by Taryn Quinn
Stick to your own lane.
But I tended to sprawl. These seats were tiny for a full-figured woman like myself. I’d just have to be careful to not edge onto Oliver’s side, no matter how much I might be tempted to.
“What are you doing here?” I hissed to Oliver the second the lumberjack asked the flight attendant for coffee.
He smoothed his spring-green tie as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “As I stated before, this is a commercial flight. I don’t have to explain my presence here to you or anyone.”
“Uh-huh. You’re here because you think I need a chaperone.” Even as I said it, I argued with myself.
Oliver didn’t like me. Why would he give a whit if I traveled to Vegas to get my freak on?
Which wasn’t seeming likely any longer anyway. I’d be happy to gamble a little, maybe shop, enjoy the warm weather, and sleep in a different bed for a couple of nights. If I met a nice guy to have dinner with, that would be a plus. But I sincerely doubted I’d be able to spread my legs with a stranger, no matter how much I longed to be wild.
I simply wasn’t. That didn’t mean I couldn’t move past my comfort zone.
“You’re a grown woman. You don’t need anyone watching over you.”
I angled my head. “Why do I feel like there’s a but coming?”
“This trip will allow me to pursue some business interests, so it’s a twofer, you could say.”
“You have no business dealings in Vegas.”
“Actually, that’s incorrect. I always cram as much into trips as I can, and this presented an opportunity for both business and pleasure.”
“Oh, really? What pleasure, exactly, do you think you’ll find?”
I didn’t care. Truly. But he was Ally’s brother-in-law, and we were in for a long flight. Might as well make conversation.
It wasn’t as if I could get him tossed off the plane. As he’d said, he had the same right to be here as anyone else.
And if there was a small—very small—part of me that was happy he was here, well, then I’d squash the heck out of that shit.
Uh, crap.
“Why, the pleasure of time spent with a friend.” His smile was about as trustworthy as a bank robber’s. “I’ve traveled alone often, and it’s a bore. I thought you might enjoy having someone with you to play travel guide and offer some insight.”
“Ah-ha! I knew you were here to spy.”
“On what, perchance?” His black eyebrow winged up and something quivered inside me that didn’t bear examining. “Your attempt to meet a man for illicit activities?”
“Pardon me for interrupting, but I couldn’t help overhearing,” Lumberjack said, his brows pinched together. “That’s not safe, Miss Evans. Unless you operate under a buddy system.”
I gave him a tight smile. “Call me Sage.”
Oliver leaned over me and gave Lumberjack a look that might’ve been deemed friendly, if one were optimistic. “Don’t worry. I’ll serve as her buddy.”
There was no stopping my snort. “You don’t have the slightest clue how. Do you even have any friends other than Seth and Ally? And they’re related to you, so they don’t even count.”
As soon as the snarky comments were out, I regretted them. Oliver brought out my sarcastic side, but that didn’t give me the right to be mean.
“I’m sorry.” I swallowed hard. “That was uncalled for.”
He was strangely silent, shifting his dark, unfathomable gaze to the window. “I do not,” he said after a moment, and my chest squeezed with regret and shame.
Since when was I so callous? That wasn’t me. Sure, I enjoyed sparring with Oliver, and our snippy relationship was different from any I’d ever had before. Generally, people liked me, and I usually felt the same. But from day one with Oliver, we’d been like fire and water, blending awkwardly at best. At worse, we bickered over every-frigging-thing.
That didn’t give me cause to be hurtful. Especially if he really did care enough about me to bother flying to Vegas—in coach, even—just to make sure I was okay. He wasn’t a man who did much extra for anyone who wasn’t one of his loved ones, and those were few and far between.
Warmth spread beneath my breastbone. Perhaps he didn’t hate me as much as I’d believed.
“Do you want to be friends with me?”
When he didn’t reply, I tried not to fidget. Or fill the space with babble.
He turned his head and caught me in a stare so intense, I might as well have been rooted in place. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.
He simply nodded.
When he shifted away again, I released a long, shaky breath. Whoa.
“I’ll be your friend too,” Lumberjack offered, and as I glanced at him, I realized he was gazing at the side of Oliver’s head.
Oliver was abjectly ignoring him.
“Aww, that’s sweet.” I squeezed Lumberjack’s beefy arm and grinned up at him. “Me too?”
“O-of course.” The smile he flashed me was without guile.
The exact opposite of Oliver’s, and yet I felt oddly pulled to him. Was it because he was the first man I’d spoken to for more than a moment during my hookup quest?
Oliver, that is, not Lumberjack. Lumberjack was kind and seemed like a good person, but he stirred nothing in me. Not that Oliver did either.
Of course not. That would be lunacy. I hadn’t even had a drink yet. The minute that in-flight sign went on though, it was on. I couldn’t wait to enjoy my first experience with day-drinking. The occasional glass of wine with lunch did not count.
As for Oliver, I must be ovulating or something. There was no other earthly reason why he would do anything for me other than cause me angina.
Oliver leaned across my lap again, and his gaze dropped to my hand still clasping Lumberjack’s biceps for an instant before he smiled at the other man. “I’m a Leo.”
Lumberjack locked his jaw. “Uh, I don’t know signs and stuff.”
I didn’t know why I wanted to laugh, but I so did. “What’s your birthday?”
“July eleventh.”
“Cancer. You’re an empathetic man. No wonder you offered to be Oliver’s friend. You have a benevolent soul. Leos, however, can be proud and unwilling to accept help. They’re also arrogant and usually have flowing manes. Hmm, not so much with you.” I cocked my head and studied Oliver’s almost military-short cut. The front was longer, and sometimes swept into his eyes, only to be ruthlessly pushed back.
Like right now.
“I’m not some hippie,” he muttered, sitting back and pulling out a tablet. He immediately began to type with his thumbs.
Conversation over. Okay then.
I leaned toward Lumberjack. “Don’t mind his manners,” I whispered. “He’s new to the friend thing.”
“I heard that,” Oliver said without looking up. “Should I cling to your arm too to show our friendship?”
Reluctantly, I let go of Lumberjack. He was nice and sturdy to hang onto.
Good thing we were about to take off. I was ready for that drink.
The requisite pre-flight warnings were recited and I listened with rapt attention to the various safety checks mentioned. So exciting. I couldn’t wait to put all of this in my memory planner once I was back home. Oh, picture! I’d almost forgotten in my exuberance.
Tugging out my phone, I snapped pictures of the inside of the plane, including one of Lumberjack, who smiled widely. When I turned the phone toward Oliver, his glower was enough to have me lowering it.
I’d just substitute a picture of Oscar The Grouch in his trash can for Oliver.
Sighing, I tucked away my cell. The lights went down and I put on my seat belt, prepared for liftoff. This would be the fun part. Once we were in the air, I’d have to take out my backup sweater from my bag for my legs. It was awfully chilly in here.
A thunderous rolling sound filled the plane and my stomach heaved, falling approximately to my knees. I screeched and grabbed an arm, except this tim
e it wasn’t Lumberjack’s.
“Oh my God, what is that? Turbulence?”
Oliver’s chuckle would’ve infuriated me if I could fully process it through the roar in my head. “You can’t have turbulence until you’re in the air.”
Stay calm. Stay chill. Millions of people do this every day.
The floor seemed to shake under my feet and I gave up all pretense of being relaxed. I buried my face in Oliver’s shoulder and let out a whimper.
To my utter shock, he cupped the back of my head in his large hand and stroked my hair, saying softly to Lumberjack, “First-time flyer.”
Lumberjack replied something that sounded like “lucky you” before another rumble occurred and some definite whooshing. I could tell we were rising because my belly was flopping like a landed trout, but Oliver’s caresses on my hair were surprisingly soothing.
“Just another minute or two and we’ll level out.”
I didn’t say anything, since I was still clinging and hiding my eyes like a terrified child. No doubt about it, this would mortify me later, but right now? I was quite enjoying being nestled up against Oliver.
Must be the adrenaline drop after my fight-or-flight response. Also, he smelled really freaking fabulous. How had I never noticed before?
Granted, I’d never had my nose buried in his clothing before—and pressed against firm, rippling muscle—but still. The scent was an intriguing mix of cedar that reminded me of the closet in my room at home, soap, and the light tang of clean sweat, all layered with some high-end musky cologne. Delicious.
Damn near edible, if I wasn’t in the midst of a panic attack.
The plane seemed to level out at about the same time his hand stopped moving over my hair. “Are you sniffing me?” he asked against my ear.
His warm breath ruffled my hair and a shiver moved through me that had nothing to do with the drafty plane. What was wrong with me? I never reacted this way to him when we were in Crescent Cove. Sure, I might’ve brushed against him now and then, just because he was such a solid hunk of man meat, but it wasn’t sexual exactly. More like I was in a drought of attention from the opposite sex and he was a complete ass, but he was so very male.
“You smell like cedar and musk.”
“Musk? That word is horrifying, right up there with moist.”
I frowned and finally pulled back, though I maintained my hold on him just in case the plane did make any sudden moves. “Not like…personal musk.” His eyebrow did that arching thing and I coughed into my hand. “Like the scent in men’s cologne. You know. It’s a proven fact that particular smell arouses most women.”
“Oh, is it? Is that why you’ve cleaved to me like a barnacle on a ship? Here I thought it was because you were an uneasy flyer.”
I jumped back so fast that my elbow pegged Lumberjack in the arm. “Oops, sorry.”
“You can hold on to me again if you like.” His hopeful smile was in direct contrast to the noise Oliver made in his throat. I couldn’t define it precisely, but it reminded me of a possessive, irate cat. Part growl, part grunt, all alpha male.
Jeez, I really did need to get laid. I was obsessed with manly attributes.
“Kind offer, but I think the time for concern has passed,” Oliver told Lumberjack, as if he had any right to speak for me.
“Says you,” I muttered.
The plane was rocking. Lovely.
“Now that is likely a bit of turbulence. There are storms in—”
I covered my ears and blocked Oliver out. “La-la-la, can’t hear you.” I figured that childish gesture would be enough to make him retreat into whatever he’d been doing on his tablet.
Instead, he wrapped his arm around me and tugged me closer, tucking my head under his chin. My seat belt impeded movement, but we made it work somehow.
“Better?” The word rumbled through his chest and straight into mine.
My response was something akin to “ughkmph.”
That damn cologne again. Was it a hormone-provoker or something? And I really was cold, and he so was not. His chest was so solid, as was his grip around my shoulders. I wanted to cuddle in and stay a while.
Not because it was Oliver. Of course not. Just because I was nervous and chilly and overwhelmed.
He was also slightly hot. Only slightly. Truth be told, his twin was better looking. The other girls at the diner had conducted a poll once, minus Ally’s input. Even pre-wedding, she’d been Seth’s best friend and hardly impartial. Every one of the other women had said Oliver was the hotter of the two, on account of his suits and general air of imperviousness. Like he was a king and any woman would love a chance to sit on his lap.
Me? I’d picked Seth. He was friendlier. More approachable. Less likely to have an object d’art stuck up his bum.
Right now, though, I was having no problem with any part of Oliver. And that whole lap-sitting thing? It might’ve happened if these seats had been a tad wider.
“You’re shaking. Where’s your coat?” Oliver tugged at the sleeve of my thin sweater. “This is hardly capable of keeping you warm.”
It took me a moment or seven to gather my wits enough to speak. If I’d had a few more muscles in my throat, I probably would’ve purred.
“Going to Vegas,” I mumbled, fighting the urge to press my nose into his neck. There were nice gestures and then there was using them as an opportunity to cross the line.
I had boundaries. Not now. But in general.
“Your point? You’re in New York now. Or you were when you got on this plane.”
“Didn’t want to pack it. All I needed was a couple of pretty dresses, strappy heels, and maybe a bathing suit—gah!” I reared up, banging the top of my head against his glacier of a chin. We both groaned, and the sound coming from him was far sexier than it should’ve been.
That did it. I was finally caving and buying a bullet when I returned home. Obviously, something had taken over my libido and all rationality had flown out the window. Release had to be the answer.
Either that or a lobotomy.
I rubbed my head, staring at his tie so I didn’t have to meet his eyes. Dark as shrapnel, fiery like burning coal. “Sorry. I just realized I forgot my bathing suit. Dammit. Darn it.” I sighed. “Should’ve brought the jar with me. Now I’ll have to keep notes.”
“At least half of what you say makes no sense. I’m unsure if I’m the only one who misunderstands you, or if you’re just generally incomprehensible.”
Lumberjack leaned closer. “I ain’t got the foggiest either, friend.”
Oliver smiled tightly. “Thank you for the corroboration.”
“I keep a swear jar; you know, like Seth and Ally do.”
Oliver rolled his eyes. “That infernal nonsense. Yes.”
“You think swearing around a youngster is proper?”
“I think life is a hard, scary place, and swear words are the least of anyone’s concern.”
“Gotta part ways with you there, bud.” Lumberjack shook his head. “Some words just aren’t appropriate for little ears.”
“Or Sage’s, apparently, since she’s self-censoring. As you will in that arena. What, pray tell, caused you to nearly break my jaw with your rock-hard head?”
“Hello, I already said it. I forgot my bathing suit. Which royally sucks. Not that I know how to swim, but I’d planned to lounge by the pool—”
“Bikini?” Oliver asked, and there was no missing the interest in his tone. Not his eyes, since I still hadn’t chanced a look there.
“Um, no. Try modest one-piece with a skirt.”
“Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know, because this body isn’t meant for—”
He laid a finger over my lips. “Stop right there, because whatever you say is only going to piss me off.”
Lumberjack had to chime in. “He’s right, you know. Your body is just fine.” He cleared his throat, possibly from the way Oliver lifted his head as if he were scenting blood. “Pardon me. I didn’t mean
anything unsavory by that. Just that you’re a beautiful woman, Miss Evans.”
A lump was growing in my throat. Whether from Oliver’s quick rebuke of what I’d been about to say or Lumberjack’s praise, I didn’t know.
Two handsome men were indicating they found me attractive. It wasn’t even that I disagreed. I had the same issues as anyone else, but most days, I thought I had a pretty face. A nice enough body, if a little on the plump side. Just not bikini-worthy.
“I’ll buy you a bikini,” Oliver said, dropping his finger from my mouth as if the discussion was over.
“I can buy my own bikini.”
“Good. The matter is settled.”
It so wasn’t, but I sat back in my seat and bit my lip. I wasn’t buying a bikini, but maybe I’d go for a skimpier two-piece. Even go wild and skip the skirt. That would be fun.
“Oh, and since we’re on the topic of buying, I took the liberty of upgrading your hotel suite. I’ll be right next door. Don’t worry, a connecting door is between us, but you can lock it to your heart’s content.”
Since I was still pondering swimwear, it took me a second to catch up. “Excuse me?”
“The radio station’s accommodations were shit.”
His bold statement made me wince. “You need a swear jar too. Maybe a swear suitcase.”
“And you don’t even know the half of what I say when I’m sufficiently motivated.”
I frowned. “What do you—” The pointed expression he wore clued me in to my naiveté.
In so many ways.
“Oh.”
“Yes, oh. Do you truly have any objections to a nicer hotel suite? You don’t travel much. Why not do it up right?”
“You’re not supposed to be taking over. This is my chance to be independent, to live life untethered.” I had more complaints, but they weren’t coming out fast enough.
Probably since I was still wondering what Oliver sounded like when “sufficiently motivated”.
Only academically. As far as personally? Nope. So didn’t give a fig.