“Yeah. I’m okay. Thanks.” She casts a glare at the disappearing back of the dickhead who whacked her with his bag, making no move to step back from my hold. Without pulling out of my arms, she turns her head towards the luggage parade.
“My bag.” With a gasp, she lunges for a huge red suitcase about to lumber out of her reach.
“Let me help you there.” I reach for the bag and heft it off the conveyor belt with a grunt. It weighs a ton. “Travelling light, I see.”
“Never. Thanks again,” she says with a laugh.
“Is this it?”
“What, you don’t think that’s enough?”
“I wasn’t sure if I should wait for the kitchen sink.” I look her in the eyes, and there’s definitely a vibe between us. I don’t miss the way her gaze drifts to my lips, continuing on to my chest. Maybe she’s not crazy, just flirty. I think about getting her number, but she’s already wheeling her New-York-apartment-sized bag towards the queue for customs. I hurry to catch up and fall into step beside her. Close beside her. Our shoulders brush and heat ignites between us.
“Oh no, I had the sink shipped on ahead. Saves on excess baggage fees.”
I can’t hold back a laugh. “Good thinking.” A good sense of humour is sexy AF.
“I didn’t see you on the flight. I guess you were luxuriating in business class?”
I wonder why she would assume that. Especially given the way I’m dressed.
“Guilty. It’s quite unfortunate turbulence doesn’t discriminate. It was a pretty shit flight.”
“It wasn’t great. Regardless, I still love flying. Even in economy. It means you’re going places, which can’t be a bad thing.” Despite the long flight and the slight purple shadows under her eyes, she’s glowing with some kind of inner joy. It’s incredibly appealing. “How have you been? Are you happy to be home?”
I’ve been away a long time, and although I still have traces of an Australian accent it’s been buried under years in America and Britain. How does she know this is home? That feeling of familiarity stirs, but I can’t quite latch onto it.
“Yeah. Always. You?”
“Yes and no. You know how it is.”
Now’s my chance. “Where are you headed? Maybe we could share a taxi?”
“Oh, that would’ve been good, but I think I’m being picked up by the fam.”
I check her left hand, which is resting on the handle of her bag. Nope. Bare. Good.
“Right. Well, maybe we could catch up sometime, grab a drink or a meal?”
Her eyes lock on my mouth as she rubs her pillowy lips together. Yeah, she’s interested, for sure.
“That would be great.”
I hand her my phone, trailing my fingers across hers as she takes it from me. “Excellent. I’m Josh. Give me your number, and I’ll give you a call.” Maybe if I get her name, my brain will twig to whether or not I know her.
She starts typing, a cheeky smirk on her face, handing the phone back as we get to the head of the queue. I look down and see she’s entered her details asAirport Pickup.
“Hey, wait. What’s your name?” I call as she’s herded forward to one of the customs desks. She turns, continuing to walk backwards, and with a grin, makes the universal sign for call me with her fingers before waving and handing her declaration to the customs guy. He unzips her bag and begins to paw through her stuff. No doubt he wants to get a look at her knickers. Pervert.
The guy at my desk takes one look at my declaration, and I get waved straight through. Guess my jocks are not anywhere near as interesting.
The stream of impatient people behind me keeps me moving towards the door, and I wonder whether to wait for her in the arrivals hall or to give her a call in a day or two. It’s entirely possible she’s given me a bogus number. Nah. Unlikely. There was a distinct whiff of interest there. Something about her has got under my skin. I really want to see her again. And I don’t even know her name.
The doors open, and I’m met with chatter and screams of excitement from the waiting crowd. I can hardly believe my eyes when I find my oldest friend Will and his parents, Harry and Stella, waiting. Their eyes light up, and they’re waving with delight.
“Hey guys, I didn’t expect you to be here to meet me.” I can’t even remember telling them what flight I was on. Will looks confused as I go in for our customary man hug. His eyes are darting from my face to over my shoulder. Harry and Stella are not even looking at me. They’re looking past me. I’m missing something. I turn, and there she is. The redhead from the plane. And Harry is sweeping her off her feet.
Fuck. No wonder she seemed familiar. I know her. It’s Greer. Will’s little sister.
