Chapter 3

• “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.
• Stop talking.
• Two hours later, I sit and stare out the window. My movie is over, but his scent is not. It’s surrounding me, taunting me with things that I shouldn’t be thinking about.
• How does he smell so good?
• Unsure what to do without seeming awkward, I decide I’ll take a nap, try to sleep through the next few hours, but first I need to go to the bathroom. I stand. “Excuse me.”
• He moves his legs a little but not enough for me to fit through, and I have to lean over him to get past. I stumble and fall and put my hand on his thigh; it’s large and hard to my touch. “I’m so sorry,” I stammer, embarrassed.
• “That’s fine.” He smirks up at me. “More than fine.”
• I stare at him for a moment. Huh?
• “There’s a method to my madness.”
• I frown. What does that mean? I make my way past him and go to the bathroom, and then I walk around and stretch my legs a little as I ponder that statement. I’m stumped—I’ve got nothing. “What did you mean by that?” I ask as I fall back into my seat.
• “Nothing.”