Page 67 of Beautiful Collide

No.

I don’t.

I should move my arm, right? From the corner of my eye, I peek over at him. While I might be freaking out, he seems calm and collected.

Serene.

Bastard.

How am I so affected by him, yet he isn’t bothered?

As if he can hear my thoughts, he opens his eyes and catches me staring. Of course, he does.

Again, cosmic joke. I’m the hex, after all.

“You good?” he asks.

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, you’re staring.”

I shake my head. “No, I’m not. I’m reading.” I lift my Kindle in the air as if to say “see.”

His eyes narrow as he looks from my Kindle to my eyes.

“And what are you reading?”

I blink, snapping my gaze back to my book. Shit.What am I reading again?My brain goes blank. Probably because of him. No, it can’t be that. It’s probably because it’s been weeks since I opened this thing. I’ve been so busy that I haven’t had time. Yeah, that’s the reason. Not his proximity. “Oh. Um, it’s a mystery novel.”

Hudson raises an eyebrow. “Really? For some reason, I don’t believe you.”

“What does that mean?”

“I see you with something lighter. You seem like a hopeless romantic.”

My mouth drops open, and he laughs. “Really?”

“Nah, Hex. You probably don’t have a romantic bone in your body.” His words hurt. They shouldn’t. I know they shouldn’t, but they do. I don’t let on, though.

Instead, I try to think about a witty rebuttal when an announcement begins to crackle overhead.

Something about turbulence.

I instinctively tighten my grip on the armrest. Flying is on my list of things I don’t love. Which, I guess, in the grand scheme of things that I’m scared of, would be considered a good thing, but still, when I’m up in the air and the plane starts to bump, I forget this isn’t one of my fears.

Just as I’m about to put my Kindle away, the plane gives a harsh jolt, and my device falls to the floor.

I’m about to reach for it when the turbulence becomes more violent, and my heart pounds furiously in my chest.

It’s fine. I’m fine. This is normal.

Turbulence is normal.

I inhale deeply. Fuck. I hate this.

Deep down, I know flying is safe. Statistically safer than driving. But when the plane bumps and shakes, all my rational thoughts leave the building, and I can’t stop the intrusive ones that wage war inside me.

What if something is wrong?

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