Too late. We’re already going down. Down, down, down… The cause of our unfortunate demise is about six foot, four inches, and practically carved out of granite with dirty blond, wild hair that is trying to escape his hat.
I stared at the headrest of the seat in front of me like I was making sure it wasn’t about to come alive. I had a tingling suspicion that I recognized the man sitting beside me. I’d seen him somewhere but couldn’t quite place it.
Little by little, a scent was creeping from him toward me, like some kind of pheromonal assault on my senses. My head was filled with images of men wearing flannel and doing manly things, like unscrewing light bulbs and fixing sinks. If he wanted his crack to stick out while he checked out my plumbing, I wouldn’t have even complained. He smelled real, as stupid as that sounded, even in my own head. He wasn’t wearing some fancy, “I’m a rich bastard” cologne. He didn’t smell like gold nuggets and diamond dust. He just smelled like a man, and my over-ambitious self apparently took that as some kind of vague sign that he was attainable.
I felt the systems inside me all chug to life. My stomach got warm and fuzzy. My skin tingled. I was definitely wet. Yes. I was wet because an attractive guy had sat down next to me. If there was any better sign that I’d fallen on desperate, sad times, I wasn’t sure I’d ever find it.
“May I?” he asked.
The sound of his rich voice was like a gunshot waking me from the deepest sleep of my life. My whole body twitched, and before I could figure out what he was talking about, I said, “yes,” in an embarrassingly dreamy voice.
The man hadn’t seemed to notice me, but that got him to do a slight double take as he reached to plug his headphones into the armrest between us. He paused, looking at me, then the corner of his mouth pulled up.
I tried to swallow, but my mouth was dry.
It’s just a man, Belle. Stop acting so starstruck. You don’t even know who he is. Besides… I stuck my hand in one of the pockets of my dress—yes, it had pockets, and they were deep enough to hold real things, not just a couple coins. There was a crumpled-up sticky note there. I’d written it right after the blow up with Lance and the wedding. I knew what it said without pulling it out to remind myself.
No more men. No dating. No. Just no.
Start working out (I’d crossed this one out a few seconds later, because I knew that wasn’t going to happen.)
Go on a diet. (This one was crossed out more vigorously than the last. I loved food too much. Sorry, not sorry.)
Never fall for someone again. It makes you stupid. Love is for stupid people. You are not a stupid people. Stupid person? Point is, no more love.I clutched the note tight in my palm. No. I wasn’t about to fall in love with the total stranger sitting beside me, even if he was mouthwatering. But I needed to remember to not go down that fantasy lane in my head. This was a test. That’s what he was. Like some cosmic sign dropped from the heavens to give me a chance to show I could handle this.
I could change. I just needed to survive this flight without doing something stupid or trying to shove my boobs in the celebrity stranger’s face in some desperate attempt to join the mile-high club.
I just had to keep it in my pants for one measly flight. I could do that. Probably.2ChrisWhen I got back to New York tonight, I was going to be getting engaged, and I hadn’t even had a bachelor party. Of course, the engagement was a load of bullshit, but my brother slash agent hadn’t minced words. My cock was supposed to respect this fake engagement as if it was real.
I shifted in my seat. That meant in a few hours, I was going to be unwillingly celibate for the duration of this little stunt.
My eyes wandered down to the smooth pair of tanned legs that were in the window seat beside me. The woman had just shimmied a little until her leg was against my knee, and I wondered if she’d done it intentionally. She hadn’t squealed, demanded a selfie, or tried to get me to sign her cleavage, so she was already a step up on most women in my book.
We’d taken off a few seconds ago, and she hadn’t so much as spoken. When I asked if I could plug my cord in, the wide-eyed, open mouthed look she’d given me was sign enough that she knew who I was. But apparently, she was the stunned into silence around celebrities’ type.