It’s been so long since I’ve flirted. Most of the time I don’t think it’s worth the effort, but when I glance up again into his twinkling eyes, my heart skips a beat. I want to flirt back. Except, I think I’ve forgotten how. Is that possible?
This is so typically me. I have this guy captive for three hours, giving me the sexiest smile, and I have no idea what to say to him. I’m reminded of this game I used to love at my board game club a few years back, where you’d play a card depending on what trait or special power you needed in the moment. Right now, I find myself wishing there was aFlirt Effortlessly With a Hot Guycard I could throw down.
Then I realize something:Imight not know what to say to him, but Harriet 2.0 would. And she’d be confident and sexy. She’d probably end up shagging him in the bathroom or something. Ha!
I take a deep breath, put my earphones down, and twist in my seat to face him. “I’m Harriet.”
His smile widens. “Luke. Nice to meet you, Harriet.” He tilts his head. “Is that a New Zealand accent?”
“Yes.” I grin, letting his relaxed manner put me at ease. I’m about to say more but the flight attendant arrives with the drinks trolley. When Luke orders a whiskey, I order one too, and before I can stop him he pays for both. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”
“You’re welcome,” he says with that disarming smile of his. “I haven’t met many women who like whiskey.”
“I’ve never tried it,” I admit, watching as he pours it over the ice in his plastic cup, then doing the same. “But I like to try new things.” Well,Idon’t, of course, but my alter ego does. He doesn’t need to know that there’s a difference.
“What else do you like?”
I think for a minute as I sip the smoky liquid. It’s not bad, actually. Maybe Harriet 2.0 is onto something.
Hmm. What else would she like to do? She’s outgoing, so she’d like adventurous things.
“I love anything that takes me out of my comfort zone or gives me a rush. You know; skydiving, zip-lining, spontaneous road trips, skinny-dipping, trying exotic new foods…” I pause as I rack my brain for more wild examples. My mind lands on the earlier thought I had about this lovely gentleman taking me in the airplane bathroom and my cheeks flush.
I push my glasses up my nose as he contemplates me over his whiskey. I half expect him to burst out laughing at my outrageous lies because, let’s face it, with my bookish looks I don’t seem the type to be throwing myself from an airplane or running naked down a beach.
Instead, he raises his eyebrows, impressed. “Wow. I wish I did more things like that.”
Relief sweeps over me. The whiskey works its way into my veins, relaxing me even more, and I smile. I quite like being this new version of myself. Especially when he looks at me like that.
“So what brings you to New York?”
I falter. I don’t want to tell him I didn’t actuallywantto come—that I made a snap decision to prove I wasn’t boring and then felt like I couldn’t back out. I think of the reasons everyone else was so excited about me going on this trip. “I’m just coming to explore the city and do some sightseeing.”
“Alone?”
I nod breezily, as if I always travel alone because I’m so independent and worldly and confident.
He looks impressed again as he takes a drink.
“What about you?” I ask.
“I live in Manhattan. I was just in Houston for business.”
“What do you do?”
“Oh…” He hesitates. “I work in entertainment.”
I’m about to ask more when the plane jolts violently. Despite the alcohol coursing through my system, my heart throws itself against my breastbone in fright. I inhale slowly, watching the liquid quiver in my glass as the plane shudders. Somehow, I’m not freaking out. I don’t know if it’s because I’m in Harriet 2.0 mode, or because the whiskey has taken the edge off, but I feel okay. I can do this.
The plane jerks again and there’s a sharp intake of breath beside me. I glance at Luke to find his face is pale and his eyes are pressed shut. His cup wobbles on the tray table in front of him while he grips the armrests tightly, his knuckles white. He looks terrified and there’s a tug in my heart.
Without thinking, I place my cup down and take his hand, squeezing. He doesn’t open his eyes, but his fingers tighten around mine and squeeze back. I let my gaze linger on his face, taking him in properly. His skin is perfectly smooth apart from a tiny round blemish on the upper side of his left cheek that looks like a chicken pox scar. His dark hair is a little longer on top but cut closer on the sides, his jaw filling in with five o’clock shadow. And that mouth: full and soft as he bites down hard on his bottom lip. He really is beautiful. Perhaps if the guys back home looked more likethis, I’d be following Steph’s advice more readily.
The plane steadies and he exhales, blinking. Time suspends for a split second as our eyes lock, and it feels like… I’m not sure what. Like there’s electricity or something crackling between us, concentrated in our joined hands. Like neither one of us wants to let go.
God, it’s such an odd situation, being this close to a stranger on a plane when you feel like you could plunge to your death at any moment. So odd, I’m starting to imagine things.
He gives me a sheepish smile as I release his hand. “Thanks. I’m a terrible flier. My ex used to tell me it was pathetic.” His gaze slides away and he shakes his head. “But then, she complained about a lot of things I did.”
