“I’m certain that makes people all over the world happy.”
Now she laughed. “It should. And I’ll buy you a new one, of course. No, you know what? Take mine. It tastes better than the stuff you ordered anyway. You…” and then she faltered. Oh, goodness. What had just come out of her mouth? She groaned inwardly and bit her tongue. “Not that this drink is terrible,” she said, trying to save herself, raising the glass in which she had just left her DNA. “But…” She narrowed her eyes and shook her head. “Damn it, I’m too tired to lie. It tastes horrible! You really don’t know anything about whiskey. Mine is better.” She nodded firmly and handed him the glass that was meant for her.
The man’s grin widened. “Is that your way of apologizing?”
“No, it’s my way of replacing your terrible whiskey with a better one,” she replied sheepishly. “Try it.”
The man facing her sighed but did her the favor and took a sip. He tilted his head, frowning.
“Mm hm,” he said and then added more quietly, “I’d like to say you’re right, but I’ve lost the ability to taste since an accident.”
Shocked, the smile slipped from her face. “Oh God. I’m sorry, I…”
He grinned broadly.
She stopped. “You’re pulling my leg.”
“Yup,” he agreed. “I wanted you to feel as uncomfortable as I did just now when I wasn’t sure if it would be rude to turn down the spit drink.”
Laughing, she rubbed her forehead. “Well, you succeeded. But what about the whiskey?”
“It’s definitely tastier.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying.” She nodded, pleased with herself. “Well then. To good and bad whiskey,” she said, clinking glasses with him and drinking from the stranger’s glass again.
“You’re still going to drink that stuff?” her counterpart asked, surprised.
“Of course, I’ll drink it! It’s my own spit. Shame to waste it, and…oh, wait, did you already drink from it?”
He nodded.
She narrowed her eyes, thought about it for a moment, and then shrugged. “What the heck! The bacteria have already found their way into my mouth. It won’t kill me.”
She had eaten much worse in South America…and she hated wasting food more than the uninvited ice hockey analogies in her head. So, she gulped down the drink.
“You’re a drinker, aren’t you?” the stranger remarked, impressed.
“No, not at all,” she admitted. “But in this case, I aim to get drunk within the next ten minutes so that, with any luck, I’ll forget that humans aren’t actually meant to fly.”
“Flying is super safe,” he said, surprisingly gently. “It’s…”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she interrupted, waving him off. “The odds of a plane crash right now are 1 in 16,042,000. More people are killed by donkeys than planes! The odds of a car crash aremuch higher, 1 in 12,400. The odds of being killed by a vending machine are 1 in 112,000. I don’t even want to get started on motorcycles. And did you know that you’re five times more likely to be killed by a chair than a shark?” She took a deep breath. “But the odds of me being nervous as a plane takes off are 1 in 1.”
The man’s eyebrows shot up and, for a few seconds, he just blinked at her, perplexed.
She sighed and stared into her empty glass. She was used to that look. She had known it since she was seven, when she saved her mother’s birthday lobster from certain death in the pot…and kept it in a tub under her bed for two weeks, until a shocked maid finally literally stumbled upon it. Since then, many people had called herodd, although she preferred the wordunique. “I like numbers, and I start babbling when I’m tipsy or tired,” she explained softly. “And I’m both right now, so be prepared.”
The man laughed. It was a deep, warm laugh that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and her stomach churn. “The odds of being killed by a vending machine are 1 in 112,000?” he repeated, frowning. “Man, that’s rough. As rough as eating from a vending machine, I’d say.”
Her smile threatened to return. “Yup,” she said, nodding and rubbing her eyes again with her middle finger and thumb. “I was afraid for a moment that you’d say something horrible like as rough as my fist.”
“For God’s sake, no.” He waved her off. “My fist is much rougher.”
She snorted in amusement and the hot guy smiled again. A dimple appeared on his smooth right cheek…and she yawned.
Unbelievable. She was too tired to even appreciate the general hotness of this friendly stranger. And she didn’t even put her hand over her mouth. Her mother would be shocked! “Sorry,” she said, shaking her head and hastily raising her fingers to her lips. “My manners leave a lot to be desired today.I know it’s only six, but I’ve been awake for thirty-two hours and I’ve already had a miserably long flight. My brain isn’t working anymore. And I have to go to L.A. right now.”
“Mm hm,” her new acquaintance said, putting his boarding pass on the counter. “How about that – me, too.”
