We pile into the car, and I slump in my seat. Once again, I pulled another all-nighter in the workshop, making last-minute tweaks and then packing everything carefully into crates for the final devices I haven’t already shipped to the staging team.
I fall asleep almost instantly as soon as we set off, my head lolling onto Cal’s arm. It’s the perfect height and this mix of soft and hard that makes it a great pillow. He also smells ridiculously comforting. It’d be a miracle if I kept my eyes open.
It feels like barely five minutes have passed before I jostle awake, finding myself safely wrapped up in a pair of familiar, muscular arms.
Cal’s arms.
“I can walk,” I mumble into his chest.
“We just need to step outside for two minutes and then we’ll be on the plane, love. You can go back to sleep.”
“The... plane?” I blink my eyes open and then wince at the glaring daylight as a gust of wind batters us.
Shit. He’s not joking. We’re on an airfield, heading straight for what looks to be a very shiny private jet.
Figures. If we were flying commercial, I’m pretty sure security would have issues with Cal carrying an unconscious woman onboard.
I’m surprised that no one seems to bat an eyelid at the sight of me being carried. Instead, the flight attendants smile brightly, nodding a greeting in their crisp navy uniforms.
Then I remember this is a whole new world I’ve never stepped my foot into before.
“Do I have my passport?” I wonder out-loud. It’s a bit late to worry about it now, since Cal’s already climbing the steps and grunting to the flight attendants as they greet him with a cheery smile.
“I’ve got it, love. Don’t worry about anything.”
“We’re seriously flying to Hawthorne?” I ask, feeling like a toddler whose routine has been disturbed. We’re on our way to the first stop on the tour, where the guys have a full day of press and PR to get through before they’ll rehearse in the arena and then it’ll be gig time.
I mean, I knew it was an international tour, but I figured they’d keep the plane usage to a minimum, considering Dorian’s issues with flying.
“It’d be a long drive otherwise,” he murmurs, carefully setting me onto my feet in the middle of the plane and holding me steady until I’m stable.
I peer around the cabin. It looks like it has seats for about ten people and the rest of the band spread out, dumping their bags and settling in. The cabin is sleek and also very shiny on the inside. The seats are all made from cream leather and there’s a glass coffee table, and even a massive TV stretching across one side of the cabin. It’s like being inside a swanky living room, rather than something that’s going to be traveling thousands of feet in the air.
Cal puts his hand on my lower back and steers me toward a small sofa as Micah slides in on my other side, so I’m sandwiched between the two of them.
“What about Dorian?” I try to peer around, but I can’t see him or Iri unless I go up on my knees and peer over the seat.
“I lent him my cuff,” Micah replies. “He’s gonna be fine. He’ll probably feel so comfortable, he’ll fall asleep.” Picking up my hand in his, he presses a gentle kiss to my knuckles. “It’s usually a whole anxiety-provoking mess for him, but he’s been pretty chilled out about it ever since he put the cuff on. That’s thanks to you, sweetheart.”
I feel my cheeks flush slightly. Both from the unexpected, gentlemanly gesture, and from his casual endearment.
“How long is the flight?” I ask, trying to keep my breathing from hitching as Micah continues to caress my fingers in his, pressing little kisses to my pulse point on my wrist and to each of my fingertips.
“A couple of hours,” Cal says, leaning in close on my other side. I’m overwhelmed by their combined scents and I have to stifle a groan.
“You know what that means, Sin?” His voice is a husky rasp in my ear and I shiver. “You’re all ours until we land.”
“You’ve been working too hard, Sin,” Micah says. “But we have plans to spoil you. To show you how much we appreciate all your hard work.”
“How much we appreciate you,” Cal adds.
Fuck. I might combust from their combined attention.
I get a moment’s reprieve as the attendant closes the door and we settle in for takeoff. My stomach swoops as we pick up speed and I feel the wheels leave the tarmac. Micah squeezes my hand on one side as Cal grips my thigh on the other, holding me steady.
“You want anything to eat or drink, sweetheart?” Micah asks as soon as we’ve leveled out in the air.
“Maybe a coffee.” I’m still pretty wiped and I figure he’ll just ask the attendant when she comes around with the trolly. Unless... that’s not how they do things on a private jet. When he jumps up and heads straight for the back of the plane, I get my answer.
