Page 17 of Changed Plan

Stop it. Think of something else. A toothache. The smell of shrimp shells forgotten in the trash for three days. Flies on roadkill.

My brain refuses to call up the sensory details to match anything I think of to take my mind off her. I’m too fucking wound up with worry and stress to whack off, but too fucking consumed with wanting her to keep my dick from getting hard. Inconvenient bastard.

I try, anyway, but it’s no use, just like I knew it wouldn’t be. The bad thoughts don’t work to kill my erection. My hand doesn’t work to alleviate it. Nothing works!

Fuuuuuuuuuuck!

Thrashing around in the bed like a toddler having a meltdown doesn’t work either.

Why’d I ever have to notice her in the first place? It’s not like this is even a good time to bring someone new into my life. It’s the worst possible time. And she’s not looking to spend any time with me after this storm passes, anyway.

But if she’d just spend tonight with me, then we’d know for sure. We could both fly away with no lingering wonder. No what ifs. No regrets.

Well, she might have some regrets, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t.

I get out of bed and pace around for a while until I get cold and stop to put on a pair of sweatpants before I collapse into the chair in the corner. There’s a blanket neatly folded and draped over the arm, and I pull it across my body. It’s soft, too.

Goddammit!Is everything in this room designed to torture me? Back to pacing.

Darby might appreciate a soft blanket. It’s ridiculous that I have more than I need in here. There’s another one that I’ll never use folded across the end of the bed. It would be cruel not to take her one of my extras. Surely, delivering a blanket to someone isn’t too overbearing.

I’m doing it. She’ll thank me. If not tonight, I bet she’ll feel the gratitude by tomorrow morning after she’s been able to get a few hours of sleep, thanks to the warm, soft blanket I shared.

I step back into my shoes that she loves to ridicule, refold the blanket, grab my phone, and head out.

The only place still serving customers is the open-air bar at the end of the terminal, and that’s where I finally find Darby, sitting on a barstool with her computer open in front of her. I watch as the bartender freshens up her coffee.

It’s entirely too late to be drinking coffee, but I keep that opinion to myself when I drape the soft blanket over her shoulders. I’ve come up behind her and unintentionally startled her, but she smiles when she turns and sees it’s me.

“You didn’t have to bring me a blanket.”

“Trust me, I did.”

“Are you aware that you’re shirtless in the middle of an airport?”

I look down as if I have no idea what she’s talking about. “Didn’t even realize it.”

“Are you aware that the right corner of your mouth twitches when you lie?”

“No, it only does that when I’m trying not to laugh.”

“So, you laugh when you get caught lying.”

“Only sometimes.”

“Thanks for the blanket, Zane.”

“Can I also give you my phone number?”

She takes a deep breath, and I know she’s about to resist, so I cut her off before she can speak.

“It would make me feel better if you had my number. You don’t have to give me yours. Just take mine, please, so I can sleep.”

“Okay.” She unlocks her phone and passes it to me.

I add myself to her contacts and steal a glance at her computer screen as I return her phone. She’s job hunting. At nearly one in the morning.

When she takes her phone back, her gaze drifts down my bare chest for a moment before she pulls it up.

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