Chapter 1 #3
“That’s impressive.” I’ve never met a software designer before. “Would I recognize the name of the software you’ve developed?” I press, knowing she’s no longer thinking about taking off.
Without realizing it, she’s set her bottle down, albeit with shaky hands, and buckled her seat belt while listing financial software amongst others I’ve never heard of, but I don’t interrupt her as she shares her passion for problem-solving and complicated coding.
If only she could see herself and how much she lights up when she’s in her element.
Her whole vibe has shifted, and the frantic woman who sat down beside me is almost a thing of the past as she talks about stuff that goes way over my head.
I have no idea what the fuck CSS, UI, or UX is, but I bob my head, listening intently, pretending to understand.
I’ve never felt this damn stupid in my life. It’s like she’s speaking a different language from an alien planet. If it weren’t for the slight wavering in her voice now and then, I’d say her nerves are almost completely gone, and her knee isn’t jerking as quickly as a jackrabbit like it was before.
Just as I think we’re getting somewhere, Karen, our flight attendant, reappears at my side with two chilled bottles of water and interrupts our conversation.
It’s a damn shame. I want to hear everything my elbow buddy has to say.
I could listen to her sultry voice all day, while I stare into her deep brown eyes that I can’t seem to unlock myself from.
“Sir,” Karen says breathlessly, placing my bottle down first, before leaning over me, brushing her arm against my chest. It’s not only inappropriate but also unsettling, as she invades my personal space.
Karen then sets my seatmate’s bottle on her table, and as she slides back, she once again brushes against my chest and brazenly locks eyes with me.
What the fuck is she playing at?
“Have a great flight, sir. Press the call button if you need me. For anything, anything at all, sir,” she coos, licking her lips as if I didn’t get the message the first time around that she’s into me. I may not have had sex for a long time, but her desperation is a complete turn-off.
“Thank you, Karen, we’re all good here.” I nod in acknowledgment and pull a tight smile before Karen sashays up the aisle, and that’s when I realize there’s a napkin under my bottle with blue-inked handwriting on it that looks a lot like a phone number.
“Does that happen often, sir?” There’s so much humor in my neighbor’s voice as she motions her head toward the napkin I was hoping she didn’t clock.
Now I’m imagining the word “sir” dripping off her tongue as she begs me to…
Stop.
It.
Fucking hell, what is this woman seated next to me doing to my mind? It’s like she’s awakened the sex-starved part of me up… which is a relief because I was really starting to believe I was asexual… but this, with her, here and now, is getting out of hand.
Only I want to tell her that her voice is as soft as melted golden butter, flowing over my skin and wrapping me in a blanket of silk, and the pretty way she just said “sir” has stirred something in me that I thought was long gone: desire.
I look right at her when I say, “I never call them.” I need her to know that I’m not a manwhore who fucks around. Rubbing my hand over the scruff of my beard, I shake my head, suddenly feeling uneasy. “And that happens more often than I appreciate,” I reply.
“I think you’re the only man I know who doesn’t take advantage of a woman eye-fucking him in public places or calls the numbers he’s given.
Although”—she thinks for a beat—“I don’t think she wants you to call her, I’m pretty sure she would happily have you join the Mile High Club with her.
” She pauses, then adds an afterthought.
“That’s if you haven’t done that already.
” One of her perfectly plucked jet-black eyebrows lifts in question.
I scoff at her unexpected frankness and respond. “I’ve never had sex on an airplane.” Close to it once, though.
For many years, my family has owned a private jet. When I took my ex to New York, she came down with a stomach flu, so we had to fly home. Otherwise, I would have joined the Mile High Club that weekend. I’m glad I didn’t. Three weeks later, I caught her screwing my best friend.
It was the worst time of my life, and it took me a very long time to get over their betrayal. My three older brothers, Nathan, Eli, and Max, don’t think I’m over her, and that I still love her, but they couldn’t be more wrong.
I’m angry.
There is so much rage bottled up inside me about how they made me feel. For a long time, I was so embarrassed and ashamed, worried about what my friends would say, which is why I didn’t date for over a year after we broke up.
My brothers are also adamant that every date I go on is pointless because, in their opinion, I’m not ready, and I have a crush on Libby, our law librarian at Hart Law.
There was probably some truth to that in the past, maybe, but I’ve always known deep down she was never into me or right for me.
Because it turns out she likes women. I’m so happy she finally had the courage to admit that to herself and others.
Pushing my weary thoughts about my dating-disaster history aside, I return my energy to my nervous neighbor, whom I believe I was meant to sit beside today.
Maybe not, but since my seat was changed at the last minute, it feels that way.
There’s also a deep feeling in my gut that tells me there was a reason Nathan booked our private jet this week for business before I did too. I’m supposed to be right here with her, to help her through this flight and keep her calm.
That’s when it suddenly hits me. I don’t even know her name.
“I’m Cole,” I say, offering her my hand.
She accepts mine with hers, shakes it, and introduces herself. “Mina.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mina.” It really is.
“And you.” She tries to give my hand a confident shake, but there’s a tremble to it, telling me she’s fighting her fear of flying anxiety.
I’m slightly relieved she isn’t as flustered as she was, and I only get a minute to bask in my smugness and in how my distraction plan seems to have worked a little, until a static-sounding voice floats through the PA system.
Mina’s head snaps up toward the speaker, her eyes bug out, and her survival instincts kick in again.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen.” A flight attendant welcomes us aboard our flight to San Francisco.
Like a meerkat on high alert, Mina reverts to darting her eyes around, and her knee begins bouncing again.
Tilting her head to the side, Mina watches the flight attendant standing in the aisle.
As the flight attendant runs through the safety announcements, Mina absorbs every word as if her life depends on it, noting exactly where her route of escape is and lifting her head over the seated passenger in front of her to get a better view of exactly where she should exit if the shit were to hit the fan.
While Mina’s distracted, I study her profile, noticing how her nose has a slight uplift at the tip, her eyelashes so long they almost touch her eyebrows; and, man, those pouty lips, her bottom lip bigger than the top, are sexy. Fuck, they might just be the most kissable lips I’ve ever seen.
She’s not just beautiful; she’s in a league of her own. Every inch of her screams perfection, and I struggle to pull my gaze away.