But still…irritatingly hot.
I normally would have apologized. Because, despite the attitude, any normal, polite person would’ve been embarrassed to have nearly clobbered him and grateful for his assistance—but his smirk lit a spark inside me.
Yes, he’d saved my bag, and himself from a possible concussion, and helped me out by putting it away—but he didn’t have to act like I was incompetent.
It wasn’t as though I had any control over the fact that these bins were designed for people a foot taller than me.
Out of nowhere, I was suddenly filled with that same anger—that same…rage—I had felt on the day of The Incident.
And it bubbled over before I could stop myself.
“Thank you so much,” I said, voice syrupy sweet as I turned to him with a hard smile. “If I hadn’t had to reach over your giant head, though, I could have reached the bin myself.”
A tiny voice in the back of my head screamed in mortified confusion. Luna, what the actual?—?
Apparently, though, this version of me wasn’t finished. “And for future reference, instead of just manhandling another person’s belongings, try asking the person if she actually wants your help.”
Both of his eyebrows lifted this time, the only indication that my words had surprised him. For a second, I thought he might actually apologize. But no. Instead, he tilted his head slightly and said, “Do you want it back?”
The question was calm, measured—and it made my blood boil.
“No,” I snapped, pressing my lips together to keep myself from tacking on a grudging thank you.
Jeez, what the hell was wrong with me? I was never this rude, especially not to total strangers. But instead of offering up a real apology, I merely nodded, tucking my skirt around me and scooching over to my seat, but as I was falling backward into it, Hot and Annoying’s eyes widened. “Just let me?—!”
But it was too late for me to stop. When I dropped on to the cushion, I landed instead on something flat and rigid with sharp corners. My bottom was now squashing his…
I popped up immediately and turned around to move his book, quickly and sheepishly smoothing down the now-dogeared corner of the front cover. I recognized the title immediately—The Rosie Project, by Graeme Simsion.
Huh. That was one of the books Ashley had been reading for her book club. From what she’d told me, it was a…a romcom?
So, that meant that Hot Guy in the Aisle Seat was reading a book with a love story?
My eyebrow quirked up. No way. Maybe he grabbed the wrong book at the airport. Maybe it was a gift.
I seriously doubted Aisle Seat Guy had a secret soft side.
I was absolutely not intrigued by that possibility.
“Do you mind?” He grimaced, flicking a glance at the paperback that might as well have my ass print on it now.
I shook my head, blinking, and handed it over before taking my seat again.
Feeling a little overheated, I awkwardly dug my seatbelt out from under my bum—because who could actually do that gracefully? —and locked it into place.
And, oh my God, how was it possible these seats felt even smaller than the last time I’d flown? So much for ignoring him.
It was...I mean, we weren’t in each other’s laps, but—there was contact.
“Sorry,” I grumbled, but he didn’t answer. Nor did he look at me again.
Instead, he tucked his book into the pocket in front of him and, crossing his arms, stared straight ahead like the very existence of me, in the middle seat, was an affront to his personal space.
If I could have looked out the window, that might have helped, but the window seat lady was leaning forward, blocking it completely.
Had she heard that whole interaction? What was I saying? Of course, she had. I was happy not to be forced into casual conversation for the entirety of this flight, but I wasn’t so happy about people thinking I was a jerk.
Off to a stellar start.
