I brace myself for the chill before pulling the borrowed jacket away from my body and following him out of the row.
Dom moves back just enough for me to get past him. And call me a coward, but I keep my gaze averted as I slip past.
Thankfully the little restroom is empty, since I forgot to check that little light above the door to see if it was occupied. And while I do my business, I, of course, think of Dom. And I think of all the movies and books that talk about the mile-high club. And as I struggle to bend down far enough to reach my undies to pull them back up, I wonder how in the hell anyone actually has sex in one of these tiny bathrooms.
Maybe they used to be larger? Or maybe it’s just fiction at its best.
I shake off the image of trying to fit in here with another body and busy myself washing my hands, taking my time as the cold water helps cool my heated blood.
I use two paper towels to dry my hands, then unlock and open the accordion door.
And, just like that, my blood is right back to simmering, because standing in front of me is Dominic. He’s still not wearing his jacket. And now…
Heavenly Harrison.
Now he’s rolled up his sleeves, and he’s undone his top two buttons.
My tongue wets my bottom lip.
This is too much.
“You comin’ out?” he asks me with a smirk in his tone.
My eyes stay on the exposed part of his chest, on the new set of tattoos he’s made visible.
“Angel.”
I nod. “What? Yeah. Yes.”
A deep rumble leaves his chest before he reaches out and presses a finger under my chin, bringing my gaze up to meet his. “Go to your seat.”
His fingertip feels like fire against my skin. “Yes, Dom.”
I don’t know why I say it. No idea why I say it like that. But the look that crosses his face tells me he liked it. That he liked it a lot.
“Now, Shorty.”
My eyes move back to his neck and that exposed piece of chest as I step out of the bathroom. But he still doesn’t move. He doesn’t give me a single extra inch to get by. So, with my front pressed to his, I slide past him. My soft breasts press against his solid body, our height difference putting them against his stomach. A stomach that’s flexed. And hard. And… my stomach, which is just as soft as my breasts, slides against…
I pull in a breath.
He’s hard there, too. Maybe not all the way. But I can feel him. I can feel his length.
Dom’s exhale ruffles my hair, and I hurry the last shuffle step.
I don’t make eye contact with anyone as I quickly move to our row. And I don’t waste any time side-stepping into our row and dropping into my seat.
Positive he won’t take long, I straighten my skirt, buckle up, and pick up and drape his suit jacket back over myself.
My fingers curl into the material from the underside, and I bring it up to my mouth, letting the smooth texture rub against my lips.
When the bathroom door opens, I lower the jacket since I don’t want it to look like I’m kissing it. That would be crazy.
As soon as I see Dom from the corner of my eye, his belt right at eye level, I make sure to look really busy—staring at the screen that’s turned black.
When he’s seated, I think I hear him inhale, like he’s about to say something. But the seat belt warning dings a second before the overhead speakers crackle and we’re told we’re about to start our final descent.
The flight attendant walks down the aisle, collecting garbage, and Dom hands her our empty water bottles.
A weird sort of dread settles on my shoulders. Almost like grief. Which is absurd. We exchanged numbers. There’s still a possibility I’ll talk to Dominic again, maybe even see him. But knowing we’re about to land makes me worry that I might not ever hear from him again.
“So, um, how long is your layover?” I ask. And as soon as the question is out of my mouth, I snap my jaw shut.
Oh god, I hope that didn’t sound like I was inviting him over.
I mean, it’s not like I wouldn’t invite him over.
Maybe if he has a really long layover, I should invite him over…
Noticing he hasn’t answered, I peek up at him and see those amused crinkles next to his eyes.
I roll my eyes. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know. And that’s a shame.” He doesn’t say it like he’s upset with me. The way he says it brings an even deeper blush to my cheeks. “It’s not a long layover, but I’m in no rush.”
“That’s nice,” I reply quietly.
Maybe he’ll want to walk with me toward baggage claim? Maybe not, but either way, I want to find out which way he’s going so we don’t say goodbye as we exit the plane and then walk awkwardly three feet away from each other while going in the same direction.