Page 2 of Obey

Unease shifts the contents of my stomach. Deep down, it’s not really a surprise.

Harold Winslow the Third.

Right? Even his name makes him sound like a complete butt face. He’s every bit as pretentious as he sounds, too.

The signs were all there. I glossed them over to appease my parents. I caused them great shame by sleeping with Harry. I confided in my older brother, Isaac, who squealed to our parents, and as my penance tothem,never mind God, I followed their rules to the letter, as my way of saying sorry.

I hate being unkind about the boy I gave my heart to, but all things considered, he’s lucky. It’s been a couple weeks since I learned of his betrayal, but I haven’t managed to calm down enough to talk to him, or my parents about any of it. In fact, the bubbling under my skin has intensified with time, not abated.

Oof. I need liquor. And I don’t even drink all that much.

“This is your seat right here, sir. And again, thank you for swapping with that family so they could all sit together.” The flight attendant touches her chest, with dreamy love hearts popping out of the side of her head, as Mr. Tall, Dark, and gruffly Handsome tosses a bag into the compartment above my head and drops onto the seat next to me.

Huh. There may be hope for my airplane romance after all.

I flash him a warm smile, but he doesn’t even look my direction. Instead, his brow creases as he stares at his phone. I swallow down the sarcastic comment brewing in the back of my throat. As a southern woman, I’ve mastered the art of internally saying “bless your heart,” with a wide smile pasted on my face. If my beautiful travel companion, who smells of the forest with an undertone of something I can’t place, doesn’t want to chit chat on the flight, then I’ll leave him be.

But he’s missing out. I’m a delightful conversationalist. In fact, I’m going to prove it to him.

“Hi.” My warm smile returns, but he continues to ignore me.

Something about him holds my attention, he’s wearing a simple button-down shirt with the top buttons popped open, and a pair of jeans.

“Business or pleasure?”

More silence. He has no jewelry on his hands, but the longer I stare at his golden-brown hands, the more I realize he has dirt in the grooves of his knuckles and under his nails which makes me cringe.

Is he a farmer? Does he like playing in dirt?

On closer inspection, he has smears of black across the thighs of his jeans as well.

Why would he travel covered in grime? Didn’t he have time for a shower before he got on the plane?

Shifting as far away from him in my seat as I can, I turn my attention out the window while my row buddy pulls out a book.

“Wow.” Holy moly! It’s really coming down out there.

As much as I enjoy the fresh smells of spring, the warmth of summer, and the crunch of leaves underfoot in Minnesota, I love the winters. Oversized sweaters, hot cocoa, open fires, and snow so deep you can make snow angels in. A dreamy sigh escapes me. “I could really go for some hot chocolate about now.”

My seatmate doesn’t respond, but he’s probably not even a hot chocolate kinda guy. Which is saying something because, isn’t everyone?

Winter is my idea of heaven. I tried to convince Harry to move up here, to Minnesota, permanently when we were both done with college, but it fell on deaf ears.

We don’t have snow like this in Louisville, and I’m going to miss it when I move back home in a few months. My chest constricts again. Despite it being home, Kentucky isn’t where I yearn to be, and it isn’t where I want to return to. I’m not sure why. There’s something about experiencing each season in all its intended glory that sets my soul on fire here in Minnesota.

The Captain comes over the intercom to announce a delay that’s met by groans and a fairly loud F-bomb from further back in the plane.

I most definitely need a drink. Considering the fact I stepped out of the hairdressers this morning and fell on my face on the sidewalk, then got stuck in traffic due to an accident and had to run through the airport in a wholly undignified manner, I feel like I’ve earned myself a special treat. Maybe it’ll distract me from my skinned and still pulsing palms.

When the flight attendants start their first pass with the drinks cart, I know we’re going to be here a while. Either the pilot undersold the level of delay, or it’s grown since his last announcement. Considering how much snow is already on the ground outside, I’d be surprised if we get to take off at all. But the professionals think they can do it, right? Or they wouldn’t have let us board the plane.

I don’t have payment options on my phone, so I need to stand up to get my bag down. “Excuse me, sir...” Letting my sentence trail off, I point to the aisle on the other side of his spread-wide knees. When his molten eyes meet mine, my lungs stop working. There’s something so intense in them that holds me captive.

He cants his head as though he’s waiting for me to say something. I mean, I stood up, I said excuse me, I pointed, can’t he figure the rest out?

“I need to grab my bag.” I point again to the overhead bin, like he might not know where I’m getting it from. The door to the plane is closed, so I’m hardly going to get it from the luggage hold.

“Okay.” But he doesn’t move. His face is unreadable. He has a strong nose and jaw, dark facial hair that’s turning into a full-on beard, and if I’m not mistaken, tattoos peek out from under his shirt.

---