Page 38 of Drawn to You

“Juju juice,” I say, glad I drank it without question.

I glance over at him, wondering if I should give up on trying to figure him out. He can be a dick, but he can also be thoughtful.

“Anyway, back to my idea,” he says. “You should quit your job.”

I clear my throat and look around, still not feeling completely awake.

“Can I get some water?”

“Yeah, we’ll get you some water,” he says impatiently. “But did you hear me? You need to quit your job.”

I live paycheck to paycheck on my salary. A seven-figure earner like him just doesn’t get what it means to struggle.

“I can’t do that.”

“Yeah, you can. Just call your aunt and tell her to shove it up her ass.”

I glare at him. “That way you can get rid of me and I can live in a van down by the river?”

His jaw drops an inch. “You watchSNL?”

“Of course.”

He lowers his brows, looking skeptical. “Favorite skit ever?”

I consider, because that’s like asking a mother to choose her favorite child.

“I can narrow it down to ‘Schweddy Balls,’ ‘Dick in a Box’ and ‘Debbie Downer.’ Don’t ask me to choose between the three.”

His brows lower even farther. “What about ‘More Cowbell’? ‘Wayne’s World’?”

“‘Wayne’s World’ is in my top five. I’m not a big fan of ‘More Cowbell.’”

He arches his brows and puts his palms out in mock surrender. “Clearly you haven’t watched it enough times. I’ll have the videographer put it on a loop for you to watch on our next flight.”

“Sounds like an excellent use of her time.”

He laughs a single note and nudges my shoulder with his. “Last season, she made a looped video with a clip of Dalton tripping and falling while we were all walking through the tunnel at our arena. One of his hands landed on a dude’s crotch and they were both mortified. We watched it on the DVD players on our buses for the rest of the season.”

“Such a fine example to kids.”

He scoffs. “No one outside of the team ever knew about it, relax. It’s funny as shit. I’ll show it to you sometime.”

Our plane touches down and I grip the armrests out of habit. Dane grins at me.

“You know the seat belt will keep you in your seat, right? You don’t actually have to hold yourself in with your hands.”

“Eat shit, I’m a nervous flier.”

“Didn’t the medicine help with that?”

I turn to him, alarmed. “What did you have the doctor give me?”

“I didn’t ask him to give you anything. I’m not a fucking doctor. He just said he’d give you something to take the edge off your anxiety and settle your stomach.”

I exhale, reminding myself that we’re on the ground and I did have a much better flight than usual.

“Sorry.”

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