Chapter 4
FOUR
Owen
It’s finally here.
I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night. Instead, I spent hours tossing, turning, and burying my head in the pillow each time I thought about Meadow and the fact that we’re going to be stuck together in a metal tube for over four hours.
It also doesn't help that I haven't had sex in months, not since the breakup. So just touching thighs with Meadow is bound to have my cock misbehaving.
What the hell was I thinking?
How did I convince myself that I could spend a week with Meadow outside of the office and just act like her best bud?
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her. Her sly smirk when she’s being a smart-ass, her dark mocha eyes, her pouty lips that I’ve fantasized about tasting one too many times. I’d bet they taste sweet like cherries. Sweeter than her cherry-blossom scent that drives me fucking crazy.
I decided to skip my routine coffee this morning because I have more than enough adrenaline running through my veins.
Meadow’s less than a foot in front of me on the jet bridge, and I’m seconds away from losing it. Her loose ponytail swings from side to side, matching the rhythm of her hips. Lucky for me, her back is to me because I’m staring like a fucking creep.
Even in her casual travel clothes, she’s the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen.
She’s wearing these tight black leggings that have me standing close behind her, protectively trying to block anyone else from having the privilege of seeing this view. When her cropped lilac sweater reveals a glimpse of her smooth stomach, I swear I see a hint of silver.
Holy shit.
Does Meadow have a belly button ring? Clean, put-together, and rule-following Meadow?
I hope my eyes are just fucking with me because if she does, I’m a dead man walking. I would do just about anything to explore that tiny piece of jewelry with my lips, teeth, and tongue. Along with other places that would have her moaning my name…
Meadow spins around, saving me from my filthy thoughts.
“Did you win?” she asks, walking backward like she owns the walkway.
“Win what?”
“Your basketball game last night,” she replies bluntly. “The game you wouldn't shut up about all week.”
Right.
The rec league I play in.
It’s nothing serious, just a bunch of has-been athletes clinging to our glory days. It’s actually quite hysterical to watch us all in action. I love it, though. It’s one of the few things that gets me out of my head.
“Oh,” I recover. “Yeah, we won by twelve. I dropped twenty points, which means I’m basically the MVP of the game.” She rolls her eyes as I flash her an arrogant smirk.
“Wow, so heroic,” she fake yawns. “Did ESPN cover it?”
Smart-ass.
“Absolutely,” I shoot back with a grin. “Breaking News: Washed-Up Quarterback Attempts Another Sport and Doesn't Completely Suck.”
“ Wow ,” she retorts in a sarcastic tone. “You’re really making a name for yourself, Brooks.”
Brooks.
Fuck, there’s something about Meadow calling me by my last name. Most people call me Brooks, especially my college friends, but when Meadow does it, it sends my heart rate through the damn roof.
We inch forward, getting closer to boarding the plane. Meadow pulls her purse up her shoulder, causing her sweater to lift just enough to flash another view of her pale skin.
I can only imagine how soft she is there. I’ve thought about it more times than I care to admit. My palms actually itch to touch her—to know what she feels like sliding against me, skin to skin.
Get a grip, Owen.
Stop thinking with your dick and grow up.
A loudspeaker booms to life near the plane door, the flight attendant going on about a full flight and how to stow away our carry-on items. Meadow glances over her shoulder at me.
“You said our seats are together, right?”
“Yup,” I nod. “Window for you, aisle for me.”
“Good,” she murmurs, a hint of relief in her voice. “I swear, if I got stuck next to someone eating hard-boiled eggs or tuna salad, I’d open the emergency exit myself.”
One thing about Meadow Riley is that she’s extremely sensitive to smell. I’ll never forget the time I packed steamed broccoli in my lunch, and I thought she was going to light my Tupperware on fire. Hell, I’m lucky she didn't file an HR complaint.
“Please don’t,” I tease. “I’m not a fan of heights. So you’re on your own if you jump.” She chuckles and shakes her head, completely used to my bullshit by now.
Seconds later, we’re finally boarding the plane. For good luck, I tap the aircraft's metal exterior before stepping into the stale air. I follow Meadow down the narrow aisle, full of impatient people, overly cheerful flight attendants, and a couple of crying babies.
Meadow moves gracefully, fully aware of everyone she passes. Her empathetic side shows as she apologizes to every person her bag barely bumps, gently saying “sorry” to the backs of the seats.
I love that about her.
She notices everyone, even the people who are overlooked by society. Meadow would give her last dollar to someone who truly needed it. From the very first day I met her, she’s always been that way.
She comes to a halt when we reach Row 20, seats A and B. Our seats.
Thankfully, our overhead bin is one of the few that’s empty, unlike the others that are crammed with overfilled bags. Meadow huffs, stretching on her toes to slide her carry-on suitcase into the bin.
“I got it,” I cut in. I’ll be damned if I let some random guy play hero when I’m right here.
I push down the handle and hoist it up above my head.
Shit, this thing is heavier than it looks.
Not only does Meadow have this beast of a carry-on, but she also checked another suitcase. One that’s twice the size of this one. She packed like she’s moving states instead of a short getaway. I shove the bag into the bin with a grunt, my muscles straining.
When I glance down, Meadow’s looking at my arms like she’s starving and they’re her next meal. Her large, doe eyes send a shock of electricity straight to my groin.
She definitely doesn't realize she’s staring this hard, and I’m not about to stop her.
Let her look. God knows I’ve done the same.
The second she realizes her gaze has lingered too long, she blinks and lifts her eyes to mine, her cheeks flushing a shade of crimson that threatens my self-control. Meadow clears her throat before speaking in a raspy tone.
“Thanks,” she smiles nonchalantly, trying to convince us both that she wasn’t just undressing me in her head.
It takes everything in me not to grin like an idiot.
“Anytime,” I reply, unable to fully hold back my satisfied grin.
Meadow slides into the window seat, and I take the aisle. Good thing this side of the plane only has two seats. If some dude sat between us, I’d probably use turbulence as an excuse to accidentally spill a blistering hot coffee right on his crotch.
Meadow blows out a choppy exhale, pulling me from my thoughts. She glances out the window for a beat before turning to face me.
“Guess we lucked out,” she smiles softly, her voice uneasy.
“Yup,” I say, buckling in. “No strangers between us, and we won’t have to fight anyone for elbow room. Win, win.”
“True,” she agrees, tugging at her seatbelt. “One less thing to stress about.”
My eyes lower to her fingers, which are now tapping against her thighs. Meadow likes control, and up here, she doesn’t have any. She’s not the one flying the plane, and that alone is enough to put her on edge.
The flight attendant’s voice crackles through the speakers, announcing that the cabin door is closed and we’re ready for departure.
Seatbelts click, people frantically switch their phones to airplane mode, and the safety presentation starts as half the plane pretends to pay attention while the rest is already falling asleep.
Meadow's knee begins to bounce rapidly as the plane shudders, and we start to move down the runway. She’s trying her hardest to play it cool, but her body language is giving her away.
I know the look on her face like I know the back of my hand.
The look she gets when she’s anxious but too stubborn to admit it.
I know this about her the way I know everything about her—how she prefers iced coffee over hot, how she can’t stand people who call instead of text, and how she needs seven business days to recover from one social outing.
She clenches her jaw as the engines scream, the sound howling like a storm as we brace for takeoff.
Needing to ease her nerves, I nudge my leg closer until our thighs touch. The heat of her skin seeps through our clothes, steadying her breath while undoing mine.
“Hey,” I say lowly, my lips close to her ear. “You good?”
“Yeah,” she murmurs, eyes still closed. “Just ready for this part to be over.”
“Want me to start naming cloud shapes or something? I know you love that shit.”
One eye opens as a grin cracks across her face.
There’s my favorite smile.
“You’d somehow find a way to make them all inappropriate,” she sneers.
“Hey, I can’t help it if one looks like a crooked cock,” I quip. “I’m just reporting what I see.” Meadow pinches the bridge of her nose, trying to mask her chuckle.
Every trace of humor fades away as the runway disappears beneath us in a gray blur.
Meadow grips the armrest so tight I think she might crush it between her dainty fingers.
Instinctively, I reach across the gap and find her trembling hand.
Her skin is clammy from nerves, tense at first, then relaxes under my touch.
My heart skips a beat when she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she threads her fingers through mine and slowly exhales, her breathing steadier than before.
Not only do I see her physically relax, but I feel it in the way her fingers ease around mine. The corner of my mouth curves up in a small smile, knowing she feels safe with me. If my touch calms her, even a little, I’ll keep my hand wrapped around hers until the sky swallows us whole.
We sit in silence for what feels like an eternity, the world outside dissolving into a mix of clouds and light. For every second Meadow’s hand in mine, it feels like we’re the only passengers on this flight. Just me and her.
No office printers, clicking keyboards, or traffic horns. For once, it’s just us and the quiet rhythm of the sky. It sounds cheesy as hell, but I would die happy if this were how it all ended. A quiet moment alone with Meadow, suspended somewhere between earth and space.
I’m quickly reminded that we aren’t the only two people in the universe as the plane levels out and the seatbelt light dings off. Meadow slips her fingers from mine like nothing ever happened.
The loss is immediate.
My palm tingles where her skin still lingers, what’s left of her touch sinking into the lines of my hand. I curl my fingers into a fist to trap it, but it’s useless. The moment’s already gone, pulled apart by reality.
Meadow busies herself with the bag at her feet, her tongue peeking out over her top lip as she searches for something. That tiny flick of pink has my mind going places it shouldn't.
“Okay,” she huffs while rummaging through her things. “Where is it? I know I packed it.”
“What are you looking for?” I ask, hoping she didn’t forget a medication or something important.
“My book,” she rushes out. “Well, my Kindle. My entire library lives on that thing. Can’t fly without it.”
Ah, I should have known.
Meadow always has her e-reader tucked away somewhere close.
“Found it!” she beams, pulling it out and staring at it like it’s Jesus Christ in the flesh. “Crisis averted.”
The screen brightens as she presses a button at the bottom of the device.
The cover flickers to life, and before I can look away, I’m staring straight at a half-naked guy— against my will —with abs that look like they’ve never seen a carb in their life.
The cover reads Mine for the Night in bold letters across his chest.
I blink once. Twice.
Nope, naked dude with the washboard abs is still there. Staring right the fuck at me. I don’t know who this airbrushed bastard is, but he’s got about ten seconds before I throw her Kindle out the window.
Why am I staring back at him like I’m about to beat his ass or something? Like he’s about to jump through the screen and fight me for Meadow?
Speaking of Meadow, she’s currently fumbling to swipe out of the cover and get to the home screen. Pink fills her cheeks as her fingers work across the screen like a mad scientist, but it’s too late. I’ve seen it all.
Of course, the dude has his hands behind his head, smug as hell, like he knows women everywhere are zooming in for a better look. This cocky fucker.
I shouldn’t care because it’s just a cover for a fictional book, but something about it makes me want to wipe the smirk off the guy's face.
“Guess you’re one of those people who judge a book by its cover, huh?”
She turns to look at me, and I swear I see a bead of sweat drip down her temple.
“What?” she replies nervously, while clutching the Kindle to her chest. Probably trying to hide her library of shirtless men.
I nod toward the e-reader. “That guy looks like a real page-turner.”
She blows out a defeated breath.
“Shut up, Owen,” she groans, giving up the fight. “You know I’m a reader.”
“Oh, I know,” I say, leaning in a little. “I just didn’t know you read that. ”
Her lips twitch, like she’s trying not to smile. She makes sure to add a dramatic eye roll before responding.
“It’s called romance, Owen.”
“Right,” I drawl out. Meadow tucks a dark strand of hair behind her ear and sets the Kindle in her lap.
“You wouldn’t get it,” she sighs.
“Maybe not,” I murmur, a half-smile tugging at my mouth. “But I’m starting to think I should.”
Shit.
Did I seriously say that out loud?
Her head snaps toward me, eyes wide. A flush creeps up her neck, blotches of red roses blooming beneath her collarbone that I’d die to taste.
“What did you just say?” Her voice is a half whisper, full of shock.
I clear my throat, deciding to play along instead of backpedaling and making things more awkward.
“What?” I shrug. “I figured I could learn a thing or two. I’m always down for... educational extracurriculars.”
Even though I’m just teasing her, heat pools low in my stomach, blood rushing south before I can stop it. And judging by the look on her face, I’m not the only one feeling it.
Her mouth parts, but no sound comes out. She holds my stare through knitted brows, her brain buffering.
God, she’s so damn beautiful.
Staring back at me through those dark lashes and half-lidded eyes.
I’m about to say something—anything to ease the tension—when the flight attendant leans over our row and saves the day.
Thank fuck, because I almost dug myself into a hole I couldn't crawl out of.
“Can I get you two something to drink?”
If there was ever a time for in-flight whiskey, it’s right now.