now realizing she's on her way to first class. I’m surprised this airline even has first class.
Lake tosses his bag and crutch in the overhead, reaching up above his head to help grab the woman's bag for her. I see a sliver of the skin just above the edge of his sweatpants when his black sweatshirt rises. The urge to grip his hips and suck him like a fucking lollipop comes over me, and I squint my eyes.
I suck in a huge breath, needing that oxygen again, when he dips his head down, still holding onto the carrier above me. His brows raise, wrinkling his forehead in the sexiest way as those eyes connect with mine. He whispers to me in that textured tone, “Hold my seat.”
He follows her, hobbling his way back up towards the front of the plane again, using the seats lining the aisle as his crutches. I watch as he helps her down into her seat; she holds his forearm for support, then places her bag in the overhead above. She grabs his hand with both of hers, thanking him immensely before he gracefully departs.
I wasn't expecting him to do that. I wasn't expecting to feel the flutter in my chest at witnessing his kindness to an old woman. But, here it is.
On his way back, he stops by a few people who finally recognize him as the famous athlete he is. He smiles and talks to them, signing something someone hands him before he waves and continues working his way towards the back of the plane.
A brunette woman's eyes follow him like a hawk, her head damn near swiveling 360 like the damn exorcist as he passes. But he doesn't notice. His gaze finds mine and stays locked there until he reaches the seat, plopping down next to me. He adjusts himself, kicking his bad leg out straight into the aisle before he sighs and tosses his head casually my way.
“Mornin' Chief.” He grins his stupid, sexy grin.
Fucking hell.
I turn to look out the window, unable to breathe and keep eye contact with him at the same time.
Sound normal. Please sound normal.
“Morning,” I squeak out.
His smile never fades, even as he faces forward, sitting in silence. He's all giddy and fucking happy. There's such an awkward tension here that apparently only I can feel. He acts as if this silence between us is normal. As if him getting a ticket on this plane is normal. As if him sitting in economy is normal. As if us sitting here together after a night of humping like wild gorillas in the jungle, is normal.
“Oh, I almost forgot!” he chirps, sounding too upbeat in the morning for my liking. “I got you something.”
He digs into the pocket of his large sweatshirt, pulling out a paperback book. My eyes snap to his with caution. He grins, holding out the book. I look down and see a copy of Markie Lawson'sUse Me in Yorkshirein his hands.
It's one of my favorite books by her. One that has been in my Amazon shopping cart to buy and add to my collection after ensuring the bills are paid. I'm at the point where I couldn’t even afford to fill my stomach before boarding. My wants come last, and I've always been okay with that. I can handle it. But this is something he doesn’t know I've been aching to hold in my hands for the longest time. So small. So meaningless to most, but so meaningful to me.
I peer back at Lake, whose smile has now faded. His gorgeous blues, surrounded by those thick, black lashes, scorch through my body, making me feel their cool, unrelenting strength spanning throughout every inch of me.
“Figured you'd want something new to read for the flight.” He gives a light shrug with a lopsided grin. “A young woman recommended it at the airport bookshop when I asked,” he mumbles.
He went to the airport bookshop and asked for a good romance novel for me? So he could sit with me on my commercial flight back home? I can't handle this. I don't understand what's happening. My chest feels heavy. I sit here, staring at him, just blinking like an idiot.
“Uh, thank you...Lake, that was really nice of you.” I stutter out, still confused as ever.
“It's nothin'.” He grins again before sitting back in his seat and pulling out his own sports magazine, casually flipping through it.
We take off and ride in silence for the first twenty minutes, both of us just reading next to one another. He adjusts his hips, spreading his legs further, and his knee rubs against mine. It's the tiniest touch, but it stems out from the small place where we connect. He must feel my anxiousness because he closes his magazine, drops it into his lap, and turns to look down at me.
“I'm sorry, is this okay?” he asks, looking from me to our connected knees and back.
No. No, it's not fucking okay.
“It's fine,” I say instead. “These seats really aren't made for a guy your size.”
