With her hands in mine, I turn her hand over so her palm is facing up.
“Your palm is a terrible ruler,” I say, using this as an excuse to touch her. I place my pointer finger at the base of her wrist then trace the lines and creases that decorate her hand, wondering which ones are her laugh lines, heart lines, and life lines, wanting to claim all of them. My finger grazes over all ofthem before reaching the top of her fingertip, and when I glance back up to peer into those emerald gems, her bottom lip is pulled in between her teeth, and she’s just as entranced as I am.
I lick my lips, preparing to kiss her. I want to kiss her.
“Garbage?” The crinkle of plastic ruffling rips us out of the moment as the flight attendant walks by.
She grants me a shy smile, then shifts back to face the back of the seat in front of her.
My head falls to the headrest, and I realize the seatbelt sign isn’t lit up yet. Needing a moment, I excuse myself.
“Okay, I’ve got to use the restroom, but when I get back, we’re going to finish the other debate,” I remind her.
She furrows her brow, tilting her head as her eyes scan the top of her lids. “Oh, you mean the one where you concede to the fact that Die Hard isnota Christmas movie?” Her smirk, smug as hell.
“Oh, little red. You’re going to be the death of me.”
Literally.
She smiles, biting the corner of her bottom lip, both adorable and sexy as hell. I think she likes my nickname for her, and I never plan to stop.
I push myself off the seat and squeeze out of the confines of my tiny space. I glance around, and everything looks so unfamiliar. I haven’t once glanced up to see the people around me or even where we are on the plane. All of my senses have been consumed by her from the moment I sat down.
Thankfully, the bathroom is vacant.
Unfortunately, I forgot how fucking miniature these are.
Now I fully understand the meaning ofwater closet. I robot shuffle in a circle to lock the door and finish my robot shuffle back toward the toilet. I lift the cover to expose the metal bowl covered with a thin blue film. The sour stench that radiatesfrom it reminds me how great I’ve had it sitting next to Ember, who smells like tropical petals and sunshine.
I wonder if it would be weird to ask her what kind of perfume she uses so I can wash my sheets in it. And everything I own.
I wash up and exit the bathroom, turning down the aisle to see a man crouching, leaning on the armrest of my aisle seat. I squint as my feet walk, one in front of the other. When he comes into my full view, I realize he’s fucking hitting on her.
Damn, he didn’t waste any time going in for the kill after I left my seat.
Since his back is toward me, he doesn’t see me approach. I linger a couple of steps back.
“...go out while you’re in Vegas?” I hear the last bit of his question.
“Oh,” Ember says with genuine surprise.
I don’t know why you’re surprised. Every man on this goddamn plane wants to ask you out. Court you. Date you.Keep you forever.
“That’s so sweet, but I have a boyfriend.”
What the hell?
My breath is lost behind my throat, her words an invisible punch to my gut. Like this metal tin box for an airplane, my lungs find their own pressurization process, providing me with anxiety I wasn’t prepared for.
How did I not ask that question? The chemistry between us was so strong, our conversation effortless. It never came up, and I never even thought to ask. Never wanted to consider.
Of course she has a goddamn boyfriend.
I clear my throat to get the attention of the crouching douchebag here.
He stands up to his full height, meeting me face to face. Well, we do when I scowl down at him, since he is a solid foot shorter than me.
I smile. Close mouthed and sarcastic.
