Page 9 of Clean Point

‘No.’

His sharp retort hung in the air for a moment, causing me to pause and process it. His hand rested on the headrest in front, fingers tapping impatiently. Somehow, I managed a polite smile at the growing queue behind him, answering Nico through gritted teeth.

‘I’m sure we could swap.’

My stomach already began to twist, mouthwatering at the memory of jittery take-offs, violent spells of turbulence, and that one time I’d watched Cast Away.

He shook his head, his stoney unrelenting reaction not giving me any further reason to admit weakness to him. ‘If the plane crashes, we need to be in our assigned place.’

I stared up at him with a blank expression of disbelief, my lips parting in shock. What kind of sick mind brings up a plane crash while boarding? I was already beginning to wish I’d accepted that Valium from Mum. Sighing, I decided to relent, knowing when to pick my battles, and sparing myself from delving deeper into the twisted mind of Nico Kotas. Besides, from his insistence, it didn’t seem like he’d be understanding of a fear of flying. He’d probably call it exposure therapy as he relaxed into his comfortable window seat.

We’d soon all pay the price if I spent the flight throwing my guts up into a paper bag.

‘What a cheery thought,’ I grumbled, pushing myself to stand. I shuffled out of the row, and into the aisle. Nico moved, removing his backpack and began to place it in the overhead locker. I had to lean backward to avoid contact with his large body, the space between us disappearing into millimetres as his thick arms stretched upward. I twisted my neck, averting my eyes from the distracting curve of bicep.

As he stepped in front of me, the air filled with an overwhelming scent of clean soap and sharp mint. It felt like forever, but he finally passed, and I slid down next to him.

Being forced to sit next to him in economy was entirely on Jon. ‘Team building’, he’d call it.

Pulling the eye mask back down, I tried to settle again, attempting to find some semblance of comfort in the less desirable aisle seat, his knee already bumping against mine as we both tried to stretch our long legs out. Leaning back, I attempted to rest my arms on the shared armrest, only to have my arm abruptly pushed off the side. I pulled away the mask and turned to find Nico settled in his seat, his tree trunk arm occupying the entire middle armrest. My eyes lingered on the intricate black design of the tattoo wrapped around his arm, following the straight geometric ink that started under the cap of his sleeve.

‘Excuse me,’ my voice sliced through the air, my narrowed eyes fixed on him.

He begrudgingly looked my way. ‘What?’

‘You’re taking up the entire armrest.’

He sighed exasperated, ‘So?’

‘So?’ I repeated, a little louder than I should have in such close quarters. ‘Everyone knows the aisle gets the middle armrest.’

He stared at me for a moment, confusion furrowing his brows. ‘You’ve made that up.’

My head tilted as I tried to figure out if he was deliberately being obtuse or if he was just an idiot. A smirk curled onto his lips, and I got my answer. A crackling voice filled the cabin, interrupting the growing tension between us, as the flight attendant made an announcement.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, I apologize on behalf of the airline, but we are being held up by the luggage loading. We are looking at a forty-five minute delay and will update you when we have more information.’

‘This just keeps getting better,’ Nico muttered, his voice tinged with sarcasm. He relaxed back, his arm remaining on the armrest.

‘I don’t know why you’re complaining; you’ve got the window and the armrest,’ I grumbled back.

‘Yeah, but I’ve got to sit next to you.’

I stifled a laugh, deciding I’d had quite enough.

‘I’m not looking at a much better situation here, buddy.’ I lifted my arm, sharply nudging my elbow into his, forcibly removing it from the coveted armrest and claiming it as my own.

‘I am not your buddy,’ he snapped back, shoving his arm, trying to push mine off.

I spoke back through gritted teeth. ‘Old man then.’

We struggled, our arms battling against each other like children. Neither of us willing to back down. All the while, our bodies inadvertently pressed closer together with each passing moment. I couldn’t help but notice the stiffness of his muscles as he fought my grip, his strong forearm flexed with determination. I felt the heat emanating from his body, the subtle smell of his clean scent mingling with the cabin air.

Was this really the person Jon wanted me to train with? Mixed partners have an unspoken understanding, an ability to anticipate the other’s movement, and either compensate or get the hell out of the way, perfectly in sync. So far, all we were in sync over was the need for a window and the occupation of the middle armrest. The flight attendant’s cheery voice broke through the tension, announcing the issue with take-off had been resolved early.

‘Fine. Take the damn armrest,’ he finally relented.

It was impossible not to feel smug as my arm reclaimed the space. It was hardly the comfort of the window seat, but a win was a win.

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