Chapter 2

• Damn it, I don’t have a window. I get to my seat, and a man sitting next to the window turns to me. Big blue eyes greet me, and he smiles. “Hello.”
• “Hi,” I say.
• Oh no . . . I’m sitting next to God’s gift to women . . . only he’s hotter.
• I look like shit. Fuck it .
• I open the overhead, and he stands. “Here, let me.” He takes my bag from me and carefully places it up. He’s tall and built and wearing blue jeans and a white T-shirt; he smells like the best aftershave in history.
• “Thanks,” I murmur as I pull my hand through my ponytail, trying to smooth out the knots. I mentally kick myself for not wearing something better.
• “Do you want the window seat?” he asks.
• I stare at him as my brain misfires.
• He gestures to the seat beside the window.
• “You don’t mind?” I frown.
• “Not at all.” He smiles. “I fly all the time. You can have it.”
• I force a smile. “Thanks.” That was code for “I know you got upgraded, you poor homeless person, and I feel sorry for you. ” I sit down in my seat and look nervously out the window, with my hands clasped in front of me on my lap.
• “Are you going home?” he asks.
• I turn to him. Oh, please don’t talk to me. You make me nervous just sitting there. “No, I’ve been at a wedding, and I have a job interview in New York on the way home. I’m only there for the day, and then I fly out again to LA. I live there.”
• “Ah.” He smiles. “I see.”
• I stare at him for a moment; I should ask him a question now. “Are . . . you going home?” I say.
• “Yes.”
• I nod, unsure what to say next, so I choose the lame option and stare back out the window.
• The attendant walks around with a bottle of champagne and glasses.
• Glasses. Since when do airlines give you a real glass?
• Oh right, first class. I knew that.
• “Would you like some champagne to take off with, sir?” the flight attendant asks him. I notice that her name tag says J ESSICA .
• “That would be lovely.” He smiles and turns to me. “Make that two, please.”
• I frown as she pours two glasses of champagne and passes one to him and one to me. “Thank you.” I smile.
• I wait for Jessica to move out of earshot. “Do you always order drinks for other people?” I ask.
• He looks surprised by my statement. “Did it bother you?”
• “Not at all,” I huff. Damn this Mr. Fancy Pants for thinking he can order for me. “I do like to order my own drinks, though.”
• He smiles. “Well, you can order the next ones, then.” He raises his glass to me and smirks; then he takes a sip. He seems amused by my annoyance.
• I stare at him deadpan. This could be victim number two of my cutting today. I am not in the mood for some rich old bastard to boss me around. I sip my champagne as I look out the window. Well, he’s not really old. Maybe mid- to late thirties. I mean, old compared to me; I’m twenty-five. But whatever.
• “I’m Jim,” he says as he holds his hand out to shake mine.
• Oh God, now I have to be polite. I shake his hand. “Hi, Jim. I’m Emily.”
• His eyes dance with mischief. “Hello, Emily.”
• His eyes are big, bright blue, and dreamy, the kind I could get lost in. But why is he looking at me like that?
• The plane begins to travel slowly down the runway, and I look between the earphones and armrest. Where do these plug in? They’re high tech, the kind that overconfident YouTubers use. They don’t even have a cord. I look around. Well, this is stupid. How do I plug them in?
• “They’re Bluetooth,” Jim interrupts me.
• “Oh,” I mutter, feeling stupid. Of course they are. “Right.”
• “You haven’t flown first class before?” he asks.
• “No. I got an upgrade. Some weirdo threw my bag across the airport when he was drunk. I think the guy at the desk felt sorry for me.” I give him a lopsided smile.
• He rolls his lips as if amused and sips his champagne; his eyes linger on my face as if he has something on his mind.
• “What?” I ask.
• “Perhaps the guy at the desk thought you were gorgeous and upgraded you to try to impress you.”
• “I hadn’t thought of that.” I sip my champagne as I try to hide my smile. That’s an odd thing to say. “Is that what you would do?” I ask. “If you were at the desk, would you upgrade women to impress them?”
• “Absolutely.”
• I smirk.
• “Impressing a woman you’re attracted to is crucial,” he continues.
• I stare at him as I try to get my brain to keep up with the conversation. Why does that statement sound flirty? “And do tell . . . how would you impress a woman you’re attracted to?” I ask, fascinated.
• His eyes hold mine. “Offer her a window seat.”
• The air crackles between us, and I bite my lip to hide my goofy smile.
• “You’re trying to impress me?” I ask.
• He gives me a slow, sexy smile. “How am I doing?”
• I smirk, unsure what to say.
• “I’m simply saying that you’re attractive, nothing more and nothing less. Don’t read into it. It was a statement, not a question.”
• “Oh.” I stare at him, lost for words. What do I even say to that? Statement, not a question . . . huh? Don’t read into it. This guy is weird . . . and utterly gorgeous.
• The plane begins to take off with speed, and I hold on to my armrests and scrunch my eyes shut.
• “You don’t like takeoffs?” he asks.
• “Do I look like I like takeoffs?” I wince as I hang on for dear life.