“You’re okay,” he whispered again, leaning closer. His breath brushed my temple. “You’ve got me. Just a little longer.”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. But I leaned into him, slightly. My shoulder brushing his. My jaw tucked toward his chest. I let my body shift enough to tell him:Yes. I trust you. Keep going.
And he did.
The wheels lifted. My stomach dropped, and Oliver helped me through it. My fear usually settled once the plane was in air, and I clenched my eyes shut for a good ten minutes until we were cruising. There wasn’t any bad weather on the path to LA—I checked, so there should be minimal turbulence.
“Sorry, thank you—that was—I needed that.” I tilted my face to smile, but he already faced me with his jaw tight and eyes boring into me.
“Have you always been afraid of flying?” His tongue wet his bottom lip, the gesture so small and so quick it had no business making my pulse spike for a different reason.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice quieter now. “Since I was a kid.”
He didn’t press, just kept his beautiful blue eyes on me, waiting, watching with the same intensity I loved about him.
I exhaled, twisting the edge of my sleeve. “I took a flight when I was eleven. Some work trip for my dad—he had a conference in Houston and made it a whole thing. Family getaway, meet-and-greets, whatever. The flight there was normal. But coming back? We hit turbulence so bad people screamed. One of the overhead bins popped open. A drink cart tipped sideways. The turbulence only lasted ten minutes, but it felt like a free fall. My mom started crying. My brother threw up. And my dad…” I swallowed. “He told me to stop being dramatic for crying.”
Oliver’s eyes didn’t waver, but he arched a brow.
“I know it’s irrational,” I added, softer now. “But I’m an Enneagram Eight. I hate not being in control. It makes me spiral. This—” I gestured to the enclosed space, the altitude, the strangers, the fucking humming engine, “—this is the worst possible environment for someone like me.”
He tilted his head. “Eights are the protective ones, right? Assertive. Independent. Don’t ask for help.”
“Yeah. And when we’re scared, we act like we’re angry instead. Or we shut down.”
He smiled, barely. “That tracks.”
“I’m aware,” I muttered, heat rising to my cheeks.
“I love your blush, Doc.” He ran a finger over my neck, so quick no one would see it, before he cleared his throat. “I took the test once. They said I’m a two. Helper with a one wing. I lead with loyalty and fuck it up when I feel useless. Basically… I’m wired to want to be needed, even when I shouldn’t be.”
“Yeah, that makes sense for you. You care deeply and are attuned to others,” I said. Rejecting his help must’ve hurt him. I smiled and leaned into him for a second. “I’m gonna read now. Thanks for the help.”
We lapsed into silence for a minute. I reached into my bag and pulled out my e-reader, adjusting the brightness as I scrolled to where I’d left off in a book I’d been slowly working through—something with emotional pining and sharp dialogue and the kind of slow burn that gutted you when it finally delivered. I loved working for the reward, reading and getting to know characters until they finally crossed the line. I ate it up. The yearning, oh I was a sucker for yearning.
Oliver tapped something on his tablet, andThe Officeintro music started faintly in his AirPods, but I caught him glancing sideways.
More than once.
I kept reading.
He leaned closer. “What book is that?”
“Nothing,” I said too fast, shifting the screen slightly toward the window. Noah had his eye mask on so he wouldn’t see a thing.
He smirked, nudged my arm. “C’mon. I saw the word ‘thrust’ twice in one paragraph.”
“I told you. It’s nothing.” I cleared my throat and focused hard on the page. After three hundred pages of lust and want, the two main characters finally gave into their pleasure.
His whisper dropped low. “Are they about to hook up in a barn?”
“Shut up,” I hissed, but I was grinning now.
He didn’t. Of course he didn’t.
“Is he angry? Did she get rained on? Is there a hayloft?”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “You are the worst.”
