Chapter Four #2
After strapping myself in, I giddily looked at my pictures, and it immediately became clear why Jake Whitley had chuckled.
It wasn't because I was getting to him in any way, sunny personality or not.
It was because after the hair accident, I had lipstick smeared all over my face.
I lowered my phone. He was looking straight at me, clearly barely holding back his laughter.
"You could’ve told me."
"I asked if you were sure. You insisted. After you called me a grump."
I pocketed my phone, looking at Jake Whitley in a new light. He wasn't just difficult. He was more than that. I had a feeling I had my work cut out for me for this weekend.
Five minutes later, we took off. After the amazing experience in the lounge today, I’d fully prepared myself for the best flight of my life. The opposite was true. As soon as we took off, I realized I preferred big planes. I could feel every single tremor in this one.
I’d taken a seat that was facing backward to the direction of the flight. I was beginning to feel a bit nauseous. My stomach began bobbing up and down dangerously. I looked around desperately, fearing I might have to throw up.
"What do you need?"
"One of those paper bags."
"Are you going to be sick?" he asked, and for the first time today, he didn't sound like a smug asshole. He actually seemed concerned.
"Yes."
"Do you have motion sickness? Why did you not notify my assistant? This can become very unpleasant and messy."
I stood corrected. He was still an ass.
“I didn't know I had motion sickness. Only seems to happen on small planes and when I'm in terrible company.”
He handed me a paper bag the next second. Just in time.
I’d reached a new embarrassing low within half an hour of meeting him—first the lipstick and now puking right in front of him. Since I'd eaten my weight in food in the lounge, I needed more than one bag.
After I was done retching, I held them tightly in my hand so the smell wouldn't permeate the plane. I was feeling absolutely miserable. I couldn’t even muster the energy to take them to the bathroom.
My head was swimming, and I felt like I might throw up again any second now, even though I wasn't sure I had anything left.
"We're going to land in ten minutes. That might make it worse for you."
I heard him as if from a distance, but he sounded concerned again.
"Oh great. I can't imagine how that will go." I didn't dare open my eyes. It seemed to make the nausea worse.
"I think it would help you if we switched places and you flew in the direction of the flight."
"I don't think I can do that," I murmured.
I sensed him move and then push something soft under my left ear, where I’d been leaning my head against the windowpane. It smelled just like him. He'd put his suit jacket under my head.
"Are you more comfortable now?"
"Yes," I replied honestly, "thank you."
He wasn't lying. The remaining ten minutes were truly, honestly, and sincerely awful.
"Try breathing in through your nose very deeply and then let the air out just as slowly."
I tried to follow his instructions. To my astonishment, it worked.
"Focus on your breath—the bridge of your nose or your nostrils, wherever you feel the air coming in."
His instructions reminded me of a meditation app I'd tried recently.
I didn't know if it was his voice or the breath itself that calmed me, but I felt much better… right until the plane’s wheels hit the ground.
I nearly dropped my bags full of vomit but caught them at the last moment, keeping them tightly in my hands.
The last thing I wanted was for them to spill all over this elegant, expensive plane.
After we landed, I kept my eyes closed until we stopped moving, and then I opened them. Miraculously, my head cleared up. I sat up straighter in my seat. Jake was looking at me intently.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Better. It's like the brain fog lifted. If I weren’t holding these bags, I would've thought I imagined the whole thing."
"You definitely have motion sickness," he said. "Be careful when you step out. Sometimes being on solid ground afterward can confuse your brain."
"Like sea legs," I said, things suddenly clicking for me. I cringed. "How am I going to fly back?"
"There are remedies for this. I’ll get you something."
"Thank you." I unstrapped my seat buckle with one hand, holding the bags firmly in the other. Then I handed him the carefully folded jacket. That had been a very gentlemanly thing for him to do.
"After you," he said as soon as the pilot opened the doors.
I put my handbag over my shoulder and carefully walked down the stairs. The pilot took the barf bags from me and quickly disposed of them.
"Thank you." I said, feeling truly grateful because I didn't want to be around them anymore. I knew if I caught even a whiff of the smell, I'd be sick all over again.
Jake was right; the second my feet were on solid ground, I felt my brain whirl a bit. I turned to him. "Where to?"
He pointed left to the small building that was most likely for airport arrivals. I was a bit unsteady on my feet, and I walked slowly.
"Do you need assistance?" he asked.
"You were right about having sea legs. I’m pretty sure my legs think they’re still on the plane."
The next second, I felt a strong arm around my lower back. My entire body sang with excitement.
"Oh!" I exclaimed in surprise.
"Are you going to be sick again?"
I cleared my throat. "No, it's better with you steadying me. Thank you."
I suddenly had a hot flash, and I was overwhelmed by the way he held me.
His touch was strong and subtle at the same time. My nether region was totally on fire. I couldn't explain my reaction to him. My brain must still have been befuddled from the flight.
When we entered the building, he told me to sit down while he took care of some paperwork. I had no idea what that was about, nor did I care right now. As he helped me sit, I noticed him wrinkle his nose. I realized why as I watched him prance his sexy ass toward a counter.
I’d never rinsed my mouth. I reeked of puke.