Page 23 of Rebellious Hearts
So hecouldsmile at people. It wasn’t just when he had alcohol and was getting sex for the night that he was in a good mood.
That just made his grumpy attitude toward me feel personal. What did I do to him that made him resent me the way he obviously did when we had such a good time together?
Don’t think about it. It doesn’t matter. Professional—this is a job.
Ben climbed the steps and took a seat on the right of the plane. It was in the same row as mine.
The steps were pulled up, the door shut, and another air hostess appeared, greeting us both with a smile.
“If you’ll fasten your seat belts, we’re ready for takeoff,” she said.
She walked to the back, where both hostesses buckled themselves in.
A moment later, the intercom sounded.
This is your captain speaking. Welcome. I trust it’s going to be a good flight. The weather is clear, and it looks like we’ll arrive in Harborview in two and a half hours, as long as the weather stays the same. I hope you have a pleasant flight.
The intercom clicked off, and the plane started.
I’d never flown in a private plane before, and I’d thought it would be noisy, but the plane was nearly silent all around us.
I glanced at Ben, who sat in his seat like a statue, staring straight ahead with a serious expression. The plane moved faster and faster until the view outside my window blurred into colorful lines.
When the plane lifted, my stomach dropped.
I glanced at Ben again. His eyes were closed and he gripped the leather-and-wooden armrests with such strength I was sure it was going to break.
Ben was a block of a man, muscular, tall, and a person whose presence was impossible to miss. He looked like he dominated the room, but now, it looked like this invincible giant… was scared of flying.
Something about that weakness tugged at my heartstrings.
The plane evened out after we’d climbed high enough, and the fasten-seat belts sign clicked off.
Ben let out a breath it seemed he’d been holding all this time and he unclipped his seat belt and stood. He walked to the bar and poured himself a whisky.
“Do you want something?” he asked when he looked up and our eyes locked. I’d been staring again.
Damn it.
“Excuse me?” Was that some kind of challenge?
“To drink,” he added.
“Oh.” Right. It wasn’t a challenge. He’d offered me a drink, not asking a hostess to do it, but pouring the drinks himself. He was beingnice.
Sort of.
I undid my seat belt, too, and walked to him.
“Do you have vodka tonic?”
“Sure,” he said and reached for a bottle of Grey Goose vodka. It was the expensive stuff.
Then again, nothing in Ben’s life was cheap, I was starting to realize. He looked completely comfortable in the lap of luxury, whereas I stared at everything with my jaw open.
Ben poured my drink and handed it to me.
“Thanks.”
