Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 98612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“What if I just do this?” I slip an arm around her shoulder.
“That’s nice.” She slides a little closer and tucks herself into my side. “That makes me feel . . . safer.”
I’m not sure if she’s flirting with me or just genuinely needs some kind of human contact to abate the anxiety, but I’m enjoying this, so I go with it. “Safer is good.”
“It is,” she agrees.
I spend the next few minutes explaining the geography as she looks out the window, but when we hit another patch of turbulence, her face pales.
“Oh no!” She covers her mouth with her palm.
“You okay?”
She shakes her head but stops abruptly, paling further. “I don’t feel so well.”
I reach into the seat pocket in front of us and pull out the barf bag. I blow into it to open it up and then hand it to her. “Maybe just breathe into this.”
She takes it from me with shaking hands and leans forward, her hair slipping over her shoulders. I gather it up, twisting the soft, silky strands around my hand to keep it out of the way.
And then she barfs. She tries to be quiet as she retches a couple more times. I stroke my thumb along the back of her neck, and her skin pebbles with goose bumps.
With my free hand I search my pockets for a tissue, grateful when I find a handful in my hoodie. They’re crumpled but unused, so I pass them over. Lainey turns her head away and wipes her mouth, dropping the soiled tissues into the bag. She rolls the top over a few times and secures it closed.
I let her hair unfurl from around my hand and run my palm down her back. “You okay?”
“Other than hugely embarrassed, I think I’m fine,” she mumbles. “I don’t know what to do with this.” She holds up the bag.
“Here, let me deal with it.”
“Oh God, no. My throw-up is in there.”
“It’s better if it ends up in the garbage than anywhere else, isn’t it?”
“Oh yes, much better in a garbage can.” She hands it over.
I unbuckle my seat belt, shimmy down the aisle, and drop the bag in the trash at the front of the plane, then make my way back to my seat. “Feel better?”
“A little. I’m so sorry. I’m the worst person to sit beside on a plane.”
“Not true at all. I actually like being someone’s personal teddy bear. I’d volunteer for a permanent position if it was available.” I slip my hand into my pocket, root around until I find my pack of gum, and offer it to her.
She plucks the package from my hand. “I love you so much right now.”
I laugh. “Mouth tastes that bad, huh?”
“The worst. I had a burrito at the airport.”
“Oooh. Bad call, that.”
“You’re telling me.” She pops a stick of gum into her mouth and closes her eyes, chewing a few times.
“Better?”
“So much.” She passes the pack back, but I fold her hand around it.
“It’s all yours.”
“Thank you.” She puts it in her purse and retrieves a small bottle of hand sanitizer, squeezing a dab into her palm before passing it to me.
Before I know it, we’re on our descent. Her hands are balled into fists in her lap, her eyes screwed shut.
“Hey.” I slip my arm along the back of the seat again. “You’re safe. Human teddy bear right here for safety cuddles.”
She smiles nervously and edges closer, pressing herself right against my side. “Thank you for being so nice, RJ.”
I don’t know that she’d say that if she knew I was withholding who I really am. But here on this plane I’m not the NHL forward and team captain with a history of being a player on and off the ice. I’m just a guy, and she’s just a girl.
CHAPTER 4
CABIN IN THE WOODS
Lainey
If this plane crashes, at least I’m going out on a high note.
RJ is the kind of attractive that makes a woman stop paying attention to what she’s doing and nearly end up strangling herself with her scarf. He’s tall and built, with dark hair that curls up at the nape of his neck, hazel eyes ringed with dark green, and a smile that makes my insides mushy.
I’m tucked into his side, his arm stretched out along the back of the seat, fingers curved around my shoulder, keeping me nice and safe. RJ’s arm is very sturdy, and solid, and thick, like a tree trunk. He also smells great, like fresh laundry and cologne with a hint of peppermint, likely from the gum he gave me to take care of my breath.
He dealt with my bag of vomit, which is both mortifying and insanely sweet. At least the near scarf strangulation happened before I hurled. I’m currently fisting his sweatshirt in one hand and hugging my mittens to my chest with the other. I also keep trying to bury my face in his armpit. Despite the long flight from Seattle and the tiny, cramped quarters on this plane, he still manages to smell like deodorant.