“It’s Barbie Ho,” I say stiffly, “Carter whose name starts with an E.”
“That cannot be a real name.”
“It is a real name, Carter whose name starts?—”
“It’s Ethan,” he says. “And, look, I’ll… let you have the bed if you lend me your laptop. I need to finish my mission statement, and my laptop is—as you know—indisposed at the very moment. I’ll even buy you pistachio ice cream if you let me borrow it for just an hour.”
My eyes go wide for a split second before they narrow. “Pistachio ice cream?”
“Your favorite,” he states, and it’s not like he’s wrong. I am, in fact, slightly partial to pistachio. As moths are slightly partial to flying into porch lights and Americans are slightly partial to never using their turn signals.
But I never disclosed this during either flight we were on today. I was too busy trying to suss out if we were astrologically compatible to reveal my flavor of choice.
“You’ll let me have the bed,” I say slowly, “and buy me pistachio ice cream If I loan you my laptop for ten minutes?”
“I’ll need more than ten minutes to finish—Don’t.”
All I can do is press my lips together and stare pointedly at the dark stain on the couch cushion. Dammit. I can’t utilize the mute button to laugh my ass off like I do at work.
“Don’t what?” My older sister is the one with the acting background, not me, and my inability to keep my lips from twitching into a full-blown grin is a major proponent of why. “Don’t make it easy for me, Cartographer.”
He doesn’t even blink. “An hour to work on my slides,” he says, “and you can have the bed for the first night.”
My mouth stops twitching. “Excuse me? Just for the first night?”
“You’re getting pistachio ice cream out of this, Barb,” he says, and I’m about to say I’d rather get the bed every night we’re here when I smile something sweet at him instead.
“You know what?” Distrust shines in his eyes and sparks my amusement. “Sure. Why not? Work on outlining your mission statement. I’m going to take a nice hot shower—” There’s a subtle dip in his gaze, and my tongue inadvertently loses its ability to form words.
For my sake, it needs to stop doing that.
“Do you still want to give me your number?” he asks, and that rough voice he makes is really doing something for me again. “And see where it’ll take us?”
Oh God. It’s different when he’s genuinely flirting with me.
“Nope,” I say with a saccharine smile. “Have fun working on your slides, Ethan. It’ll be all the fun you’re gonna have in these four walls.”
“Are you sure about that?” His voice goes even lower, and I feel heat spread underneath every inch of my skin. “Might be good to have each other’s numbers in case there’s an emergency.”
“I’m sure.” And before he can get in another word that’ll make me feel hotter than the baking sun, I grab a change of clothes and scurry off to the bathroom, still clinging to the idea that I might wake up in my bed at the start of today and that the hot guy I meet on my flight isn’t my coworker from hell.
8
ETHAN
WEDNESDAY, JULY 16TH
There’sa ding that jolts me awake, and I find myself looking blearily at a dark, small screen in front of me. I’m… on a plane. To my left, I see the clear blue sky. To my right, I see nobody. There’s nobody in this cabin but me.
It takes a moment for me to realize I… passed out during the flight.I passed out during the flight? I don’t understand why no one woke me up—why they left me here instead of kicking me off the plane.
Panic buzzes in my chest when I yank at my seat belt and it won’t budge. The buckle won’t unclasp regardless of how hard I tug at it. My mouth runs dry. My throat becomes tight. I reach up and hit the call button. Repeatedly.
“How can I be of assistance?” comes a whispery voice, and I’m so fucking thankful I’m not left here on this plane by myself.
“I think the belt’s jammed,” I say, looking to my right only to get an eyeful of cleavage. An obscene amount of it. In the most sheer blue dress shirt I’ve ever seen. One that’s unbuttoned. With the bottom half of the shirt tied into a bow.
My gaze slowly drags up to meet familiar brown eyes. Her lips are painted bright red. Her hair’s purposely messy. Her giggle is…wrong.
