Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
The Plane
After the flight attendant brought us beverages, I decided to rip off the Band-Aid.
“So, what do we do?” I asked.
“About what?” He took a sip of his coffee and made a face. “God, this is awful.”
“It’s airplane coffee. What did you expect?”
“Something better than this,” he muttered.
“Back to what I was saying—what do we do? About us, I mean?”
He raised his brows. “There’s an us?”
“Bowman,” I drawled.
“Powell,” he said in the same tone.
“I mean, how are we going to deal with”—I gestured between us—“this. I feel like we should be adults and tell Declan and Hadley that we slept together.”
“No.”
“No? Really? That seems juvenile.”
“It’s not juvenile. It’s self-preservation. Declan is my best friend. But he’s marrying your sister. And he’s going to be protective of you. And if he finds out that I slept with you, we’re looking at black eyes for the wedding. And I’m pretty sure Hadley doesn’t want that in her wedding photos.”
“I don’t like the idea of lying to Hadley.” I chewed my lower lip, which drew his attention. “Though I do see your point. And it doesn’t make sense to spill the beans over a one-night stand. A one-night stand that’ll never happen again.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” he quipped.
I glared at him. “You just said you don’t want a black eye.” I raised my fist in a mock gesture.
“Easy there, Powell.” He curled his huge hand over my fist and gently pushed it down.
“So, if we’re not telling them the truth, we need to come up with some sort of plausible story.”
“How about we met on the plane and found out who the other one was,” he suggested.
“I guess that could work. Still . . .”
“What?”
“Maybe we shouldn’t be so . . . familiar. With one another.”
“Familiar how?”
“You know.”
“I don’t, actually.”
“I don’t know. We just—you talk like—”
“Like I’ve seen you naked?”
I bared my teeth at him.
“You’re cute when you’re feral.”
“Drink your coffee,” I muttered.
“How are you going to explain that,” he asked, pointing to my neck.
“I’ll tell Hadley I’m anemic.”
“It’s clearly a hickey.”
“I should’ve told you not to mark me.” I glared at him.
“You weren’t thinking coherently. What with your eyes rolling into the back of your head.”
I flushed. “You’ve got a mouth on you.”
“Want me to put it to better use?”
“Look, I don’t go around having regular one-night stands, okay?
” I took a deep breath and attempted to reign in my infamous Irish temper.
“But last night, I needed something to take my mind off things. You were there. You did a good job, okay? But the ego you have . . . it’s going to get you into trouble. ”
“God, I hope so.” He cracked a grin, but when I didn’t smile back, it slipped. “What things?”
“Hmm?”
“What things did I take your mind off?”
I blinked. “Declan knows you’re coming, right?”
“Not exactly.”
“What?”
“I was going to surprise him. I was just going to show up.”
“So, then you don’t know,” I murmured.
“Know what?”
I looked him in the eyes. “My dad, Bowman. My dad is in the hospital. That’s why I came home three weeks before the wedding.”
“Shit. The hospital? What happened?”
I swallowed. “Kicked in the head by a horse. Hadley called me two nights ago and I got on the first plane out of New York, but then the weather in Denver . . . He had brain surgery yesterday—to relieve the pressure. He was stable as of this morning.”
But that could change. At any moment. Just like life. I hoped we were still going to have a wedding in a few weeks, not a funeral.
“Surprise,” I said with a strained smile. “Not all happy and joyful, you know?”
“Guess not.”
“It’s not too late to turn back. Get off the plane and get on another and head back to where you came from. Most people would do that.”
He didn’t reply for a long moment, and then he shrugged. “I’m not most people.”
Yeah, no kidding.
“How are you doing? I mean really. Are you hanging in there?”
I lifted my Bloody Mary in the plastic cup and took a sip. “This helps.”
“Hmm. And here I thought it was me causing you to drink. Glad to know it’s not.”
“80 percent my dad, 20 percent you.”
“20 percent, huh? That’s high. You close with your dad?”
“Yeah, no. We’re not doing this. You and me and the deep talks. No way.”
“That would be a no, then.” He raised his brows.
“We spent one night together, Bowman. Let’s not make this into something it isn’t.”
He let out a laugh.
“What?” I demanded.
“You’re okay going to bed with a complete stranger.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “But you don’t want to talk about your dad?”
“Spare me the therapy session,” I said, my tone cold. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like some quiet time.”
Bowman did me a favor and fell silent, but he didn’t stop watching me out of the corner of his eye.
Last night, Bowman had been exactly what I needed.
This morning, the fantasy was dead and in the light of day, reality set in.
The man saw more than I wanted him to.
“Who’s Poet?” he asked.
His words dragged me from my own thoughts. “What?”
“Poet. You mentioned Hadley making Poet her maid of honor.”
“Oh.” I remembered my rant. “Poet is our best friend and my roommate. So is Wyn. You’ll meet them at the wedding.”
If there’s still a wedding…
“It’ll happen,” he said.
“What?”
“The wedding.”
I frowned. “Did I say something out loud?”
He poked my furrowed brow. “You don’t need to speak out loud. You say it all right here. You must suck at poker.”
“I’m great at poker,” I snapped. “Because I cheat.”
His lips quivered. “Better sober up, Powell. Wouldn’t want the booze to loosen your lips. Might fuck up and say something you regret.”
“Too late.”
“Aw, tater tot, I’m hurt.”
“None of that.”
“None of what?”
“Nicknames,” I stated.
“If you were to call me a nickname, what would it be?”
“Annoying.”
He grinned. “So, you like poker.”
“Yes.” I cocked my head to the side, thrown by the change in conversation.
“You consider yourself a betting woman?”
“Occasionally.”
“Okay, then how about we make a bet?”
“A bet? About what?” I asked, my natural competitive streak coming out to play.
“I bet you can’t keep your hands off me.”
“I’ll lose that bet in five minutes,” I said with a smirk.
“Oh yeah?”
“Don’t get excited.” My eyes dropped to his lap, but then I reached my hand out and gripped the back of his neck. “I meant you’re five minutes away from me strangling you.”
His eyes darkened. “You’re the one who likes breath play.”
I dropped my hand like I’d touched a hot coal stove.
“Scared you’re going to lose the bet?” he taunted. “The real bet, I mean?”
“Hardly.” I scoffed.
“Care to make it more interesting?”
“I’m listening.”
“The first one to make a move loses.”
“Obviously. What are we betting?”
“Whoever wins gets an entire night of fantasies fulfilled.”
A smarter person would demand boundaries.
A smarter person would ask a few clarifying questions.
A smarter person would walk away.
I wasn’t smart, and I saw the challenge in his eyes.
“Deal.” I held out my hand. “Let’s shake on it.”
He took my hand in his and gave it a slow squeeze before tickling my palm.
My mouth turned up in a grin. “Amateur.”
“We’ll see.”
“Yeah. We will.” I leaned forward, close enough that if I wanted to lose the bet right then and there, all I had to do was dart my tongue out and graze his bottom lip.
“Bowman?”
“Yeah, Powell?”
“I play to win.”
He pulled back just enough to stare into my eyes. “So do I.”
Air whooshed from my lungs and my focus narrowed on him.
Something told me we weren’t talking about the bet anymore.