Page 46 of In Flight

“If you’re interested.”

“You know perfectly well I’m more than interested.”

I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I am. And it’s somehow inevitable. “You can come back to my place for the evening. If you want.”

With a throaty sound, he lifts a hand to gently smooth some of my hair back from my face. Then he caresses my cheekbone with his knuckles. “Wantdoesn’t come close to describing how I feel.”

I gulp again, but it’s a done deal now. Already decided. There’s nothing that will stop this from happening. “Then come over. To my place. For the night. Our date doesn’t have to end yet.”

Ten

AN HOUR AND A HALFlater, I’m leading Isaac in through the front door of my apartment.

Nine years ago, when I graduated and got an entry-level staff job at my art college, I splurged when I picked out this apartment.

It’s only six hundred square feet—one bedroom and one bath—in a historic house converted into four apartments. The bedroom is so small I have to push my double bed against the wall to make it fit, and the kitchen is minisized. But it’s got the original claw-foot tub in the bathroom in addition to a small walk-in shower, and there’s a nook in the living room with huge windows where I’ve put my favorite chair. The floors are beautiful hardwood, and my landlord let me paint the walls and paneling in a warm, classy brown-and-red palette.

For the first couple of years, the rent was definitely a stretch, but now—after two promotions and several raises—I can easily afford it.

And I love it. More than I’ve ever loved anywhere else I’ve lived.

I see Isaac’s eyes moving over the space after we walk in, taking in the painted canvases on the walls and the knit throws draped over the couch and chairs and the hand-latched rug I did myself after taking a class three years ago.

I have absolutely no doubt he lives in a sleek, modern place with clean lines and minimal clutter. That’s not this at all.

When I lean over to unzip my boots and leave them by the door, he does the same with his shoes. Then his expression softens into a smile as he completes his scan of the room. “I like it.”

“I’m already going to have sex with you. You don’t have to lie about it.”

This surprises him into a short burst of laughter. “I’m not lying. I really do like it.” He pauses and turns to face me, his eyes warming in a way that isn’t only amusement. “It looks like you. Why wouldn’t I like that?”

And that just about does me in. I’m melting with affection inside, but I’m also hit with an irresistible compulsion.

To touch him.

To grab him.

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