Normally, I’m a very smart man.
But not today.
I lean left just enough to peek at her. I’ve done this five times. Okay, ten. I can’t help it. She’s stunning, but there’s something else. Something inside her calls to me. She’s a siren, and I’m the hapless sailor.
Overhead, a bored, crackling voice breaks through my thoughts as it announces that my flight will start boarding now. Pulling my credit card from my wallet, I toss it on the bar and push away my plate.
When the bartender grabs my card and turns back to run it, I take another peek at the woman and feel letdown when I find her seat empty.
The letdown feeling only lasts for two seconds, because suddenly there’s a jabbing sensation on the backside of my shoulder.
I whip around and find myself face-to-face with the woman I haven’t been able to stop staring at.
Happiness darts through my insides.I didn’t terrify her!
“Hello.” Reflexively I begin to extend my hand, but I don’t get even halfway there because the angry look on her face stops me.
“You are the worst,” she seethes.
“Uh… excuse me?” My head moves back an inch, as though her words have dealt literal blows. I glance around to see who’s listening to this exchange. The businessman is standing beside his seat, wallet out and handing his card to the bartender. He’s looking my way, a smirk playing on the corner of his lips. He’s probably thinking what rotten luck I possess to have found a crazy one.
“Oh, let me just sit across the bar and try to hit on a woman I have no business hitting on.” Her sarcasm is almost as shocking as the hurt I see flashing in her eyes.
“I apologize for offending you, but—”
She interrupts me. “Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to your wife!”
“What?” I say loudly. My head shakes as I try to understand what the hell is going on with this woman. “Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about—”
I stop speaking when she rolls her eyes and her arms fly into the air like what I’m saying is just so unbelievable.
She points at me, and says, “Next time, you should remember to remove your wedding ring before you hit on women whoaren’t your wife.”
Oh. Shit.
I glance at my left hand. More specifically, at the fourth finger on my left hand. The finger that wears a simple, timeworn gold band.
“It’s not what you think,” I protest, shaking my head.
“If I had your wife’s number, I would call her right now and tell her about you. She deserves to know.”
Then, as I watch with a dumbfounded expression on my face, the only other woman whose soul called out to mine stomps off, hair swinging, and strides right into the line for her flight.
The same line I need to get in.
Lonesome, Oregon, here I come.
3
Addison
What an asshole.
I haven’t been able to get his face out of my mind. The entire flight -which of course he was on- I stared at the back of his head. My fingers itched to reach over the rows separating us and grab a handful of his thick, shiny brown hair. I’d give it a good yank and listen to him squeal. Then maybe he’d stand up, enraged, and I’d throw my first ever punch.
Yes.
Then maybe I’d knee him in the crotch, right in the second brain he’s obviously using to control his behavior.
