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He falls quiet for a few moments, and I wonder if he’s judging me. Coming to certain conclusions like everyone in Whiskey Flats will undoubtedly do.
That I’m a slut. A cheater. Someone without morals.
But that’s crazy thinking. He doesn’t know me well enough to judge, and I didn’t tell him all the dirty details.
“How long were you together?”
“Since high school.” I don’t mention the on-again off-again nature of my relationship with Chris.
“I’m sorry, Jules.”
I shrug, but on the inside, I melt from the way he says my name. Part of me wants to know his name, and part of me willingly falls into the safety net of anonymity. After I step off this plane, I know I’ll always remember him as my sexy stranger.
“Do you believe in fate?” I look at him then, holding his seductive gaze with a boldness I don’t feel. But I cling to the facade anyway, losing myself to this surreal feeling of looking into a stranger’s eyes and not seeing a stranger at all. Something deep inside me responds to him in a way that confuses me. Rattles me.
I sink into the idea that I somehow know him.
He blinks after a few seconds, and the moment is gone. “Fate…like in a higher power?”
Tilting my head, I shrug a shoulder. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
Right now, I want to believe in something as nebulous as fate. I want to believe that I’m meant to be on this plane heading for the unknown. That the destruction of my life this morning had a purpose other than to grind my heart to dust.
“Can’t say I’ve given it much thought,” he says. “But I’ve gotta admit that life threw me a curveball today, too.” He takes a long drink of the amber liquid in his glass, finishing it off. “I wasn’t supposed to go home until tomorrow, but here I am….” His voice fades, stolen by a note of pain, and the way he stares at me hijacks my breath.
And I’m curious. More than curious. I’m downright intrigued by this guy.
“What happened?” I ask. But I can already tell he doesn’t want to talk about it. We don’t know each other—we’re just two hurt souls who happened to collide in midair. It’s random and odd, and this surreal feeling is fucking with my head. And yet, despite the palpable weight of his silence, I can’t help but push him.
“It goes both ways, you know,” I say, refusing to waver.
“What does?”
“Talking about it.” I bite my lip for a few seconds before plunging ahead. “Maybe we landed in these seats together for a reason. I think you need to get it off your chest as much as I did.”
His hands clench then unfurl. “You’re very perceptive.”
“I’m also a good listener.”
And too fucking nosy for my own good.
“I might need another drink for this.” He raises his empty glass to get the attention of the flight attendant. After she takes the tumbler and goes to fetch him another drink, a couple of long minutes go by before he speaks. “She’s cheating on me.”
There’s a note of disbelief in his words, finality even, and I wonder if saying it out loud just cemented that statement of ugly truth in his mind. He seems as stricken as I’d felt this morning as I watched Chris leave, powerless to stop him. The heat of my shame crawls up my neck and spreads over my cheeks. Whoever she is, she’d hurt him the way I hurt Chris. The irony leaves a bitter taste on my tongue.
“Maybe it’s not what you think.”
Maybe she got wasted and made the biggest mistake of her life.
“Pictures don’t lie, Jules.”
Ouch. I can only imagine how devastated Chris would have been if faced with visual evidence of my betrayal. I cringe just thinking about it.
“I had tunnel vision when I got on this plane. I couldn’t see beyond confronting her, but now I’m not so sure.” He drags a hand through his adorably mussed hair. “I’m so damn unprepared for this.”
“Facing it head-on might help you move past it.” I shoot him a sheepish look. “I’m sorry. It’s really not my place to tell you what to do.” For one, I don’t know him. And two, I’m not the best example of facing shit.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says. “You won’t offend me, I promise.”
