“Sure. All pep talks are better naked,” she answered with a trace of laughter. “Okay, according to your answers, you’re the fun seeker. You’re social, noncompetitive, and are primarily driven by the fun factor activities offer. Your main fitness roadblock may be a lack of commitment. You find it hard to stick with a regimen once the novelty wears off. Mix it up with outdoor activities like hiking or cycling to have fun and burn calories.”
Chris opened his eyes to find her staring at him with a curious smile.
“I’ll do that,” he said dryly. The plane sped up, and so did his breathing.
She frowned. “So, are you leaving on a trip or on your way home?”
“I…” He dropped his gaze to her hand when she moved it next to his on the armrest. He wasn’t exactly going on vacation, but he wasn’t going home either. “I’m escaping.”
“Escaping to Pennsylvania?”
His voice wavered as the plane tilted up. “Ye-yes.”
“Did you rob a bank or something?”
“No. No bank robbing.”
“Too bad. I could really use some extra cash.”
His eyes flickered from the girl to the front of the plane and back again. “Who says I’d give you any?”
“Just a little neighborly donation. Goodwill, karma. All that.”
“I could use some good karma.”
The wheels picked up off the ground, and the plane shifted, soaring into the sky. With the drop of his stomach, Chris snapped his eyes shut as he breathed deep and heavy through his nose.
“Hey, you’re okay,” she said with a featherlight pat to his wrist. The touch was barely there yet commanding in its comfort. He slowly released his stranglehold on the armrest and opened his eyes to the woman. She turned his hand palm up and placed two fingers on the sensitive skin at his wrist. “Your heartbeat is really fast. You need to breathe.”
He did, slow and steady, in through his nose and out his mouth, like she did. His eyes drifted from her shoulders to her chest, which rose and fell with each of her breaths. As they breathed in unison, the intimate contact between them didn’t seem to bother her even though they were complete strangers to each other.
She offered his hand an encouraging squeeze. “We’re flying.”
He looked out the window, through the white clouds. “So we are.”
The pilot’s voice filtered through the plane, letting the passengers know they were at cruising altitude and would be flying for about two hours.
“You doing okay?” she asked.
When Chris nodded, the young woman turned in her seat, lifting the armrest so there was nothing separating them. Mimicking her movements, he rested his left shoulder on the seat and finally got a good look at his personal anxiety panacea.
Her hair was a dark brown, almost black, and hung down to her shoulders, framing a pale face with cheeks that dimpled and eyes the color of the clear sky outside the window next to him.
“You were scaring me there for a bit,” she said. How had he missed her voice before? Low and raspy and sexy as hell. “My name’s Bronte.”
“Bronte?”
“Like the sisters? My dad’s a literature professor, and my mom’s a librarian. They wanted us to have strong, literary names. My brother’s name is Fitzgerald.”
“Huh?”
“Like F. Scott,” she said. At his apparent blank look, she tried again. “You know, The Great Gatsby.”
Chris shrugged.
“You’ve never read it? It’s a classic high school read.”
“Didn’t do much reading in high school,” he said, bypassing the fact that he had been homeschooled and the only things he read now were scripts. “But Fitzgerald’s quite a name.”