Unwrapped
Page 3
The thought sends an unexpected pang of jealousy through me, but I shake it off. The line is finally moving up ahead, so I grab my bags, and slowly shuffle onto the plane.
“Excuse me, sorry, coming through!”
On board, it’s like a holiday apocalypse: every man for himself. I manage to squeeze through to my row number, and then try to hoist my bag up into the overhead lockers, struggling to lift it above my head.
Oh boy. Maybe I shouldn’t have packed three different pairs of pumps.
“I’ve got it.” Someone grabs the bag from behind me and swings it up into the locker with zero effort. I turn just as his shirt rides up, and I find myself staring at a set of taut, chiseled abs, and the navy line of his underwear below.
Hello!
“I guess you’re connecting through Atlanta too.”
The familiar voice makes me snap my head up. It can’t be!
But it is.
Daniel gives me an awkward smile, crammed up against me in the narrow aisle. “Twenty-two B?”
I blink, my mind reeling from seeing him again. And his abs … “What?” I stutter.
“Your seat.” He nods behind me. “I’m twenty-two A.”
“Oh. Right.” I take a step back, thrown by his closeness, and immediately crash into the seat arm. I yelp, and tumble back over the top, so I’m sprawled across the seats with my legs in the air.
Oh. My. God.
Kill me now.
Daniel tries not to laugh. “Do you need a hand?” he reaches to help me, but I quickly scramble to right myself, sliding over and sitting in the window seat.
“I’m fine!” My cheeks burn. I buckle myself in and pray there’s nothing else for me to trip on, bump into, or otherwise humiliate myself over now.
“Lucky we made it, huh?” Daniel lifts his own bag up into the overhead locker, his shirt riding up all over again. “I was sure I’d miss the flight.”
Don’t look, don’t look, don’t—
Oh, who am I kidding? I sneak a glance, relishing the pale golden band of skin on display, and the trail of caramel hair leading lower …
Daniel turns back to me and slides into the seat, his whole right side of his body pressing up against me in a sudden rush of heat. “I, umm …” he gestures between us, and I quickly lean away while he fishes out his belt, his hand accidentally grazing my hip. He snatches it away like he’s been burned, but I feel his touch spiral through me in a shock of electricity.
“So …” Daniel swallows. “Do you know how long this flight is?”
“About four hours,” I reply, and the thought of spending the next four hours pressed up against him makes me feel sick and giddy all at the same time.
“I guess we’ve got plenty of time to catch up.” Daniel grins at me, that devastating smile that always reduced me to putty. A flush spreads through my body, pure golden heat, and I manage a vague murmur in response.
Dear Lord. This is going to be the best, and worst flight of my entire life, all rolled into one.
***
Lacey Andrews.
That name hasn’t crossed my mind in months, and now I can’t get away from her. First that awkward encounter in the departures hall that sent me reeling, and now here she is: her lush curves crammed just inches away from me, the side of her body pressed up against mine, spelling pure torture for the next four hours.
“Do you have enough space?” she asks, looking uncomfortable to be stuck in such close quarters. “Sorry, these seats are so small.”
“I’m fine.” I lie.
I grip my phone, pretending to scan through my emails as the final passengers take their seats and the crew prepares to depart. Lacey starts flipping through a magazine, so I casually sneak a glance over, drinking in the sight of her. Skin-tight dark jeans painted on her generous hips; a simple red T-shirt fitted way too tight for comfort. Her hair is longer than when I saw it last, and darker now too, falling with reddish tint over a heart-shaped face and those laughing blue eyes—
Lacey looks up suddenly, and I snap my eyes away, acting like I’m reading the most important email in the world. But when I stare at my phone, all I see is the way she looked when I bumped into her for the first time: breathless from running, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright.
The sexiest thing you’ve ever seen.
And now we’re practically sharing breathing space for the rest of the flight, with no way to ignore the lust suddenly pulling at my body. Fuck! I clench the armrest to keep from letting out a groan of frustration.
The engines power up, and we head down the runway. I usually love this part, take-off, when the world suddenly falls away and just like that, I’m airborne, but today, I can only focus on one question, running around and around in my mind.
When did she get so damn hot?
That’s not exactly true … A little voice reminds me, and I have to admit, it’s right. Lacey’s always been hot: a five-foot five whirlwind of crazy adventures and bad decisions. I never understood why she and Juliet were so close. Juliet was the model of sensible control, always with a careful plan and a backup answer, but her roommate burned through life—and boyfriends—like she never once thought of looking before she leapt. More than once, I’d drop by their apartment to find Lacey in the middle of some dramatic break-up or morning-after crisis, the latest object of her affection slinking downstairs with a sheepish expression—and a smile that made it clear whatever the drama now, it had all been worth it.
“Excuse me, sorry, coming through!”
On board, it’s like a holiday apocalypse: every man for himself. I manage to squeeze through to my row number, and then try to hoist my bag up into the overhead lockers, struggling to lift it above my head.
Oh boy. Maybe I shouldn’t have packed three different pairs of pumps.
“I’ve got it.” Someone grabs the bag from behind me and swings it up into the locker with zero effort. I turn just as his shirt rides up, and I find myself staring at a set of taut, chiseled abs, and the navy line of his underwear below.
Hello!
“I guess you’re connecting through Atlanta too.”
The familiar voice makes me snap my head up. It can’t be!
But it is.
Daniel gives me an awkward smile, crammed up against me in the narrow aisle. “Twenty-two B?”
I blink, my mind reeling from seeing him again. And his abs … “What?” I stutter.
“Your seat.” He nods behind me. “I’m twenty-two A.”
“Oh. Right.” I take a step back, thrown by his closeness, and immediately crash into the seat arm. I yelp, and tumble back over the top, so I’m sprawled across the seats with my legs in the air.
Oh. My. God.
Kill me now.
Daniel tries not to laugh. “Do you need a hand?” he reaches to help me, but I quickly scramble to right myself, sliding over and sitting in the window seat.
“I’m fine!” My cheeks burn. I buckle myself in and pray there’s nothing else for me to trip on, bump into, or otherwise humiliate myself over now.
“Lucky we made it, huh?” Daniel lifts his own bag up into the overhead locker, his shirt riding up all over again. “I was sure I’d miss the flight.”
Don’t look, don’t look, don’t—
Oh, who am I kidding? I sneak a glance, relishing the pale golden band of skin on display, and the trail of caramel hair leading lower …
Daniel turns back to me and slides into the seat, his whole right side of his body pressing up against me in a sudden rush of heat. “I, umm …” he gestures between us, and I quickly lean away while he fishes out his belt, his hand accidentally grazing my hip. He snatches it away like he’s been burned, but I feel his touch spiral through me in a shock of electricity.
“So …” Daniel swallows. “Do you know how long this flight is?”
“About four hours,” I reply, and the thought of spending the next four hours pressed up against him makes me feel sick and giddy all at the same time.
“I guess we’ve got plenty of time to catch up.” Daniel grins at me, that devastating smile that always reduced me to putty. A flush spreads through my body, pure golden heat, and I manage a vague murmur in response.
Dear Lord. This is going to be the best, and worst flight of my entire life, all rolled into one.
***
Lacey Andrews.
That name hasn’t crossed my mind in months, and now I can’t get away from her. First that awkward encounter in the departures hall that sent me reeling, and now here she is: her lush curves crammed just inches away from me, the side of her body pressed up against mine, spelling pure torture for the next four hours.
“Do you have enough space?” she asks, looking uncomfortable to be stuck in such close quarters. “Sorry, these seats are so small.”
“I’m fine.” I lie.
I grip my phone, pretending to scan through my emails as the final passengers take their seats and the crew prepares to depart. Lacey starts flipping through a magazine, so I casually sneak a glance over, drinking in the sight of her. Skin-tight dark jeans painted on her generous hips; a simple red T-shirt fitted way too tight for comfort. Her hair is longer than when I saw it last, and darker now too, falling with reddish tint over a heart-shaped face and those laughing blue eyes—
Lacey looks up suddenly, and I snap my eyes away, acting like I’m reading the most important email in the world. But when I stare at my phone, all I see is the way she looked when I bumped into her for the first time: breathless from running, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright.
The sexiest thing you’ve ever seen.
And now we’re practically sharing breathing space for the rest of the flight, with no way to ignore the lust suddenly pulling at my body. Fuck! I clench the armrest to keep from letting out a groan of frustration.
The engines power up, and we head down the runway. I usually love this part, take-off, when the world suddenly falls away and just like that, I’m airborne, but today, I can only focus on one question, running around and around in my mind.
When did she get so damn hot?
That’s not exactly true … A little voice reminds me, and I have to admit, it’s right. Lacey’s always been hot: a five-foot five whirlwind of crazy adventures and bad decisions. I never understood why she and Juliet were so close. Juliet was the model of sensible control, always with a careful plan and a backup answer, but her roommate burned through life—and boyfriends—like she never once thought of looking before she leapt. More than once, I’d drop by their apartment to find Lacey in the middle of some dramatic break-up or morning-after crisis, the latest object of her affection slinking downstairs with a sheepish expression—and a smile that made it clear whatever the drama now, it had all been worth it.
