The Stopover (The Miles High Club, #1)(3)

He gives me a slow, sexy smile. “How am I doing?”

I smirk, unsure what to say.

“I’m simply saying that you’re attractive, nothing more and nothing less. Don’t read into it. It was a statement, not a question.”

“Oh.” I stare at him, lost for words. What do I even say to that? Statement, not a question . . . huh? Don’t read into it. This guy is weird . . . and utterly gorgeous.

The plane begins to take off with speed, and I hold on to my armrests and scrunch my eyes shut.

“You don’t like takeoffs?” he asks.

“Do I look like I like takeoffs?” I wince as I hang on for dear life.

“I love them,” he replies casually. “I love the feeling of power as it surges forward. That g-force throwback.”

Okay . . . why is everything coming out of his mouth sounding sexual?

God, I need to get laid . . . stat.

I exhale and stare out the window as we go higher and higher. I don’t have the energy for this guy to play cute today. I’m tired, I’m hungover, I look crappy, and my ex is a douche. I want to go to sleep and wake up next year.

I decide I’ll watch a movie. I begin to flick through the choices on the screen in front of me.

He leans over and says, “Great minds think alike. I’m watching a movie too.”

I fake a smile. Just stop being all hot and in my space. You’re probably married to a vegan yoga nut who does meditation and shit.

“Great,” I mutter deadpan. I should have flown coach; at least I wouldn’t have had to inhale the scent of beautiful man for eight long, sexless hours.

I scroll through my screen and then narrow it down to my choices.

How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.

Pride and Prejudice.

The Heat.

Jumanji . . . well, that has the Rock in it—it has to be good.

Notting Hill.

The Proposal.

50 First Dates.

Bridget Jones’s Diary.

Pretty Woman.

Sleepless in Seattle.

Magic Mike XXL.

I smile at the choices, all of my favorites lined in a row; this flight is going to be a dream. I haven’t seen the sequel to Magic Mike yet, so I might start with that one. I glance over to look at what Jim has picked, and I see the heading come up.

Lincoln.

Ugh . . . a political movie. Who watches that stuff for fun? I should have known he’d be boring.

He reaches up and taps the screen, and I catch sight of his watch. A chunky silver Rolex. Ugh, and he has money too.

Typical.

“What are you going to watch?” he asks.

Oh no . . . I don’t want to appear ditzy. “I’m not sure yet,” I reply. Damn you . . . I want to watch men strip. “What are you watching?” I ask.

“Lincoln. I’ve been meaning to see it for a long time.”

“Sounds boring,” I say.

He smiles at my answer. “I’ll let you know.” He puts his earphones on and begins to watch his movie, and I scroll through my choices again. I really want to watch Magic Mike XXL. Does it matter if he sees? No . . . that’s just embarrassing. It makes me look desperate.

Who am I kidding? I am desperate. I haven’t seen a dick in over a year.

I tap on The Proposal. I’ll swap one fantasy for another. I’ve always dreamed of having Ryan Reynolds as my personal assistant. The movie begins, and I smile at the screen. I love this movie. No matter how many times I watch it, I always laugh. Gammy is my favorite.

“You’re watching a romance?” he asks.

“A rom-com,” I reply. For God’s sake, this guy is nosy.

He smirks as if he’s better than me.

“More champagne?” the flight attendant asks.

Blue Eyes looks over at me. “Here’s your chance to order for us.”

I stare at him flatly; all right, he’s beginning to piss me off now. “We’ll have two, please.”

“What do you like about rom-coms?” he asks as he keeps his eyes on the screen in front of him.

“Men who don’t talk during movies,” I whisper into my champagne glass.

He smiles broadly to himself.

“What do you like about . . .” I pause because I don’t even know what Lincoln is about. “Political films?” I ask. “The fact that they’re boring as all hell?”

“I just like true stories, regardless of what they are.”

“So do I,” I reply. “That’s why I like romance. Love is true.”

He chuckles into his glass as if amused.

I glance over at him. “What does that mean?”

“Rom-coms are as far from reality as you can get. I bet you’re the type who reads trashy romance novels too.”

I stare at him flatly. I think I hate this man. “I am, actually . . . and if you must know, I’m watching Magic Mike XXL after this so I can watch gorgeous men take their clothes off.” I sip my champagne in annoyance. “And I’ll smile through the whole damn thing, regardless of your snooty judgment.”

He laughs out loud, and it’s deep and strong and does things to my stomach.

I put my headphones back on and pretend to focus on my screen. I can’t, though, because I just totally embarrassed myself, and I can feel myself blushing.