Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Webb blinked, the only sign of surprise he’d ever give, and glanced at Izzy. “Ms. Astor?”
“It will be fine. Please don’t trouble yourself,” she responded with an easy, polished, fake-ass smile that sent chills down my spine.
“Okay then,” Webb said slowly, then pivoted toward me and mouthed good luck before moving on.
Izzy and I stared at each other as every emotion I’d fought to bury over the last three years clawed its way to the surface, ripping open scabs that had never quite healed to scars. Go figure we’d meet again like this. We’d always had a habit of colliding at the worst times and in the most inconvenient places. It was almost fitting that it was a battlefield this go-round.
“I thought you were in New York,” I finally managed to say, my voice coming out like it had been scraped over the pavement a dozen times. Where no one is actively trying to blow you up.
“Yeah?” She arched a brow and hefted the slipping pack up to her shoulder. “Funny, because I thought you were dead. Guess we were both wrong.”
CHAPTER TWO
IZZY
Saint Louis
November 2011
“Fifteen A. Fifteen A,” I muttered, scanning the seat numbers as I muddled my way down the crowded aisle of the commuter plane, my carry-on slipping through my clammy hands with every step. Spotting my row, I sighed in relief that the overhead compartment was still empty, then cursed as I realized A was a window seat.
My stomach twisted into a knot. Had I really booked myself by the window? Where I could see every potential disaster coming our way?
Hold up. There was already a guy sitting in the window seat, his head down, only the Saint Louis Blues emblem visible on his hat. Maybe I’d read my ticket wrong.
I made it to my row, stood on my tiptoes, and shoved my carry-on up as far as my arms would extend, aiming for the overhead bin. It made contact with the edge, but the only prayer I had of getting it all the way in was to climb on the seat . . . or grow another six inches.
My hands slipped, and the bright-purple suitcase plummeted toward my face. Before I had time to gasp, a massive hand caught my unruly luggage, stopping it a few inches from my nose.
Holy crap.
“That was close,” a deep voice noted from behind my carry-on. “How about I help you with that?”
“Yes, please,” I answered, scrambling to adjust my hold.
I saw the Blues hat first as the guy somehow managed to twist his body, rise fully to his feet, step into the aisle, and balance my suitcase all in one smooth motion. Impressive.
“Here we go.” He slid the carry-on into the overhead with ease.
“Thanks. I was pretty sure it was going to take me out there for a second.” I smiled, turning my head slightly to look up—and up—at him.
Whuh. He was . . . hot. Like, pull-the-fire-alarm, jaw-dropping levels of hotness. A fine layer of dark scruff covered a square jawline. Even the cut and the purplish bruise that split the right half of his lower lip didn’t detract from his face, because his eyes . . . wow. Just . . . wow. Those crystalline baby blues stole every word out of my head.
And now I was staring, and not the cute, flirty glances Serena would have given him while shamelessly asking for his number and inevitably getting it. No, this was open-mouthed awkward staring that I couldn’t seem to stop.
Close your mouth.
Nope, still staring. Staring. Staring.
“Me too,” he said, a corner of his mouth lifting slightly.
I blinked. “Me too,” what? “I’m sorry?”
His brow knit in confusion. “Me too,” he repeated. “I thought that thing was going to smash you in the face.”
“Right.” I tucked my hair behind my ears, only to remember that I’d pulled it up into a messy bun and therefore had no hair to tuck, which just continued my awkward streak. Awesome. And now my face was on fire, which meant I’d probably turned ten shades of red.
He slid back into his seat, and I realized our exchange had blocked the rest of the flight from boarding.
“Sorry,” I muttered to the next passenger, and ducked into fifteen B. “Funny thing, I could have sworn my ticket said I was in the window.” I lifted the strap of my purse over my head, then unzipped my jacket and wiggled the least amount possible to get out of the thing. At this rate, I’d probably jab Blue Eyes with my elbow and make an even bigger ass of myself.
“Oh shit.” His head swung toward mine, and he winced. “I traded seats with a woman up in seven A so she could sit next to her kid. I bet I took yours by accident.” He reached down for an army-green backpack under the seat in front of him, his shoulders so wide that they brushed my left knee as he leaned forward. “Let’s switch.”