The Spiral Down (The Fall Up #2)(11)

I actually felt bad for him.

“Look,” I said. “He thought it might help if you had a professional to answer your questions. Why don’t you just sit back and chill. I’ll let you know if there’s anything to worry about.”

His gaze met mine, a mixture of hope and relief filling his face only to transform into terror when the ding of a passenger assistance button sounded.

Leaning toward him, I smiled playfully and whispered, “Relax. Some rich prick just wants a second blanket. She’ll tell him no. He’ll pout.” I sat up and straightened my invisible tie. “In my professional opinion, I don’t believe the repercussions of his pouting will be catastrophic.”

His eyes lit in relief for a fraction of a second before dropping to my smiling mouth again. I witnessed his stare, but I could have been blind and I still would have felt it gliding over my skin.

“So, there you go,” I said uncomfortably. “What other question do you have for me? Come on. Fire away. Knowing is half the battle, my friend.”

“Awesome. Carter sent me Optimus Prime,” he mumbled to himself.

“Optimus Prime?”

He waved off my question. “That ‘knowing is half the battle’ shit. It’s from Transformers.”

I sucked in a sharp breath, and his nervous gaze flew to mine.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Please, God, tell me you’re kidding. Transformers?”

“Is that wrong?” He took the safety booklet out and started flipping through it when the flight attendant began her preflight announcements.

“That is so far past wrong, wrong isn’t even visible anymore,” I whispered. “I’m actually embarrassed for you right now. For a man your age, you should be ashamed.”

He gasped, slowly swinging a scowl my way. “A man my age? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re like thirty-seven, thirty-eight, right?”

He was thirty-one. I knew because I’d spent at least an hour the night before reading about him online. After the way we’d met, I was curious about the guy. Plus, I’d been desperately trying to put my phone to a use that didn’t involve calling or texting Nikki again.

From what I’d read, he seemed like a decent guy. Charitable. Relatively low profile given his celebrity status. He’d won practically every award offered to a musician, and that included those for song-writing as he’d written over ninety percent of his own music. He owned his own record label—Downside Up Records—with fellow bajillionaire Levee Williams. They had a few big-name artists ranging from country all the way to metal. And, as far as I could tell, the guy had never been arrested or interrupted anyone at an awards show.

Honestly, as much as I wanted to hate him after the way he‘d shown his ass when we’d met, I couldn’t find anything to seal the deal.

“You,” he hissed, followed by a humorless chuckle that had the flight attendant’s eyes snapping our way while she demonstrated how to properly use an oxygen mask in the case of an emergency. Lowering his voice, he said, “You can shut your damn mouth. Go see if it’s too late to trade back with Carter. At least he doesn’t insult me.” He paused and swayed his head in consideration. “Not all the time, anyway. For your information, I’m twenty-nine.”

I barked a laugh at his lie but decided not to call him on it. “Well, for your information, it was G.I. Joe. Not Transformers. You should brush up on your eighties cartoons before you start spouting quotes.” I leaned back in my seat and got comfortable as the plane began to taxi toward the runway.

“Transformers was a cartoon before a movie?”

I clutched my chest. “Dear God. You’re killing me, man.”

A quiet chuckle escaped his mouth, and I couldn’t help but smile over at him.

He held my stare with solemn eyes until my smile faded away.

“I’m not an entitled *,” he said softly. “I mean, I am, but only when it comes to flying. It’s just…” He trailed off as the plane accelerated for takeoff.

“Hey, you okay?”

His face had paled, and small beads of sweat had formed at his hairline.

Reaching up, I turned his air vent on full blast and aimed it at him.

“Thanks,” he replied, staring out the window.

“You want to count with me?” I asked, attempting to distract him.

He shook his head and doubled his large body over until his head was resting on his knees.

Normally, I would have laughed at the sight of such a big guy curled into some sort of fetal position, but I genuinely felt bad for him. His fear was palpable. While I’d never been afraid of flying, I knew exactly what it felt like to be ravaged by paralyzing panic.

With every jerk of the plane, the muscles on his back flexed. I considered rubbing my hand over his back, but touching him in that state of vulnerability felt entirely too personal.

“Um,” I mumbled, looking around the cabin, unsure of what to do.

Shit. Okay.

Folding over to match his position, I did the only thing I could think of.

“Ten, nine, eight.”

His hand snaked out and anchored to my thigh.

“Seven, six, five, four.” I sat up and glanced out the window. We were running out of runway, so I rushed through the end. “Three, two, one.”