Filed to story: Swallow Me Whole (Sadie & Ashton) Book Free
But I can’t.
Returning home will surely hurt more than pushing forward. Once I reach Seattle, things will be all right, and this crushing weight on my heart will ease up.
At least I got a consolation prize for the hours I waited stuck between the past I’m leaving behind and the future I hope to find; the airline upgraded me to first class. Letting out a long sigh of relief, I sink into the comfortable leather seat. I’m more than ready to put this hellish day behind me, even if hurtling through the air at five-hundred miles per hour isn’t my idea of fun.
Most of the passengers in first class have already settled into their seats and are waiting for takeoff, but a few clutter the aisle as they stow carry-on luggage. I avert my attention to the small window at my right, my nerves over flying already kicking in, and watch two men load luggage into the baggage compartment. From the corner of my eye, I notice the movement of bodies as more people board the plane and head toward the back. The seat next to me remains empty, and I’m beginning to hope I’ll get the row to myself.
Of course, that’s when he slides in next to me.
He’s tall enough that even first class doesn’t accommodate his legs comfortably. I can’t help but ogle his forearms. I have a thing for forearms, and my mind immediately goes to Chris and the definition of his muscles.
Don’t go there. Don’t think about his arms or anything else about him.
With a mental shove, I send Chris spiraling to the back of my mind. That’s a good place for him right now, especially since I have no intention of having a meltdown on this plane. I go back to studying the stranger beside me. He’s wearing charcoal slacks and a navy button-up shirt, left untucked with the cuffs rolled up. A guy doesn’t need an eight-pack or bulging biceps to catch my eye. He just has to have sexy-as-fuck forearms, and this man does.
His entire body exudes masculinity, making these first-class seats seem small. Mr. Sexy Stranger owns the space, texting single-handedly as he pushes his fingers through thick dark hair, disrupting the longer length on top. The gesture is quick and rigid, as if something is irritating him. I’m openly staring now, my gaze drifting over the stubble along his strong jawline. Good God, he’s a fine specimen of a man.
My face amps hotter by the second. I’ve never experienced such a strong gravitational pull toward a stranger, and after everything that’s gone down today, the fact that it’s happening now unsettles me.
It’s the stress. It’s finally making me crack, making me turn into a total lunatic.
He angles his head my way, and our eyes lock. My heart stops. Time suspends. Holy shit. I’m a deer caught in the high beams of a speeding car at midnight.
Blind-sided.
Paralyzed.
His eyes are the color of steel, a shade so deep they resemble the most ominous of storms. He raises a dark brow, forehead crinkling in surprise, and I come back to myself with a mental jerk, realizing how stupid I must look right now. And how unkempt I am from all the crying I did as I wandered for hours through the airport. I pray to God the concealer I applied in the ladies’ room hides all traces of my epic breakdown.
“Hi,” I manage to say, practically sighing the greeting. My face flushes, and I quickly look away, utterly mortified.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Maybe exhaustion stole my sanity. Or maybe it’s the situation. No names, no attachments, no disgraceful scandals. We’ll part ways as soon as the plane lands in Seattle, and I’ll never see this man again. The anonymity of the situation has to be the reason I’m reacting to the stranger next to me as if he’s a demigod.
“Fear of flying?” the demigod says, his voice laden with a sexy timbre that sends chills through me.
I return my attention to him and…
fuck
…those eyes. “I-I’m sorry?”
A smile ghosts across his face, revealing a dimple in his right cheek.
“You seem a bit…” He trails off, gesturing to my fingers, which have somehow found themselves wrapped around the armrest. “Terrified.”
Terrified is an understatement, but I’ll take it since the alternatives don’t make a shred of sense. Letting out a breath, I loosen my grip and shoot Mr. Sexy Stranger a weak smile.
“Maybe a little. Me and flying…we don’t have a great relationship.” I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve flown, and I’ll never be comfortable with putting my life in the hands of fate.
Fate. There’s that word again.
But the term fits because flying feels a bit like rolling the dice and hoping for the best. Statistically, I know traveling by air is safer than driving a car, but logic can be a funny thing when feelings are mixed into the equation.
He buckles his seat belt. “There’s nothing to it. If they didn’t make us wear these things,” he says, pulling the strap tight across his thighs, “I wouldn’t bother.” Dipping his head toward me as if he’s about to impart a great secret, he adds, “Between you and me, I don’t like flying either.”
“Oh, well that makes me feel much better.” But I can’t stop a grin from teasing the edges of my mouth.
He shrugs with the same partially hidden smile he graced me with a minute ago.
The flight attendants begin their pre-flight check and go through the safety information I’m sure frequent fliers tire of hearing. As the plane starts to taxi, I settle into my seat and attempt to relax my hands in my lap.
But after we hit the runway and tilt skyward, I grip the armrests as if they’re the only things stopping me from hurtling to certain death. Only three hours until we land in Seattle. Three more hours to a fresh start.
A warm hand slides over mine, and my gaze crashes into his.
“You’re doing great.” He leans closer, talking above the engines of the aircraft. “The takeoff and landing are the worst. Just a few more minutes and we’re home free.”
My heartbeat is thundering in my ears way louder than the noise of this deathtrap of a plane. I’d blame it on anxiety from flying, but truth be told, it probably has more to do with his warm hand on mine. His fingers and knuckles are free of calluses, just like Perry’s.
Except my boss never made my heart race this fast, and he never made me feel like he gave two shits about me. The difference is a stark slap in the face. This man doesn’t even know me, but I sense genuine kindness in him.
Why didn’t I recognize Perry’s arrogance? Was I nothing more than a conquest to him? Why did he leave his group that night and sit next to me? I’ve never asked myself that last question until now, and it irks the fuck out of me that I can’t remember much about that night.
“So, what’s taking you to Seattle?” he asks, and I wonder if he wants to know for real, or if he’s just making conversation. Or maybe he brought it up to distract me, since I still haven’t unfurled my fingers from the grip I have on the armrest.
A hard swallow dislodges the past from my throat. “I’m visiting my best friend. She moved there a few months ago.”
“Have you ever been?”
I shake my head, and he gives my hand a comforting squeeze. I like his touch too much, which is just…crazy.
“Now’s a good time to go. We don’t get as much rain this time of year.”
“I’m excited to see her,” I say, but my voice cracks. He makes me nervous—possibly as nervous as flying does—and I don’t understand why. I draw in a ragged breath, but the higher the plane climbs, the whiter my knuckles become. It isn’t until the seat belt light goes off that I let go of the armrests.
He pulls away, but his touch has seeped into me, and the phantom heat of it lingers long after our hands return to their respective places.
The flight attendants make their rounds and take drink orders. They also hand out towels. I stare at the rolled-up damp cloth, confused until I figure out from watching other passengers that I’m supposed to use it to freshen up. I wipe my sweaty palms on the warm cloth, and the man at my side quirks an amused smile.
“What?” I say, affording him a sideways glance. “I’ve never flown first class. This is like…a life-changing experience.”
God, this whole day is altering the course of my life.
“Life-changing, huh?” He lifts a brow. “Wait until you taste the food.”
We both laugh, and my embarrassment over not knowing what the fuck I’m doing vanishes. This gorgeous man somehow sets me at ease with a quirk of a brow and a little laughter. I spy his left hand and am relieved to find it empty of a wedding band, so I decide to let this surreal trip through the air wash away the heartbreak of the day. I want to lose myself in his presence.
“You live in Seattle?” I ask.