Barbie #2
“Wait, wait, wait,” I interject, and he quirks a brow. “Hold up.” I peek around the cabin, then scoot closer, my nose brushing against his thick and wavy black hair while my lips find the shell of his ear.
He sucks in a breath, his throat bobbing reflexively, and my lower lip almost skims across his sharp cheekbone when he turns his head slightly toward me. “What’s up?”
“If you’re here,” I begin, dropping my voice to the breathiest whisper I can manage, “then who’s flying the plane?”
There’s a beat of silence that follows before he snorts, and I burst into cackles while I pull away from him, already missing the heat of his body as I settle back in my seat.
He smells really nice, though—a hint of something musky and citrusy.
And there’s another little fact I’ve just discovered: there are a couple of grays sprinkled behind his ear.
“What the hell was that?”
“I can’t ask that out loud,” I point out the obvious, making a circular motion with my hand. “I don’t want to freak people out.”
“And you say I’m lame,” he mutters.
“Well, what made you want to become a pilot?” I ask. “Was it the sexy uniforms?”
“The sexy uniforms?” he repeats, and I shrug a shoulder. “My dad was a pilot.”
“Oh.” There are a couple of things I could draw attention to—such as the usage of was—but I decide to play it safe. “You wanted to make him proud?”
“Er.” He lifts his hand and drags it through his hair. “I never met him.”
Well, fuck. Way to go, me.
“He died before I was born,” he explains.
“You don’t have to tell me anything if it brings up painful memories,” I begin, and he flashes me something reassuring of a smile.
“It’s fine. My stepdad—”
“Was also a pilot?”
“No. Firefighter.” He pauses, then peers intently at me. “Any comments on their uniforms?”
“Ten out of ten.” I give him a thumbs-up. “No complaints from me.”
With a light chuckle, he settles in his seat and sprawls his long legs out. “My stepdad helped me get flight hours.”
I glance sideways at him, wondering for a moment why he’s not a pilot if he’s done the training. Dammit, this is backfiring on me. I wanted to have a fun conversation starter, not send this guy on a one-way trip down sad and tragic memory lane.
Clearly, a redirect is needed. “Do you get along with the people you work with?”
“Do you?”
“There’s this one guy.” I pause. I don’t know if I should even reveal anything salacious because what if other Green Checks employees are seated nearby?
A bunch of people are flying in today before the conference kicks off tomorrow. I know Ed is on an earlier flight with his wife, but who knows who’s lurking in the shadows?
For all I know, Carter is sitting right in front of me.
“Carson,” I hedge, then awkwardly laugh when it’s clear the guy is waiting for me to continue. “He’s kind of… Have you ever had a coworker who’s so stubborn—”
“Yes,” he answers immediately. “I work with someone who I don’t think is real.”
“What… do you mean?” Oh God, I don’t know how I’m going to feel about finding the second conspiracy theorist I interacted with today hot. Or that I keep finding myself seated next to them.
“It’s a dumb theory of mine,” he says, and I feel slightly better. “I’m most likely wrong. It’s more of an inside joke with my friend, if I’m being honest here.”
Genuine relief rocks through me. “This flight is eight hours long,” I remind him, and he chuckles.
“She’s so damn stubborn,” he says. “She never sees eye-to-eye with me on anything and makes everything so much harder than it has to be.”
“Oh, dude,” I mutter. Now I’m thinking about Carter and his ridiculous profile picture again—awkward arms and all. “I feel that. But… help me out here. Why do you think she’s not real? I mean, Carson is a complete headache, but he’s definitely real.”
“I think she might be a bot the company is developing,” he says, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper. “We’ve been testing with AI for the past few years, so I wouldn’t put it past them to create a bot. It’s only a natural progression.”
“Wait. Hold up.” I cock my head. “You’ve never met her?”
“No. Before you ask, I don’t know anything about her. None of my copilots know anything about her. She even has a silly name, too.”
“Aw, don’t be mean,” I say. “How bad can it be?”
“It’s”—he glances around the cabin—“kind of ridiculous.”
“Okay, but what if she is real and you’re making fun of a real person’s name?” I state the obvious, and he, to his credit, winces.
“Yeah. Maybe. But it’s absurdly ridiculous,” he says. “Think Bambi if you need a scale of how bad it is.”
Well, I can’t imagine anything as bad as Bambi. “I work with aquatic animals, and you fly with woodland creatures, apparently,” I tease, and his lips curl into another handsome smile. “I hope Bambi lays off on you.”
“Same with Carson,” he says. “Here’s to hoping our coworkers give us a break for once.”
“Preach,” I say, because there’s nothing I’d give more than for Carter to, I don’t know, work with me every now and then so we’re not always fighting over the cover sheets every morning at seven-fifteen on the dot. It’ll make the whole extend the olive branch mission I have so much easier.