Chapter 2 #3
I mean, I’m not into him. I couldn’t be with a man who, from the start, has seen me at my worst. He’d never fully respect me. But I could daydream the heck out of him.
And I probably will.
His stare darts my way. I meet his gaze in an effort to gain back some of my dignity, and he gives me a small, closed-mouth smile.
He’s handsome, alright.
I wouldn’t expect anything less.
It’s always the attractive men who get to witness our downfalls. Is it karma? Fate? Is the universe working against women? I don’t know. It’s just how the world works.
Their conversation ends, and my heart unexpectedly gallops as he walks in my direction.
I stand to let him pass. “Did you get her phone number?”
“No, she got mine.”
“You’re welcome.” I sniff out a mocking laugh, feeling the obnoxious pang of jealousy in my chest. “If I hadn’t fainted, you two wouldn’t have met, and then you wouldn’t have—”
“She was filing an incident report. You know, taking my name and number so they can send me some airline points for my heroic service.” His eyes stare directly into mine, surprising me with their softness. “By the way, what’s your number?”
“Uh…” My walls fly up. Just because I didn’t want the flight attendant to have his phone number doesn’t mean I want to give him mine. “You don’t need my number. I’m capable of taking care of myself from here.” That sentence sounds pretty stupid since I’m the reason for the hypoglycemic episode.
His eyes crinkle at the edges, like he’s amused. “I meant your blood sugar number. I want to make sure the glucagon is doing its job.”
I drag out an exaggerated, “Oh,” then glance down at my phone. “Doing great. I’m at one hundred four.”
“Much better. You were at sixty-five when you fainted.”
“Wow, that’s low.” I grimace, feeling the need to explain before he starts his lecture. “I gave myself a bolus of insulin and got distracted with work and forgot to eat. Don’t worry, I know better.”
“You don’t have to explain to me. Life happens.” He shrugs, pulling my eyes to the way his t-shirt wraps around his defined shoulders. He looks like he could easily throw a bale of hay halfway down a football field.
I snap my gaze back to his face. “Actually, this never happens. That’s why I have the alarm on my pump silenced, because it never goes off. Normally, it’s not a problem.”
“I’m sure you’re very on top of things—except for the almost dying part.” His mouth moves into an innocent smirk, letting me know he’s teasing, and instead of feeling defensive, there’s something about his sweet teasing that forces a reckless smile to fall over my lips.
“Now you’re just being dramatic. I wasn’t even close to dying. Just…lightly unconscious.”
“Lightly unconscious?” His brows lift, matching the upward curve of his lips. “You make the whole incident sound whimsical. I guess I don’t deserve the extra airline points for saving your life.”
“They give participation trophies to everyone these days.”
He laughs, and maybe it’s the turbulence, but my stomach dips with a thrill.
“I’ll flag down the flight attendant and tell her to forget about it, then.” He sits taller, pretending to look for her.
I thought the conversation would go a different way. I thought he’d be arrogant and braggy about saving me or super condescending about the whole thing. But there’s a familiar sweetness to him that puts me at ease, making me grateful I fell into his arms.
“Seriously, though. Thank you for helping me. Most people would’ve just watched.”
He nods to the other passengers. “Most people did just watch, except for the few videoing it all. You should be viral by the end of the day.”
“I’ve always wanted to go viral.”
“How long have you had diabetes?” There’s a genuineness to his expression that makes it easy to answer.
“About six years.”
His eyes widen with interest. “Six years, really?”
“Long enough that it doesn’t typically affect my day-to-day life. I’m usually very responsible with my health. I’m embarrassed you saw me like that.”
“You don’t have to be embarrassed.”
I glance down, feeling the full weight of my humiliation.
The flight attendant said she administered oxygen.
Oxygen isn’t sexy. Neither is hypoglycemia.
“I appreciate you being kind about all of this, but I know deep down, my helplessness was probably annoying and the last thing you wanted to deal with on your flight.”
“You know?” His lips lift with amusement.
“Well, yeah.” I shrug. “I know how men think. There’s no room for error with the men in my life.”
“Then you surround yourself with the wrong kind of men.”
“I haven’t met any other kind.”
“Never? You’ve never met any other kind of man?”
“Not that I can recall.”
My answer makes him smile, and something about the way he looks at me makes me want to say until now. ‘I haven’t met any other kind of men until now.’
This guy is the unicorn.
Sincerity drips from his every expression.
And suddenly I feel something—a longing maybe. A desire to know what a good guy is really like. But instead, I shift the conversation to something safer. Easier. Something that doesn’t terrify me at my core.
“So I’m assuming you’re a doctor, then?”
“Nope. Just a guy who reads too many in-flight safety pamphlets.”
My brows lower in skepticism, prompting him to answer seriously.
“My best friend growing up has diabetes, so I kind of knew what to do.”
“I mean, I wasn’t conscious, but it seemed like you were great under pressure.”
“Thanks, I’ll put that on my Tinder profile. ‘I’m great under pressure, says the woman who was lightly unconscious.’”
This sparks a laugh from me. “That sounds bad, like you gave me a date-rape drug or something.”
“You’re right.” He frowns, and it’s adorable. “I guess I can’t use it in my profile.”
“Well, just so you know, I usually wait until a second date to collapse into someone’s lap.”
“It was the most dramatic thing I’ve seen on a flight.”
“Are you sure about that?” My eyes dart to his movie screen, where A Walk to Remember plays. “My little episode is nothing compared to a dying teenager who sings in church.”
“Did you just ruin the ending for me?”
“Oh, shoot.” A guilty laugh spills out. “I assumed you’d already seen it.”
“Of course I’ve seen it.” He grins, unashamed by his taste in movies. “It’s a classic.”
I smile too. “Want me to braid your hair while you cry?”
“Maybe next time.”
Next time.
The cuteness behind his grin makes me want a next time.
Dinner? Drinks? Some kind of real-life continuation of this fun in-flight moment we’re having.
I could orchestrate it if I wanted to. The cat-and-mouse game of dating is among my strengths.
I know exactly how to lure a man in, give him just enough to make him pursue me, pull away to keep him chasing, then—when I’m bored with the game—drop him completely.
I never said I was proud of it, just that I’m a pro.
But this guy is too good for all of that. Or maybe he’s too good to be true. I’d find out after the third date that he’s actually a serial killer or, worse, a guy who can’t be trusted and would ultimately break my heart.
No, I’d rather go through the rest of my life believing he’s a decent man who saves helpless women on airplanes by day and ropes cattle, shirtless, by night.
“I’m Camila, by the way.” I reach out my hand, hoping to get his name just to round out my daydreams.
“Hess.” His warm fingers envelop mine, creating butterflies in my stomach.
Butterflies.
It’s been so long since I’ve felt those organically that I’d almost given up on ever feeling them again.
“Hess,” I repeat, thinking that’s a great cowboy name. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too.”
Something I can’t explain passes between us as we shake hands and stare into each other’s eyes. Chemistry maybe? His smile says he knows what it is, like a secret I don’t know the punchline to.
The seatbelt sign dings on, and the flight attendant comes over the speakers. We both pull away to close our tray tables and get ready for landing.
Suddenly, I’m very aware that this is ending, and I'm kind of bummed about it.
Outside the window, the city starts to appear through the clouds. In about ten minutes, we’ll be two strangers with a weirdly intimate shared experience, walking off into the world with nothing but maybe a funny story for our friends.
“Are you here in Phoenix for work?” I ask.
“No, I live here. What about you?”
“Same.”
“Well, welcome home.” He smiles in that boyish, happy way, and I think about saying something. Asking something. Doing something.
“Let me take you out to dinner. You know, as a thank you for your Good Samaritan services today.”
The look on his face is positively handsome. It’s a done deal.
“I would love that, but I’m going to have to decline. I’m in a serious relationship.”
There's a pierce in my heart, but I was right. Hess is one of the few good guys out there.
“No problem.” I push a fake smile to overcompensate for my disappointment.
When the wheels hit the runway and the plane roars and slows, he unbuckles and reaches up to get my luggage before his own, like a true gentleman.
“Glad you’re okay.” He slings the strap of his bag over his shoulder as the line ahead of us starts to move.
“Yeah, me too. Thanks for saving me.”
“Anytime.” He doesn’t sound flirty. Just kind. Casual. Polite. “I hope everything works out for you, Camila.”
The déjà vu of the moment catches me off guard. I give a thumbs up, and immediately regret it—it’s worse than being helpless and unconscious.
“You too.”
His beautiful smile is the last thing I notice before he turns away.
And then we’re walking down the gangway and into the terminal, blending into the crowd like we didn’t just share something that felt like the start of everything.
It’s for the best, I remind myself as I drag my suitcase behind me.
I’m busy at work.
I have Selena I need to worry about.
And the biggest thing: it would never amount to anything. I’d make sure of that. I’m known for sabotaging relationships before they even start. And Hess seems like too good a guy to get caught up in something like that—to get caught up with me.