Page 8 of Perfect Score

Damn it.

I stare at the empty middle seat—my seat—wedged between Brent and another equally broad-shouldered man. Great. I’ll be squished between two giants for the next two hours. My breath catches in my throat as I imagine being trapped, with Brent’s solid body pressing into mine every time the plane hits turbulence.

My heart thumps against my chest, panic sets in, and a bead of sweat races down my back.

I dressed too warm for a panic attack.

He stands up and steps out of the row and into the aisle to let me slide into my seat beside his. The way his body rises next to mine sends another wave of shock through me. He’s even bigger than I remember—towering over me with that calm, unbothered look on his face.

For a moment, I feel small—tiny and insignificant in comparison.

“After you,” he says, his hand gesturing for me to enter.

There’s no trace of discomfort on his face, no sign that sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with me might be miserable for him.

Meanwhile, the completely opposite of Brent's cool and calm exterior—my heart is pounding so loudly I wonder if he can hear it.

I don’t move.

I can’t.

My mind is still trying to process the fact that I’ll be stuck next to the man who broke my heart, when he stood me up at our senior prom.

I force my feet to keep moving, my body brushing past him in the narrow space. The seats feel even closer together than the last time I flew. There’s no escaping this nightmare. Even the scent of his cologne–something warm and woodsy–crowds the little amount of space I have. A smell that brings back old memories of him sitting behind me in Homeroom, and passing me snacks in Spanish.

I settle into my middle seat and do everything I can to avoid touching him as he returns to his seat next to me, but it’s impossible. My shoulder bumps his arm as I try to get myself organized in my seat, and I immediately jerk away, clutching my camera bag to my chest like a shield.

And then suddenly, all at once, the frustration of finding myself sitting next to my sworn enemy replaces my shock. After all, this is cruel and unusual punishment.

And for what?

What horrible and unspeakable thing could I have possibly done to have earned me this sentencing in karma court?

I’m a good person–I swear.

So, why him? Why now? Of all the people in the world I could be sitting next to, why does the universe have to sit me next to Brent Tomlin?

My hands tighten around my camera bag. I may not be able to escape this flight, but I sure as hell don’t have to like it.

Chapter Three

Zoey

“Do you want me to put that in the overhead compartment for you?” Brent asks, pointing to the bag in my arms as we sit side by side.

“No. Don’t touch it,” I bark, louder than I mean to, while clutching my bag closer.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the passengers in the row across from us gawking over at me. Probably irritated that I’m causing more disruption to their flight.

I lower my head and hunch my shoulders in an effort to make myself smaller.

Brent raises his hands in surrender, his eyebrows drawing together in frustration. “Jesus, sorry,” he mutters. “I was just trying to help. Forget I asked.”

I shouldn’t feel the need to explain myself, but after snapping at him, guilt settles in. “It’s just… expensive photography gear,” I say, offering an excuse anyway. “I want to keep it close.”

It’s also one of the most significant things that Liam ever gave me, and I want to safeguard it. Well, that and the engagement ring he bought me and then asked to have back when he broke it off.

I bend forward to push the bag under the seat in front of me. I’d rather keep it on my lap, but I know the flight attendant won’t allow it, and I’ve already pushed everyone’s patience at this point. I don’t want to cause another scene.

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