Page 93 of Corrupting Ivy

Licking my lips, I handed the glass back to Randall. A small smile cracked the side of his lips as he placed the cup in the metal holder along the wall.

“Thank you.”

“You downed a vintage Macallan like it was cheap soda, but that’s alright.”

I nearly choked on the liquor taste leftover in my mouth. I didn’t know how expensive a vintage Macallan was, but just the fact that the word ‘vintage’ graced the title told me it was.

The pilot made an announcement for the stewardess to take her seat. Then, moments later, the engines screamed as we accelerated down the runway.

Randall buckled his seatbelt just as the plane took into the air, pressing me into my seat like a million little hands applying pressure to my body. I yawned, relieving the pressure in my ears, and Randall followed suit, opening his mouth wide as he covered it with his fist.

I smiled as I watched him.

The airplane shook and rattled, then eventually smoothed out with a steady roar. The pilot made the seatbelt announcement that we could take them off. Randall flipped his belt away, then turned to me and reached for mine.

I gripped his wrist and shook my head. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“It’s a four-hour flight. You need to rest. Lay down.” He flipped the latch on my belt, then slapped the middle of the pillow, causing a dent to form, then reached for the blanket that was in my lap. “I need my hand.”

I looked down to my hand wrapped around him, then released him like his skin was molten lava. “Sorry.” I shook my head.

“Lay down.”

“I couldn’t sleep even if I wanted to, Randall.”

How could I sleep? How did anyone sleep on these things?

“Reykachilled, please,” he said, looking towards the front of the plane. The flight attendant appeared down the small aisle, carrying another glass. He took it before she retreated to her station at the front of the plane.

“Drink this.”

“What is it?”

“Vodka.”

I scrunched my nose as he handed it to me. “Oh God, no. That’s gross. Who drinks Vodka straight? It’s like acetone for your stomach lining.” I turned my head away as he chuckled.

“Prudy.”

“I’m not a prude,” I said, then recoiled as I saw him speaking to the woman. I covered my face with embarrassment.

“Will you bring me some cranberry juice?”

She nodded, retrieved a small bottle of juice, then poured a splash in the glass.

“That’s still disgusting.”

“Take a sip.”

I grabbed the glass, my fingers brushing his, jumpstarting my heart with a thrill. “Just a bit.” I brought the glass to my lips and swallowed it. The silky liquid passed over my tongue and down my throat with a smooth finish. The burn I’d associated with this horrid drink never came. It didn’t even take my breath away. I pulled my brows together as I looked at the glass and sniffed it. “I thought you said this was vodka?”

“It is.”

“Where’s the burn?”

“Reykadoesn’t burn.”

I choked on my second sip. “That sounds expensive. Would you stop putting expensive liquor in my glass? I’m going to get used to it, and my poor wallet can’t handle that.”

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