Page 93 of Never Have I Ever

“Solid points.” He leans over conspiratorially and uses the back of his hand to block any lipreaders in the vicinity, making me giggle. “You up for the challenge, Stanfield?”

32

Poppy

“That’s why we should only fly private, baby.”

I’m still not okay after I came. It’s not because of the amazing orgasm he gave me under the blanket but because the lady in front of us caught us right as I was coming. Oh, the mortification.

I sat in dread for the rest of the flight, sometimes even hiding under the blanket, and I was relieved she wasn’t on the last leg of our trip after we changed planes. Thank God.

“We’ll have to because I will never fly that airline again. I’m sure they already have our photos circulating on the do-not-fly list.” I still giggle.

Although it feels like we got away with something, I’ve crossed lines with him that I wouldn’t have with anyone else. He brings out a wilder side of me. I take the bait he throws out as dares not to prove him wrong or score points to laud over his head. I do it because he reminds me of how carefree I used to be. The accident changed so much, but he’s put me back in touch with a side I thought died that day despite my surviving.

The tattoo itself is a daily reminder of living on dares and whims, taking advantage of blue-sky days, and falling for blue-eyed men. My breath stills in my chest as I look at him. When he smiles and the sun catches light in his eyes, I can’t stop from staring at him as if he’s always been the one.

With my hand pressed to my chest, I slowly exhale, afraid if I look away, the feeling will disappear. And then he smiles, splintering apart that door previously unlocked and allowing his light to shine in.

“I’m thinking the roast on this flight?” he asks. “What does the chef recommend?”

“Barbecue.”

He scans the menu again with his brows pulled together. “I didn’t see that as an option.”

“No,” I reply. Resting my hand on his arm residing between us, I shake my head. “I ate barbecue in Texas.”

The lines scribbled across his forehead don’t ease. “It’s Texas. From what I remember, it’s barbecue, Tex-Mex, and Whataburger.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“So go with the beef?”

I take the menu and set it on his lap. “No . . . Well, yes, the roast will probably be a safe bet for airline food. But I’m talking about that weekend in Austin, the one lost in time that I can’t remember.”

“Oh. You ate barbecue.” A smile splits his cheeks as he cups my face. “You ate barbecue.” He kisses me and then says, “You remember.”

“Yeah.” His happiness is too contagious. “I remember eating barbecue.”

“That’s fantastic, baby. But we might want to say it a few more times to let it really sink in.”

I land my elbow against his arm, causing him to burst out laughing.

“Don’t make fun. Any progress is good.”

“It is good you remembered the food. I remember it being damn good as well.” He wraps me in a playful headlock and brings me closer to kiss my forehead. He doesn’t rush it. He lingers, and then whispers, “I can’t wait until you remember the rest of that weekend.”

Laird keeps his promises.

I love that. It’s a rare trait in the men I’ve dated.

Admittedly, seeing him take up space in my one-bedroom apartment is strange. He left his bag, along with my suitcases, by the door and made himself at home. I love that he’s so comfortable wandering around without me guiding him, and he even got himself a glass of water. It also gives me a few minutes to shower after our long day of travel.

Though it’s nice to have him here, it’s also nothing special, not like his house, which has an amazing view. I think the only perk is that there are plenty of restaurants and stores closer to where I live than out where he is in Malibu. That helped when we stopped at Tito’s Tacos to grab takeout on the way here.

“I didn’t love the job.”

He stops in front of my small bookcase and looks back at me in the kitchen. I take a big drink of water. After scarfing down two tacos, I still feel dehydrated from the plane. “The family wasn’t nice?”

---