3. Fate's Connection - Jules
This day has been nothing short of a disaster. I’ve come to the conclusion that fate is playing a wicked joke on me. The short flight to Denver was delayed, and that led to me missing the connecting flight to Seattle. So I ended up roaming the airport for hours, mostly fighting tears. I’m not used to being on my own, and now that I am all I want to do is go back and crawl into bed forever.
But I can’t.
Returning home will surely hurt more than pushing forward. Once I reach Seattle, things will be all right, and this crushing weight on my heart will ease up.
At least I got a consolation prize for the hours I waited stuck between the past I’m leaving behind and the future I hope to find; the airline upgraded me to first class. Letting out a long sigh of relief, I sink into the comfortable leather seat. I’m more than ready to put this hellish day behind me, even if hurtling through the air at five-hundred miles per hour isn’t my idea of fun.
Most of the passengers in first class have already settled into their seats and are waiting for takeoff, but a few clutter the aisle as they stow carry-on luggage. I avert my attention to the small window at my right, my nerves over flying already kicking in, and watch two men load luggage into the baggage compartment. From the corner of my eye, I notice the movement of bodies as more people board the plane and head toward the back. The seat next to me remains empty, and I’m beginning to hope I’ll get the row to myself.
Of course, that’s when he slides in next to me.
He’s tall enough that even first class doesn’t accommodate his legs comfortably. I can’t help but ogle his forearms. I have a thing for forearms, and my mind immediately goes to Chris and the definition of his muscles.
Don’t go there. Don’t think about his arms or anything else about him.
With a mental shove, I send Chris spiraling to the back of my mind. That’s a good place for him right now, especially since I have no intention of having a meltdown on this plane. I go back to studying the stranger beside me. He’s wearing charcoal slacks and a navy button-up shirt, left untucked with the cuffs rolled up. A guy doesn’t need an eight-pack or bulging biceps to catch my eye. He just has to have sexy-as-fuck forearms, and this man does.
His entire body exudes masculinity, making these first-class seats seem small. Mr. Sexy Stranger owns the space, texting single-handedly as he pushes his fingers through thick dark hair, disrupting the longer length on top. The gesture is quick and rigid, as if something is irritating him. I’m openly staring now, my gaze drifting over the stubble along his strong jawline. Good God, he’s a fine specimen of a man.
My face amps hotter by the second. I’ve never experienced such a strong gravitational pull toward a stranger, and after everything that’s gone down today, the fact that it’s happening now unsettles me.
It’s the stress. It’s finally making me crack, making me turn into a total lunatic.
He angles his head my way, and our eyes lock. My heart stops. Time suspends. Holy shit. I’m a deer caught in the high beams of a speeding car at midnight.
Blind-sided.
Paralyzed.
His eyes are the color of steel, a shade so deep they resemble the most ominous of storms. He raises a dark brow, forehead crinkling in surprise, and I come back to myself with a mental jerk, realizing how stupid I must look right now. And how unkempt I am from all the crying I did as I wandered for hours through the airport. I pray to God the concealer I applied in the ladies’ room hides all traces of my epic breakdown.
“Hi,” I manage to say, practically sighing the greeting. My face flushes, and I quickly look away, utterly mortified.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Maybe exhaustion stole my sanity. Or maybe it’s the situation. No names, no attachments, no disgraceful scandals. We’ll part ways as soon as the plane lands in Seattle, and I’ll never see this man again. The anonymity of the situation has to be the reason I’m reacting to the stranger next to me as if he’s a demigod.
“Fear of flying?” the demigod says, his voice laden with a sexy timbre that sends chills through me.
I return my attention to him and…fuck…those eyes. “I-I’m sorry?”
A smile ghosts across his face, revealing a dimple in his right cheek.
“You seem a bit…” He trails off, gesturing to my fingers, which have somehow found themselves wrapped around the armrest. “Terrified.”
Terrified is an understatement, but I’ll take it since the alternatives don’t make a shred of sense. Letting out a breath, I loosen my grip and shoot Mr. Sexy Stranger a weak smile.
“Maybe a little. Me and flying…we don’t have a great relationship.” I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve flown, and I’ll never be comfortable with putting my life in the hands of fate.
Fate. There’s that word again.
But the term fits because flying feels a bit like rolling the dice and hoping for the best. Statistically, I know traveling by air is safer than driving a car, but logic can be a funny thing when feelings are mixed into the equation.
He buckles his seat belt. “There’s nothing to it. If they didn’t make us wear these things,” he says, pulling the strap tight across his thighs, “I wouldn’t bother.” Dipping his head toward me as if he’s about to impart a great secret, he adds, “Between you and me, I don’t like flying either.”
“Oh, well that makes me feel much better.” But I can’t stop a grin from teasing the edges of my mouth.
He shrugs with the same partially hidden smile he graced me with a minute ago.
The flight attendants begin their pre-flight check and go through the safety information I’m sure frequent fliers tire of hearing. As the plane starts to taxi, I settle into my seat and attempt to relax my hands in my lap.
But after we hit the runway and tilt skyward, I grip the armrests as if they’re the only things stopping me from hurtling to certain death. Only three hours until we land in Seattle. Three more hours to a fresh start.
A warm hand slides over mine, and my gaze crashes into his.
“You’re doing great.” He leans closer, talking above the engines of the aircraft. “The takeoff and landing are the worst. Just a few more minutes and we’re home free.”
My heartbeat is thundering in my ears way louder than the noise of this deathtrap of a plane. I’d blame it on anxiety from flying, but truth be told, it probably has more to do with his warm hand on mine. His fingers and knuckles are free of calluses, just like Perry’s.
Except my boss never made my heart race this fast, and he never made me feel like he gave two shits about me. The difference is a stark slap in the face. This man doesn’t even know me, but I sense genuine kindness in him.
Why didn’t I recognize Perry’s arrogance? Was I nothing more than a conquest to him? Why did he leave his group that night and sit next to me? I’ve never asked myself that last question until now, and it irks the fuck out of me that I can’t remember much about that night.
“So, what’s taking you to Seattle?” he asks, and I wonder if he wants to know for real, or if he’s just making conversation. Or maybe he brought it up to distract me, since I still haven’t unfurled my fingers from the grip I have on the armrest.
A hard swallow dislodges the past from my throat. “I’m visiting my best friend. She moved there a few months ago.”
“Have you ever been?”
I shake my head, and he gives my hand a comforting squeeze. I like his touch too much, which is just…crazy.
“Now’s a good time to go. We don’t get as much rain this time of year.”
“I’m excited to see her,” I say, but my voice cracks. He makes me nervous—possibly as nervous as flying does—and I don’t understand why. I draw in a ragged breath, but the higher the plane climbs, the whiter my knuckles become. It isn’t until the seat belt light goes off that I let go of the armrests.
He pulls away, but his touch has seeped into me, and the phantom heat of it lingers long after our hands return to their respective places.
The flight attendants make their rounds and take drink orders. They also hand out towels. I stare at the rolled-up damp cloth, confused until I figure out from watching other passengers that I’m supposed to use it to freshen up. I wipe my sweaty palms on the warm cloth, and the man at my side quirks an amused smile.
“What?” I say, affording him a sideways glance. “I’ve never flown first class. This is like…a life-changing experience.”
God, this whole day is altering the course of my life.
“Life-changing, huh?” He lifts a brow. “Wait until you taste the food.”
We both laugh, and my embarrassment over not knowing what the fuck I’m doing vanishes. This gorgeous man somehow sets me at ease with a quirk of a brow and a little laughter. I spy his left hand and am relieved to find it empty of a wedding band, so I decide to let this surreal trip through the air wash away the heartbreak of the day. I want to lose myself in his presence.
“You live in Seattle?” I ask.
“Born and raised.”
“What’s it like living there?”
“Well, the weather sucks most of the time and traffic is horrendous, but it’s a beautiful city. It’s home. I can’t imagine living anywhere else.” He shifts in his seat and eyes me. “Where are you from?”
“A small town on the outskirts of Oklahoma City.” Unwittingly, my thoughts drift back to the place I still consider home, even though I have no intention of returning to the disaster I left behind anytime soon. The magnitude of what I’m doing hits me all over again, and I can barely believe I went through with this insane idea.
I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving. Only Lesley knows of my plans. Shortly after tossing a bundle of clothes into a suitcase, I’d turned my cell off, growing tired of hearing how the world was coming to an end. Mom wouldn’t stop calling until I answered, but I hadn’t wanted to deal with her bullshit. My thoughts drift to my sister, and I imagine her standing on my doorstep after her shoot ended, confused that I wasn’t there waiting.
My eyes sting again, and this time I’m not sure I can stop them from purging the hurt. Suddenly, the obsidian void beyond the window is fascinating. It’s a lot safer to look at than the man at my side.
“Hey,” he says, his voice so soft I barely hear him over the constant drone of the engines. “You okay?”
“Uh-huh,” I mumble, nodding and holding my breath. But the back of my throat aches with unshed emotion.
Fuck. Don’t break down now, Jules.
“You don’t seem okay.”
Panic wraps around me. For the first time in my life, I’m about to stand on my own two feet. No Chris. No family. I’ll have Lesley, which is definitely a comfort, but it isn’t the same. I want…no, I need to find my way, and I’m absolutely terrified of failing.
If I hadn’t drunk myself into a night I couldn’t take back, would Chris and I have made it? As much as we fought, I honestly don’t know how long we would have lasted. And for the first time since he walked out on me this morning, toothbrush and all, I question if maybe…
If maybe him leaving was for the best.
If maybe it’s fate.
My heart revolts at the thought, ricocheting an ache through my chest that makes it hard to breathe. Fear of the unknown shrinks my lungs, and though I’m not prone to panic attacks, I wonder if I’m about to have one now, 35,000 fucking miles in the air.
His touch is back, shooting warmth through the thin sleeve of my T-shirt where his hand rests on my shoulder. “What’s your name?”
“Jules,” I say with a hard swallow.
“Can you breathe for me, Jules?”
I like the sound of my name coming from his lips. Deep and soothing. Nodding, I suck in a breath, dragging it to the bottom of my lungs, and risk a peek at him. He’s turned toward me in his seat, dark brows furrowing in worry.
And his hand…
God, he’s still touching me, and I’m the worst kind of person because I don’t want him to move away. But he does, and I blink as my heartbeat slowly calms.
“I-I’m sorry. I’ve just had a really bad day.” I almost laugh at the understatement.
“I can relate. Count me in on the Bad Day Club.” He lets a beat pass then exhales. “Feel like talking about it?”
I’m saved from answering, as the flight attendant stops by with our drink orders. She gives him his bourbon before handing me a soda. I clasp both hands around the glass and look down into the bubbly dark liquid.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
“You’re welcome,” she says. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”
Silence is always awkward between two people who don’t know each other, but the quiet that settles over us now takes it to a whole other level—an exciting yet scary one. From the first moment I looked into his eyes, the earth seemed to stop. And when he touched me, bringing me back from the edge of fear and despair, my body came alive. Why I feel safe enough to confide in him, I’m not sure, but maybe I just need to break the disquiet.
“I’m not just visiting my friend.”
“I sensed a story there,” he says, and the weight of his scrutiny tingles down my spine.
I sip my soda and watch the nothingness outside the window. It’s easier to talk when I’m not facing him. “My life kinda fell apart this morning. Next thing I know, I’m on a plane.” A lengthy pause goes by. “I’m not going back.” I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince him or myself.
He lets out a low whistle. “That’s a gutsy move.”
A mocking laugh rumbles in my throat. “It’s a cowardly move.”
“How so?”
Biting my lip, I shoot him a furtive glance. “I fucked up, and instead of dealing with the consequences, I ran away.”
“I wouldn’t peg you for the type of person not to own up to a mistake.”
“Oh, I own it completely. But I can’t make it right, and I can’t take it back. Apologizing didn’t matter. He left anyway.”
“Your boyfriend?”
“As of this morning, my ex-boyfriend.”
He falls quiet for a few moments, and I wonder if he’s judging me. Coming to certain conclusions like everyone in Whiskey Flats will undoubtedly do.
That I’m a slut. A cheater. Someone without morals.
But that’s crazy thinking. He doesn’t know me well enough to judge, and I didn’t tell him all the dirty details.
“How long were you together?”
“Since high school.” I don’t mention the on-again off-again nature of my relationship with Chris.
“I’m sorry, Jules.”
I shrug, but on the inside, I melt from the way he says my name. Part of me wants to know his name, and part of me willingly falls into the safety net of anonymity. After I step off this plane, I know I’ll always remember him as my sexy stranger.
“Do you believe in fate?” I look at him then, holding his seductive gaze with a boldness I don’t feel. But I cling to the facade anyway, losing myself to this surreal feeling of looking into a stranger’s eyes and not seeing a stranger at all. Something deep inside me responds to him in a way that confuses me. Rattles me.
I sink into the idea that I somehow know him.
He blinks after a few seconds, and the moment is gone. “Fate…like in a higher power?”
Tilting my head, I shrug a shoulder. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
Right now, I want to believe in something as nebulous as fate. I want to believe that I’m meant to be on this plane heading for the unknown. That the destruction of my life this morning had a purpose other than to grind my heart to dust.
“Can’t say I’ve given it much thought,” he says. “But I’ve gotta admit that life threw me a curveball today, too.” He takes a long drink of the amber liquid in his glass, finishing it off. “I wasn’t supposed to go home until tomorrow, but here I am….” His voice fades, stolen by a note of pain, and the way he stares at me hijacks my breath.
And I’m curious. More than curious. I’m downright intrigued by this guy.
“What happened?” I ask. But I can already tell he doesn’t want to talk about it. We don’t know each other—we’re just two hurt souls who happened to collide in midair. It’s random and odd, and this surreal feeling is fucking with my head. And yet, despite the palpable weight of his silence, I can’t help but push him.
“It goes both ways, you know,” I say, refusing to waver.
“What does?”
“Talking about it.” I bite my lip for a few seconds before plunging ahead. “Maybe we landed in these seats together for a reason. I think you need to get it off your chest as much as I did.”
His hands clench then unfurl. “You’re very perceptive.”
“I’m also a good listener.”
And too fucking nosy for my own good.
“I might need another drink for this.” He raises his empty glass to get the attention of the flight attendant. After she takes the tumbler and goes to fetch him another drink, a couple of long minutes go by before he speaks. “She’s cheating on me.”
There’s a note of disbelief in his words, finality even, and I wonder if saying it out loud just cemented that statement of ugly truth in his mind. He seems as stricken as I’d felt this morning as I watched Chris leave, powerless to stop him. The heat of my shame crawls up my neck and spreads over my cheeks. Whoever she is, she’d hurt him the way I hurt Chris. The irony leaves a bitter taste on my tongue.
“Maybe it’s not what you think.”
Maybe she got wasted and made the biggest mistake of her life.
“Pictures don’t lie, Jules.”
Ouch. I can only imagine how devastated Chris would have been if faced with visual evidence of my betrayal. I cringe just thinking about it.
“I had tunnel vision when I got on this plane. I couldn’t see beyond confronting her, but now I’m not so sure.” He drags a hand through his adorably mussed hair. “I’m so damn unprepared for this.”
“Facing it head-on might help you move past it.” I shoot him a sheepish look. “I’m sorry. It’s really not my place to tell you what to do.” For one, I don’t know him. And two, I’m not the best example of facing shit.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says. “You won’t offend me, I promise.”
The lonely and sad note in his voice rips my heart wide open. If I could punch the bitch who’d hurt him, I would. The hypocrisy in that doesn’t escape me. Maybe I should start with the bitch in the mirror first.
“I think you should wait until you talk to her before making any rash judgments.”
“Trust me, no rash judgments here.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.” A tick goes off in his jaw.
“Do you know what you’re going to do about it?”
“Not a clue.” He clears his throat, and I think he’s going to say more, but he doesn’t.
God, how I want him to say more. Is he going to leave her? Give her another chance? The fact that I’ll never know eats at me.
We fall into silence for a while. The flight attendant brings more drinks and even a light snack. But I can’t eat, so I nibble, way too conscious of how close he’s sitting. The sleeve of his shirt brushes my arm every time one of us moves.
Who knew the caress of fabric had the power to cause goosebumps?
I should move away, but I don’t.
He doesn’t either.
It’s almost as if a magnetic force is bringing us together. The air grows thick. All around us, passengers are either asleep or glued to their devices, but this gorgeous stranger and I have found a private bubble where electricity sizzles. He has me captivated, his nearness humming above the roar of the engines and lulling me into the first speck of serenity since Chris left.
I should have known it wouldn’t last. Lightening streaks through the sky, and the plane hits a spot of wicked turbulence. For a few heart-pounding moments, I straddle the line between hyperventilating and not breathing at all. The aircraft lurches again, and I turn to him in a panic, my breaths coming fast and shallow. His face is mere inches from mine.
“It’s okay,” he says with a huskiness that turns me to mush. “These planes are engineered to withstand lightning.”
My heartbeat goes into overdrive. I dart out my tongue, wetting my suddenly dry lips, and that’s when he lowers his gaze to my mouth.
Another spot of turbulence brings us forehead to forehead.
“Oh, God,” I rasp, closing my eyes.
Adrenaline courses through my veins, and the thunder of my pulse drowns out all sound. I’m terrified from the air pockets we keep hitting, but in this moment, I’m mostly afraid that if I open my eyes, he’ll see the truth.
That I’m falling hard 35,000 feet above the ground.
“Just so you know,” he says, sliding a hand along my cheek. “I’ve never wanted to kiss someone as much as I want to kiss you right now.”
Oh wow. His voice is tortured, and when I finally lift my lids, I find his at half-mast.
He tangles his fingers into my locks, leaving me trembling and aching to feel his mouth on mine. I can’t speak, so I don’t even try.
“Jules…I don’t normally do stuff like this.”
“Do what?”
“Kiss strangers on planes.”
There is something so wrong about this. So off. Not to mention dangerous. Like diving into an empty pool.
Or boarding a plane that’s heading into a storm.
“You don’t seem the type,” I whisper as his breath warms my lips.
And he doesn’t, despite the fact that we’re an inch apart, our mouths aching to taste while his hand tugs on my hair, angling my head back.
“I’m not.” His fingers loosen their grip, and something inside him seems to deflate as he lets out a sigh of defeat. “So I’m going to chalk this up to high-level emotions and…”
“And?”
Cursing under his breath, he pulls away completely.