“Got it.” Once again, she turns away from me, but I stop her with a hand on her arm.
“I’m missing something here. Mind filling me in on how I offended you?”
Stevie sticks the end of her disgusting hoodie string in her mouth before continuing to twirl the gold ring on her thumb. “Well, you told the girl who isn’t a size two that you trust her opinion about food more than the girls who are a size two.”
“Okay?”
“You see how I could take that as a way of you judging my body?”
Whoa, what?
“What?” I ask in shock, my eyes wide. “Is that why you got all weird and hid in the back the rest of the flight? You thought I was talking about your body?”
Stevie stays silent, her eyes pulled away from mine.
“First of all, that thought has never once crossed my mind. Your ass and tits are insane, though,” which pulls a laugh from the wild-haired girl.
“And I don’t know what those other girls eat, but my comment had nothing to do with your clothing size or your body. All I know is when I ran into you at the bar in Denver, the burger you had ordered looked amazing. Then when I got up to use the bathroom on the airplane on the way home from Detroit, I saw you scarfing down on that grilled cheese you made, and I wanted one too. What I said had nothing to do with your body, just your taste buds. We like the same kind of food.”
A blush rushes up and covers Stevie’s freckled cheeks. “Oh,” she squeaks out, seeming embarrassed for overreacting.
“And if you really want me to be direct about your body.” I give her a once-over, clearly checking her out. “It’s banging. You should start showing it off. These sweatpants are atrocious, though.”
Finally, a relaxed laugh echoes from Stevie’s mouth and into my ears. It sounds nice.
“But for real, do you shop at the thrift store or something?” I yank at the tattered fabric on her leg that might fall apart if I pull too hard.
Stevie quickly looks down at her outfit, if you want to call it that. “Yes,” she states without hesitation.
“We don’t pay you enough? I can do something about that.”
“No,” she laughs. “I just like buying secondhand.”
Now that, I don’t get. Granted, I have a tailor who custom-makes half of my clothes, and the other half is designer, but used? No, thank you.
“Do you shop at Louis Vuitton, Prada, and Tom Ford?” she asks.
“Yes.”
Stevie laughs. “I know. I was kidding. I can tell you only wear designer. You’re a pretty one, Evan Zanders.” She adds a condescending pat on my chest.
“Aw, sweetheart. You think I’m pretty?”
She playfully rolls her eyes. “Stop calling me ‘sweetheart.’”
“Never.”
Her soft gaze locks with mine, both of us silent but unwilling to tear our eyes off one another.
After a beat, Stevie starts walking backward, heading off in the direction she was going before I chased her down, but she still faces me. “You know, Zanders. Now that you mention it, you guys don’t pay me enough. I think a raise is in order.”
I keep my lips pressed together in a hard line, trying to hold back my smile, but she got me there. I really walked my ass right into that trap. “You gonna start being nice to me on the airplane if I do that for you?”
She takes a moment, cocking her head in contemplation as she continues to walk away from me. “Doubtful.”
The smile is out. I can’t really hold it back any longer.
“You gonna start being nice to me and stop being a needy little fucker with that call light?” she asks with a knowing grin.
“Fuck no. You may as well put your running shoes on next flight. I’m gonna be running your ass up and down that aisle for me.”
I can hear her laugh all the way from here, though she’s already halfway down the block. “I’ll be sure to stretch before you work me!” she calls out, turning away from me.
Granted, she didn’t intend for that to come off sexual, but now all I can think about is working her in a different way and how much fun I’d have throwing around that curvy body. Stretching or not, she still wouldn’t be able to walk properly the next day.
Not to be a creep, but I watch Stevie until she gets to her destination the next block over. And I do so simply because Chicago’s crime rate is out of this world. It has nothing to do with the way her ass moves or her hips sway behind those god-awful sweatpants that really need to be thrown in the garbage.