Page 37 of Whirlwind
“She’s my neighbor. She’s also Willa’s best friend.”
“Isla’s sister?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s weird, too. What are the odds?”
“Maybe it’s fate?”
“Since when do you believe in fate,” she asks.
“Since Kit laughed and it was like the sky cleared up for the first time.” Silence follows my statement. Lottie isn’t quiet, ever. She’s always got plenty to say and has no filter. “Say something.”
“Are you on drugs?”
“No.” I laugh. “She’s special, Lottie. Please say you’ll meet her.”
“Of course, I’ll meet her,” she says, as if exasperated. “I’m curious as hell, wondering who this woman is that has you tied up enough to speak in prose.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I say through a laugh.
“You shut the fuck up, Mr. The Skies Opened at Her Laughter.”
“Yeah, all right, smartass. I’ll see you on Tuesday.”
“See you in a few days, Shakespeare. Love you!”
“Love you, too,” I say before ending the call, grabbing my duffle, and heading onto the plane.
Lottie teasing me isn’t surprising. Our relationship has always been full of giving each other playful shit. I also know, she’ll give Kit a fair shot but won’t blow smoke up my ass if she doesn’t like something about her.
I don’t see how she couldn’t absolutely adore her, though. And vice versa.
We’ve been gone for three nights but we’re heading back for a long home stand. As excited as I am to see my family in a few days, I’m looking forward to seeing the woman across the street chase her yapping dog around the yard, too.
It’s been a hot minute since I told her I want to date her. Kit hasn’t brought it up, so neither have I. Perhaps that means her answer is no, but I’m stubborn enough to want to hear the word before I give up the idea.
Taking a window seat in the middle of the plane, over the wings, I release a long sigh.
“Why do you always sit in the same spot,” Cillian asks, taking the aisle seat in the same row. Mostly, the two of us only interact when it’s necessary. It’s just weird. I mean, I used to fuck his wife. That’s awkward as hell.
“As a kid, I read that it was the safest place to sit in a plane. Now, it’s habit.”
“Is that true?”
“Honestly? I have no fucking clue. I imagine if the plane is going down, there isn’t a safe place to be.”
“What the fuck, man,” Zander says when he takes a seat in the row in front of us. “Literally any other subject would be more appropriate right now.”
“Blame Wylder, he asked.”
“Not intentionally,” Cillian protests. “You could have lied and told me it was superstition.”
“I mean, it is that, too. Now. That’s just not how it started.”
“It started out of fear,” Cillian says.
“Don’t all superstitions?”
