The Stopover (The Miles High Club, #1)(5)

I exhale in an overexaggerated way. “You look rich.”

“How do I?”

“Your fancy watch. The cut of your shirt.” I glance down at his shoes. “I’ve never seen shoes like that before. Where did you even get those?”

“In a shop, Emily.” He looks at his watch. “And I’ll have you know that this watch was a gift from a girlfriend.”

I roll my eyes. “I bet she’s a vegan yoga nut.”

He smirks.

“I know your type of woman.”

“Really.” He leans closer. “Please go on—this character analysis is fascinating.”

I smile as a little voice from my subconscious screams, Stop drinking, fool! “I’m assuming you live in New York.”

“Correct.”

“In an apartment.”

“Affirmative.”

“You probably work at some ritzy company.”

He smiles; he likes this game. “Perhaps.”

“You would have a girlfriend or . . .” I glance down. “You don’t wear a wedding ring . . . so perhaps you cheat on your wife when you travel for work?”

He chuckles. “You really should make a profession out of this. I’m amazed at the accuracy.”

I like this game too; I smile broadly. “What do you think about me?” I ask. “What was your first impression when I walked onto the plane?”

“Well.” He frowns as he considers the question. “Do you want the politically correct version?”

“No. I want the truth.”

“Right . . . well, in that case, I noticed your long legs and the curve of your neck. The dimple in your chin. You are the most attractive woman I’ve seen in a long time, and when you smiled, it brought me to my feet.”

I smile softly as the air swirls between us.

“And then you spoke . . . and ruined everything.”

What?

I burst out laughing. “I ruined everything? How did I ruin everything?”

“You’re bossy, with a sarcastic snark.”

“What’s the problem with that?” I stammer in outrage.

“Well, I’m bossy and sarcastic.” He shrugs.

“And?”

“And I don’t want to date myself. I like sweet, demure girls, the ones who do what I say.”

“Ugh.” I roll my eyes. “The ones who clean the house and have sex on Saturdays.”

“Precisely.”

I laugh and hold my glass up to clink with his. “You’re not bad for a boring old guy with weird shoes.”

He laughs. “And you’re not bad for a young, hot smart-ass.”

“Do you want to watch Magic Mike XXL with me?” I ask.

“I suppose, although I should let you know . . . I am an ex-stripper myself, so this is nothing new for me.”

“Really?” I try to hide my smile. “You’re good on a pole?”

His eyes hold mine. “My pole work is the best in the country.”

The air crackles between us, and I have to concentrate on stopping my inebriated mouth from saying something slutty.

He pushes the screen and taps through to Magic Mike XXL . . . and I smile broadly. This man is so unexpected.

First class is definitely the way to fly.

Six hours later

“Okay, next question. The weirdest place you’ve ever had sex?” he whispers.

I smirk. “You can’t ask me that.”

“Yes, I can. I just did.”

“It’s rude.”

“Says who?” He looks around. “It’s just a question, and nobody is listening.”

Jim and I have talked and whispered and laughed our way through the entire flight. “Hmm.” I think out loud. “That’s a tough one.”

“Why?”

“I’m on a bit of a drought at the moment. I can hardly remember any sex.”

“How long?” He frowns.

“Oh.” I look to the ceiling as I think. “I haven’t had sex in like . . . eighteen months.”

His face falls in horror. “What?”

“It’s lame, isn’t it?” I wince.

“Very. You need to up your game. They’re very bad statistics, indeed.”

“I know.” I giggle. Boy . . . we’re so tipsy. “Why am I telling you all this stuff?” I whisper. “You’re just some random guy I met on a plane.”

“Who happens to be very interested in the subject.”

“Why is that?”

He leans in and whispers to me so that the flight attendants can’t hear us. “I don’t understand how someone as hot as you doesn’t get fucked three times a day.”

I stare at him as I feel a tingle all the way to my toes. Stop it. This guy is too old for me and so not my type.

His eyes drop to my lips, and the air between us zaps with electricity.

“How long are you in New York?” he asks.

I watch his tongue dart out and lick his bottom lip in slow motion. I can almost feel it between my . . . “Just the afternoon. I have my interview at six tonight, and then I catch the last flight out,” I whisper.

“Can you change your flight?”