He looks up over his phone, not amused.
揘ot fair. I even carried your bag, brat.?
I gasp when he calls me that and instantly regret it. Those sky-blue eyes are laughing at me, even when his lips are barely quirked.
揑 was going to grab breakfast. Do you want a cookie??I ask.
He leans in closer and whispers, 揙nly if it抯 dark chocolate over graham cracker梐nd you shovel it into my face again.?
Oh, God. Oh, God.
My stomach knots. Is he trying to kill me with flirting or confusion?
…because that sounded like a bona fide Cole Lancaster flirt.
My throat closes up. Almost like I抦 allergic to handsome men messing with me.
I don抰 know what to say.
But I can抰 leave a deafening silence, so I say, 揑抦 sure I could find a badger to feed you cookies, if that抯 what you really want.?
揗aybe. I do have a specific badger in mind, and I think she抯 the only one allowed on this flight under Hawaiian environmental regulations. Any invasive species can be seriously destructive.?
His stare never leaves my eyes.
That was definitely a flirt, even if it was a weird one.
I抦 still plummeting into his eyes and I抦 not coming back.
My face flames.
Forget breakfast. I pull out my laptop, open the lid, and try to hunker down behind the screen so he doesn抰 see my cheeks on fire.
I pretend to work, tapping out the equivalent of War and Peace in total nonsense and F5 screen refreshes so I don抰 have to make eye contact. I抦 able to keep up the front until the pilot announces we抳e hit thirty thousand feet.
This trip is way too slow.
I can still feel him there, invading my space, even when he抯 not looking directly at me.
Every so often, whether he means to or not, his foot brushes mine under the table.
Sweet Jesus.
I抦 going to explode in a mess of jitters before I抳e had that coffee.
Eventually, I shut the laptop and stand.
揝omething wrong, Miss Angelo??Cole asks, sitting up in a tall, gentlemanly way.
Yes, and you抮e the reason why.
揘o,?I lie, walking to the makeshift galley. I抦 not waiting for a flight attendant.
I don抰 even glance back at him, either.
揅an I help you??A woman wearing a pale-blue polo shirt with the Wired Cup logo embroidered on her chest pocket sits on a small bench.
Oh, great.
My eyes flick to the tiny coffee pot bolted to the plane. 揌i, I just wanted to make some coffee.?
She stands up with a plastered-on smile. 揋reat timing! I was just about to brew a fresh pot. Allow me.?
揢mm梐ny chance I can try??I force an awkward smile. 揝ee, I抦 a bit of a coffee nerd and I抳e never made it on a plane before. So, uh, if it抯 not against FAA regulations or anything, I抎 love to try.?
Embarrassing.
Why am I a stammering mess?
She probably thinks I抦 sneaking off to snort cocaine rather than find a cup of joe.
Nope. I just have the hots for the boss from hell and I can抰 think when I抦 stuffed into a seat next to him.
She nods pleasantly, eyeing me carefully. 揅ertainly. We抮e stocked with standard Wake Up Call blend and decaf. I抣l show you how to make it.?
She gives me a quick rundown on how the machine works. It抯 nothing I haven抰 seen before, minus a few extra safety mechanisms.
揕et抯 do the standard blend,?I say.
She opens a drawer, pulls out a bag of ground coffee, and hands it to me.
While I let her in the small galley, I notice Cole staring at me more than once while I linger just outside.
I fuse my eyes to the percolating pot and her hands, avoiding his magnetic gaze.
But when I look up again, Kate Storm is right behind us, looking like death.
Oops. There抯 actually a line of three or four people, all waiting impatiently for their coffee. I抦 holding up the show.
I抦 sure that also explains why the grump keeps giving me that evil eye. He probably just wants his caffeine hit, too.
Oh, but he抣l get his last.
Once the pot is brewed, I pull out the big sealed carafe and tell the attendant I抣l be back to brew more.
揑 could take these for you, or I could start the next pot,?she offers.
揟hanks, but it抯 a six-hour flight. I like staying busy.?
揂h-ha, my favorite kind of passenger.?She smiles.
I take my three disposable cups and hand one to Kate before I pour fresh, fragrant coffee.
揟hanks,?she says.
I point to the guy in the cabin next to her seat. 揑s he asleep??
?huh? Is that coffee??he pops up, muttering drowsily.
揌ere抯 a cup for him, too,?I say, passing the extra to the attendant.
I grab the carafe and make the rounds, saving the attendant some extra work.
揌i, Eliza,?Destiny says, rubbing her eyes when I pass her seat.