Fight or Flight(8)
“I didn’t see ye.”
“Seriously?”
“You’re five foot nothing. Seriously.”
“I’m five foot three. Five foot seven in my heels.”
His gaze drifted down my body again, lingering on my legs. “You dinnae look it.”
I frowned. “Are you suggesting I have short legs?”
“No, your height suggests that.”
“I have surprisingly long legs for a short person.”
“You can turn anything into an argument. That’s quite a talent.”
“You are distracting me from my point. Which is that you were clearly acting out because of your fear of flying, the same way I perhaps have not been myself due to exhaustion.”
If I wasn’t mistaken, I thought I saw a hint of curiosity in his expression. “Exhaustion?”
I shrugged. “It’s been a trying week.”
“Separated from your boyfriend?”
Huh? “What boyfriend?”
“The ‘sweetie’ on the other end of the phone.”
I smiled. “That was Harper. She’s my best friend.”
“I’m surprised someone as annoying as you has a best friend.”
“Everyone else loves me. If you weren’t currently acting out, you might like me too.”
“Look, I’m not acting out because I’m afraid. I didn’t see you earlier in the airport, didn’t know I’d clipped you with my laptop bag, but maybe if you hadn’t come at me like a wee harpy, I might have apologized.”
“I doubt it. You have no manners. I mean, what was your excuse for embarrassing me at Olive & Ivy? For being rude at the barista cart? Huh?”
He grinned suddenly, a sexy flash of his teeth that sent a fizz of pleasure shooting low across my belly. My physical response to his smile stunned me. “I did that because it was fun. You make it too easy tae wind you up.”
I sniffed in an attempt to squash my absurd physical attraction to him, but even to me it came off sounding haughtier than I’d intended. “You are a very twisted, belligerent individual.”
“And you might want tae consider having that huge stick rammed up your tight wee arse surgically removed.”
“I’m sorry, I think you’ve mistaken me for someone who actually gives a damn what you think.”
He scoffed. “Babe, like I said, I dinnae even know you and I know you care too much what other people think.”
Infuriated that he kept pushing that particular button but refusing to let him see how much he was getting to me, I started calmly patting at my jacket pockets and then riffled through the magazines in the seat pocket in front of me.
“What are you doing?”
I turned to find him scowling at me. “Looking for some paper and a pen.”
He raised an eyebrow in question.
“I thought I’d take some notes on your sage advice … and then you should take the paper and shove it up your ass.”
“Do you want tae shut up and let me get through this?”
My smile was admittedly supercilious. “You almost are.”
He frowned and then glanced around, only then realizing that we were in the air. We hadn’t leveled out yet, but the plane had juddered up into takeoff minutes ago. The Viking/ Scot had risen his voice to be heard over the engines, but he’d been so focused on me, he hadn’t been paying attention.
He turned back to me, seeming uncharacteristically taken aback.
“You’re welcome.”
Four
Maybe I really was exhausted beyond rational thinking, because for a second I almost thought the Scot would thank me for distracting him during takeoff.
The surprise in his expression abruptly transformed into surly with a curl of his upper lip. “I hope you dinnae expect a thank you.”
His tone was so cold I almost shivered. I realized at some point in our conversation I’d started leaning toward him. Pressing back against my seat away from him, I mirrored his expression. “Silly me to even expect it.”
“Aye, well, annoying me tae distraction doesn’t count as being helpful.”
I returned my attention to my e-reader, readying myself to ignore his existence. “You are a miserable bastard, do you know that?”
“Babe, when I start caring what pampered princesses think about me, I’ll know my life is no longer worth living.”
Hurt flashed through me hot and unwanted, making my cheeks prickle. This guy was horrible. Just horrible! My fault for feeling sorry for him and mistakenly thinking his behavior could be excused due to his fear. I wouldn’t make that mistake again. “Stop calling me ‘babe.’ My name is Ava.”
He didn’t respond and I wished I’d just ignored him entirely.
When they announced that we could start using larger devices, my loathsome neighbor pulled his laptop back out and returned to disregarding my presence—something I decided was a blessing. I was no longer insulted by his pretending I didn’t exist. Clearly, it was better for my self-esteem that he did.
However, either it was the book I was reading or he was affecting me more than I’d have liked, because I could not get into the story. I would have turned to sketching, whether it was designs for work or just random sketches for my own pleasure. But Stella had told me not to pack my laptop and to set an out-of-office notice on my e-mails so I wasn’t distracted by work, and I’d decided not to bring my sketchpad either. My boss was covering for me for the next few days, because she wasn’t just my boss; she was my friend. There were only four of us at Stella Larson Designs. Stella, myself, Paul, and our junior designer, Gabe. We handled projects all over the world, not just in the U.S. I was used to flying out to a project, taking specs, measurements, an abundance of photographs, so I could design the space from our office in Boston. Depending on the size of the project, I’d maybe have to fly back to the site a number of times.