Page 128 of Crazy for this Girl

I side-eye glare at him for now rummaging through my shit. “Um, breach of privacy here.”

“If any of your side pieces text you, I’ll be sure to give the phone back.” I scoff with a roll of my eyes because he knows damn well that’s not what I meant. My music selection is more important to me than a one-night stand, and I don’t need him rearranging, deleting, or judging my crap.

“Here”—his own cell phone shows in front of me—“check mine. I’m sure you’ll need to be re-educated yourself on good music.”

“Bet,” I challenge back confidently with a scoff. “And don’t hold my nostalgic playlist against me. Everything else is fair game.”

“And if I say it’s all crap?” He quirks a brow. “Then what?”

“Then you’ll be skirting your ass across the runway like your groupie stewardess. Stand up”—I motion with a finger—“I haven’t gotten a good look at your ass.” Cal’s lips hoist at the corners as he pushes himself up to do exactly what I said, when my arm shoots out to keep him seated. “Smart aleck.”

“Nah, I don’t want you lacking in anything.” He goes to rise again and slowly turns himself around in a full circle to give me the perfect view of how his suit molds his body like a glove. “Well?”

“Well, what?” I can feel my cheeks pinken, and it’s annoying. I’m not built for a man like Cal Harper. He’s too much.

Both figuratively and literally.

“I didn’t know if you were checking out my ass to see if it was worth saving,” Cal emits, taking his seat back next to mine. “Or if you were gonna make good on your threat.”

“Let’s just get back to work-related things,” I mutter back.

“How about a night when we don’t talk about anything work-related. Just us related.”

My nose twists. “That sounds like illegal torture.”

“You always were overdramatic, Laynee.” His lips ghost another smile as his chin dips into his chest to look over my music. “It won’t kill you.”

“No, it simply sounds exhausting, Mr. Harper.”

“Not really,” he replies, stealing a glance at me. “I liked the company. She was perfect.”

I open my mouth to tell him that he shouldn’t have ever let her go but A Favor House of Atlantic by Coheed and Cambria blares into my eardrums, and Cal smirks, my Bluetooth headphones still connected to my phone in his hands.

He mouths, I can’t hear you, even though I’m the one that can’t freaking hear him when he points to one of his ears.

My arm horizontally hits him in the chest as he laughs, which I wish I could hear, but, of course, music is always wedged and cemented between us when it comes to him.

Cal lodges a wireless headpiece in his ear, then the other, his cell currently in my hands picking up on the Bluetooth to connect so I accept it while pulling up his favorite band in the search bar.

Cranking his volume full blast, The Anthem by Good Charlotte begins to play, and I’m immediately met with the full-blown power of Cal’s glare. Then he’s reaching over our shared armrest to try and get his phone out of my grasp.

I start bobbing my head around, holding his cell over the aisle so he’s forced to listen to the band that used to drive him insane, and apparently still does—oops.

Since he can’t reach, he tries to convince me that his scowl is going to somehow get me to stop.

Since he remembers me so much, he should know that’s not going to happen.

He’s showed up back in my life and won’t let me out of the contract I signed with Elliott, so this is what he’s in for. I think I’ll place a hidden Bluetooth speaker in his office and play Good Charlotte randomly to piss him off from now on.

Fucking genius.

Finally, his spine hits the back of his chair, and he holds out both hands in silent surrender. So I give him mercy and pause the song.

“Truce?” I hear him say as I pull one of my headphones out.

An evil little smile graces my lips. “For now.”

We disconnect our Bluetooths and sync them to each other’s phones, getting lost in the other’s music from over the years as the plane takes off.

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