Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 103931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
“You're either afraid of flying, or you aren't.”
She exhales deeply. “I'm afraid of flying. On all planes. Large or small.” I don't miss the grimace as she says those words.
Instead, I focus on her. Her jaw is tight, and her skin looks a shade paler than when we first got on the plane.
Yep, she's in the middle of a panic attack.
“You know they make drugs for that,” I respond. “Your life would probably be easier if you took one.”
“Thanks, ass.” She huffs. “I'm aware that they make pills. But the thing about pills is it's never as simple as just taking one.” There's a bite to her voice. It sounds like there's a story there, but to be honest, I don't want to know.
“Classy, princess. Name-calling suits your whole immature persona.” I smirk.
“Stop calling me princess. If you knew anything about me, you'd know I'm the furthest thing from that.”
“Whatever you say.” I turn to look back at my computer, but it's not worth attempting. I'm distracted by the turbulence and that incessant freaking tapping. I close the laptop and stuff it into my bag. The sound of her damn fingers drumming doesn't stop. It intensifies tenfold.
Before I can think better of it, I'm reaching across the small aisle of the plane, and my hand lands on hers, squeezing gently.
She yelps at the contact as though I've somehow managed to frighten her more.
The sound makes me lift my gaze to meet hers. The shock of my actions is clearly written all over her face.
Her mouth is open, her pink lips forming an O, and her eyes are wide.
There's no question she wasn't expecting me to touch her. Hell, I wasn't expecting to touch her.
For a second, we just stare at each other. Gently, I squeeze her hand again. “There's nothing to be afraid of,” I tell her, offering a small smile of reassurance. Now it looks like her eyes might pop out of her head.
I guess the only thing more shocking than my touching her is my being nice to her.
The irony isn't lost on me.
Most people only know the fun, carefree Paxton. This gesture wouldn't be out of the norm for them. I'm a hugger. A lover.
But to her, I'm anything but.
She sees me as a villain.
A tyrant.
Probably an egomaniac trying to ruin her life.
To be fair, I'm all of those things to her, and she deserves it.
Regardless of my feelings, I refuse to let her drum her nails to the bone out of fear. In turn, it would only manage to drive me crazy.
It's a survival tactic. That's all.
I lift my hand off hers, but she's still looking at me. Our gazes are still locked.
“When I was a kid, I was afraid of flying,” I admit, shrugging like it's no big deal.
My voice knocks her back to reality, and she blinks. “Is there a story to go with this statement?” she fires back, still off-kilter from my gesture.
Me too, princess, me too.
“Obviously, there's a point to my comment. I don't talk just to talk.” She purses her lips and lifts a brow. “Okay, sometimes I do. But not with you.” The bite is not something I can control. When she's around, my inner dick waves his red flag at the bull, preparing for the showdown.
“Don't keep me in suspense.”
“The point is, I was flying alone, and a flight attendant must have noticed I looked scared. She came over to where I was sitting, kneeled beside me, and told me something that changed my whole outlook.”
With narrowed eyes of skepticism, she asks, “What, pray tell, is that?”
“Hey, listen, if you don't want my help, it's no skin off my nose,” I say, raising one shoulder in a devil-may-care expression.
“Sorry,” she says, clearing her throat and licking her bottom lip. “Go on.”
I shake my head but continue because I've already come this far. I might as well finish the goal. Paxton Ramsey does not leave a story untold.
No way.
“Okay, where was I?”
“She was kneeling beside you,” she prompts, showing she's listening.
“Yeah, okay, so she was kneeling beside me, and she said the one thing that made sense. The one thing that made flying a little less scary.”
“And that was . . .?” She flips her hand in the air, signaling for me to get on with it.
“Think of the air as a road. The plane is your car. When you drive, you hit potholes, but that doesn't stop you. It's annoying, sure, but they aren't going to kill you.”
“Well . . .”
“No. A simple pothole won't kill you, Mallory. The point is, you aren’t afraid of a pothole, and turbulence is the pothole. Turbulence will never bring a plane down.”
“You don’t know that—”
“Historically speaking, yes, I do. Sure, it might feel scary, but it’s just like driving.”
“Except on a tiny plane,” she deadpans.