Before I get lost in the fact that my hand looks so tiny placed on his thigh, I snatch it back and return it to its rightful place on my lap, then straighten in my seat. At that exact moment, the helicopter decides to take a sharp turn and drop. I forcefully close my eyes and clench every body part humanly possible. Kegels included.
It’s amazing how many ways I curse out Amelia in my head during these few rocky seconds. I’m so enthralled in my imaginary assault that it takes me a minute to realize that my hand is back in Antonio’s. I open my eyes, and before I attempt to regain custody of my extremity, Antonio asks, “How many?”
Huh?
He takes in my Scooby Doo expression and lifts my hand as he continues. “Show of hands; how many cats do you intend to adopt to keep you company since marriage is off the table?”
I swear I can feel laser beams forming in my eyes as I give him what I hope to be the most intimidating look possible.
But I’m sure I probably look constipated instead.
Antonio is staring at me like he expects an actual answer. How is this guy possibly related to my sweet angel friend Amelia?
He squeezes my hand and squints. “I can see two. Three tops. You know, with New York City apartments being so tiny and all. But if anyone can pull it off, I know it’s you.” He fakes a smile.
I squeeze my hand in his. Hard. Hoping my nails are creating satisfying half-moons on his tan skin.
His smile reaches his eyes this time, and he whispers, “There she is.”
Just as I’m about to transfer all my prior imaginary insults planned for Amelia to him, I feel a light jolt. “We’ve landed. Welcome to paradise. And in my opinion, two cats are ideal,” the helicopter copilot says in a British accent.
Awkward.
Antonio releases my hand so fast that it ends up falling on the seat between us. “Finally. Consider my distraction tactics as my good deed for this trip. Don’t expect it on the way back.”
What the hell? “You mean you being your usual asshole self and all that hand holding? Yeah, thanks, but no thanks.”
We remove our headsets and unbuckle ourselves in silence. Until Mr. Needs to Have the Last Word speaks. “You know what? You’re right. Next time, instead of engaging in mind numbing-conversation with you, I’ll just let you white-knuckle your way through the helicopter ride. No sweat off my back.” He shrugs.
“Oh please. That was just a way for you to once again talk shit about my dating life while also boasting about your sex life. At least you were man enough to agree that you’re not packing much heat.” I turn to face him, only to realize he’s already hopped out of the helicopter.
I reach for the door, only for it to slide open and reveal Antonio standing in front of me. How is he still taller than me while I sit on an elevated helicopter? “For the record,Nicolette,you brought up my penis size in the conversation, not me. So what does that tell me about where your mind’s at?”
I open my mouth to respond, but my brain is too busy replaying the tape back and realizing that I was the one who mentioned it first.
Dammit.
He leans all the way into the aircraft. Until his lips are faintly brushing my ear. I suck in a breath at his proximity. Looking at Antonio is hard enough sometimes, but being wrapped in his scent should be straight-up illegal. I need to take a trip to the perfume department because I need to find a way to track down this scent that can only be described as ruggedly masculine man.
I turn my head to look at him and realize I’ve made a big mistake.
His usual scowl is replaced by tender eyes and soft lips. The fanning of his eyelashes almost puts me in a hypnotic state, where I don’t even realize that I’m leaning into him.
But he does.
And just as quickly as before, I have a front-row seat to his walls being put back up. Right where they’ve always been.
He reaches behind me and grabs his baseball hat that was left on the seat between us. Of course.
He clears his throat as he straightens himself. “And for the record, If I wanted to keep my hands off you while keeping your mind on my penis, all I had to do was tell you that I’m a size fourteen shoe.” He pulls a pair of sunglasses out of his bag and places them on his face as he salutes me and walks off toward to resort doors.
Size fourteen? Holy hell. He must be lying.
I hop out of the flying torture chamber and try to get a good look at his shoes. Not like I would be able to tell, but those sneakers do look massive. Just like the rest of him…
What the hell? What am I thinking?
Gotta keep my head outta the gutter if I’m going to survive this week.
