Chapter 4
THIRTY THOUSAND FEET AND NO ESCAPE
DAVINA
Of all the flights in the world, he had to be on mine.
His shoulders alone violated several laws of physics. One arm draped casually across the armrest, my armrest, while his tree-trunk thighs were spread wide, evading my space.
I checked my boarding pass. Then checked it again, because surely the universe wasn't this petty.
Seat 6B.
Of course it was.
After missing yesterday's flight thanks to a meeting from hell and a three-hour parking lot masquerading as I-4, I'd paid an obscene amount for the last first-class seat to Vegas. I'd pictured mimosas and legroom. Maybe a hot towel. Definitely not this.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I said, loud enough that the businessman across the aisle looked up from his laptop.
Dallas's gaze lifted from his phone. Those stupidly blue eyes locked onto mine, widening for a second before his mouth curved into that trademark smirk. The one that made his left dimple appear.
Dallas's face split into a grin so wide I could practically hear the rom-com soundtrack kicking in. “Well, well, well. Davidson! What are the odds?”
“It's Davina,” I hissed, shoving my carry-on into the overhead bin.
“Seat 6B?” He patted the armrest like he was inviting a puppy onto the couch. “Come on in, neighbor. Don't be shy.”
“I am not shy.” My gaze swept over the full cabin. “I'm contemplating my choices.” And the only choice I had was to sit down; otherwise, I was going to miss my best friend’s bachelorette party and possibly her wedding.
I slid into 6B like I was lowering myself into shark-infested waters, and I immediately regretted every life choice that had led to this moment.
“For the record,” I said, aggressively buckling my seatbelt, “your traveling outfit is a tragedy. Black T-shirt stretched to its breaking point over muscles? How original. You're basically a walking cliché.”
“A cliché with exceptional muscle definition, apparently.” His grin went nuclear. “Since you noticed.”
“I have functioning eyes. It's not an accomplishment.”
“Defensive already? We haven't even taken off yet, darlin'.”
“Don't call me darling.”
“Wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart.”
The flight attendant began the safety demonstration at the front of the cabin, and I pulled out my phone with enough force to nearly launch it into the cockpit.
“You know,” Dallas said, leaning into my space, “for someone who claims to hate everything about me, you sure seemed excited to meet me the first time.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “Fine,” I grunted through clenched teeth. “I watched your matches. Past tense. Before I discovered the man behind the persona was…”
“Devilishly handsome? Impossibly charming?”
I rolled my eyes. “...a walking ego with legs.”
“Ouch.” His shoulders sank in mock offense. “Right in the feelings.”
I huffed out a humorless laugh. “You have feelings? I assumed those deteriorated from lack of use.”
The businessman in 6C ripped off his glasses and shoved in earbuds. Smart man.
The plane lurched forward, beginning its taxi to the runway. Outside the window, Tampa's terminal blurred past. The engine noise rose to a dull roar.
Dallas's arm shifted on our shared armrest, his bare forearm brushing against mine.
“I'm surprised they let you fly commercial,” I said, desperate to fill the silence. “No private jet? No entourage? Isn't there a risk fans will recognize you without the pyrotechnics and entrance music?”
His laugh was low and genuine, completely different from his ring persona. “You've given this a lot of thought. Wondering about my travel arrangements, thinking about my entrance music, picturing me in various states of dress...”
“That is not…”
“And for your information,” he continued, “I like flying commercial. Keeps me humble. Plus, the baby oil doesn't travel well in a carry-on. TSA gets suspicious.”
My lips twitched. “You're ridiculous.”
“You're smiling.”
“I'm not.” I dropped my head, avoiding eye contact, because I was fighting a smile.
The plane pivoted onto the runway, engines building to a crescendo. The cabin lights dimmed as the flight attendants took their seats.
“Look,” I said, pulling out my AirPods, “it's a four-hour flight.
How about we both pretend the other person doesn't exist?
You stare at your phone, flex at your reflection in the window, whatever it is you do.
I'll listen to music and mentally redecorate this entire aircraft because whoever chose this upholstery should be arrested.”
I shoved one earbud in, then the other, and closed my eyes.
The plane accelerated, G-forces pressing me back into the seat. Into him. His shoulder pushed against me, and his thigh aligned with mine. Every point of contact felt like a live wire.
I cranked up the volume on my phone, letting the music drown out the engine noise. But even with my eyes closed and Taylor Swift at maximum volume, I was very aware of how close Dallas was.
This was going to be the longest four hours of my life.