A yelp sounds as the person on the other side fumbles the booklet. It topples over twice before the woman catches the corner and straightens in her seat, pretending it wasn’t about to drop to the floor.
I smirk.
A pair of chocolate-brown eyes settle on me. I get caught up in the gold flecks that warm her irises before I notice she’s frowning.No.Glaring?Either way, it’s hardly a menacing look with those rosy cheeks and plump lips.
“Some people like to feel prepared,” she argues.
I take it my lack of interest in safety regulations offended her.
“Do they though?” I question. “Where’s the adventure in that?” My eyebrow cocks of its own accord. The opposite of what hers are doing, which is drawing together in the center.
I’m not trying to be smug, but are any of those procedures really necessary? I guess I’m not one to comment. I cliff jump without much consideration for the hidden rocks beneath the water’s surface.
“I wouldn’t call nosediving to your impending death an adventure,” she contends.
So, sheisone of those people who would use it.
“There’s a better way you’d like to go out then?” I tease her.
Am I really asking a nervous flier how she’d like to die?
“There is,” she fires back. “Old age.”
She can’t be much older than me. I scan her body to be sure when my eyes zero in on her sweater. Wait a minute… is that the same one I knocked into earlier? Did it have those brown speckles in it? I can’t remember. Then again—I glance around the few rows touching ours—no one else is sporting wool this time of year.
I grin. “I can picture it.”
She chokes out a cough. “You’re picturing me…dying?”
Wait… that’s not what I meant. I can fix this.
“No, I can picture you in old age. Soft lines framing those pretty brown eyes, silver whisps to those bangs, a homebody who knits on her porch swing. Maybe a little grumpy from time to time.”
She fights against the makings of a smile with the back of her hand. “You know nothing about me.”
“You’re right. So, tell me something,” I say, in need of a distraction.
She squares her shoulders. “I think guys like you are notorious for acting intrigued by women like me. You strike up a conversation. Get to know them. It’s playful at first. Until you realize you aren’t getting any action at the end of it, and then you lose interest.”
Wow. How many worthless guys has this girl dated? Apparently one too many with the way she crosses her arms like a shield to protect herself.
“So, you’re saying if I actuninterestedin you, then you’ll believe me when I say I have no intention of ever trying to get into your pants?”
I thought my response was what she wanted to hear. But she winces when I emphasize the wordsnoandever. I’m not sure what this woman wants from me at this point, so I don’t even bother giving her the chance to answer. I’m happy to give her uninterested.
I yank the brochure from her hands, tip my head back against the headrest, and pretend to ignore her. From my periphery, she’s still gaping at me.
Point made.
Her face blooms into a deep rose color. I don’t know if it’s out of anger or embarrassment, but she has to believe that I’m not noticing it otherwise she’d hide that blush from me like the rest of the women I’ve talked to today.
I flip through the booklet, pretending to scan the pages, when she interrupts me.
“What I meant to say,” she goes on, “is that I think it’s best if you and I sit in silence for this flight.”
I look at her and nod back. The way her eyes flit between her lost reading material in my hand and my self-satisfied face is just as entertaining as our verbal sparring.
She finally gives up, settling back into her seat. And I’m left in the same predicament I was in before—boredom. I need music.
