“Amelia.” I say slowly, liking the way her name feels coming out of my mouth. “Got a last name?”
Shutters fall over her eyes and disappear so quickly that if I wasn’t intently fixated on her, I would have missed it. “No last names.”
“None at all?”
She shakes her head, propping her elbow on the back of the seat and leaning into it. “You could still be a kidnapper, and I’m a woman who lives alone in a big city. Safety first, seat thief.”
That’s not the real reason, but I let it go because as much as I feel like I had to have met this woman in some kind of previous life or something for how drawn I am to her, I don’t actually know her. “No last names then. Hey, Amelia, I’m Elliot.” I stick out my hand, and she hesitates for a split second before sliding her palm against mine.
The jolt of electricity from the connection is surprisingly unsurprising to me, but I think it actually does surprise her because she drops my hand immediately and starts rummaging in her bag for something. I stand, motioning for her to step out of the row.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
I glance up at her. “Your name for your window seat, remember? I’m moving so you can have your rightful seat.”
Amelia laughs, and the sound has my heart speeding up. “I hate window seats. I’m fine with the aisle. You can stay put.”
I chuckle. “So why did you barter with me for it?”
She shrugs. “You’re fun to talk to.”
I open my mouth to respond because fucking shit, I really like her. But before I have a chance to speak, the flight attendant comes on the loudspeaker. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard Western Airlines flight 9287 with nonstop service to Boston’s Logan International Airport. We are expecting an immediate and on time departure, so at this time we ask that you take your seats with your seatbelts securely fastened and stow all carry-on luggage under the seat in front of you or up in an overhead bin.”
I tune out the rest of the speech as I watch Amelia put her tote on the floor and slide it under the seat in front of her with the toe of her white sneaker before plopping down in the aisle seat and turning to me. “I have to warn you, I suck a little at flying.”
“You’re afraid of flying?”
She shakes her head. “I’m afraid of crashing. Long story. It’s mostly takeoff and landing. And bumps and stuff. Basically, I much prefer my feet on solid ground if at all possible.” The plane roars to life, and she slaps her hands down on the armrests, her grip so tight her knuckles turn white.
“It wasn’t a dildo.”
“What?” she splutters, her eyes going wide.
I chuckle at her response and am satisfied to see her grip loosening just slightly as the plane starts taxiing down the runway. I reach down and grab my phone out of my briefcase pocket, navigating to the picture Noah sent me and handing it to Amelia. “The picture of my dog? It’s a crystal, not a dildo.”
“Fuck, I think that’s the cutest, tiniest dog I’ve ever seen,” she says, her voice taking on that tone people get when they’ve never had a pet but always wanted one.
“Right?” I ask, smiling at the look on her face as she keeps her gaze trained on the picture, her fingers tightening only slightlyon the phone as the plane takes off. “I went to the shelter a couple of years ago thinking I would get a big dog that could come with me on my runs. But then I saw her, and it was like she was begging me to take her home. I think it was the eyes. She doesn’t run with me, but she does stay home and occasionally eat my plants, so it’s a reasonable tradeoff.”
Amelia laughs and hands me back the phone. “What’s her name?”
“Killer.”
She laughs again, glancing over for one more look at the picture. “She sure looks like one. That little lady could eat every damn thing in my house, and I’d probably thank her for it. She’s that cute.”
I smile, slipping the phone back into my bag. “So, where’s your house?”
“So you can come kidnap me in the middle of the night? Pass. If I won’t even give you my last name, what makes you think I would tell you where my house is?”
I lean back in my seat, propping my leg up on my opposite knee, my body turned to Amelia. “You know you’re weirdly obsessed with kidnapping. You’ve mentioned it at least three times in the hour we’ve known each other.”
“An hour? How do you figure?”
“Well, we met at security, didn’t we? You know, when the TSA agent was fondling your underwear?”
The sound she makes is a mixture between a groan and a laugh, and it’s so erotic that it has all my blood rushing to my dick.
Fuck.Control yourself, Elliot.
