Page 83 of Sinful Like Us
“You’ll thank me later,” I say.
“Keep telling yourself that.” He uses his cuffed hand to scratch his jaw, taking my hand with him. I don’t try to resist.
“I’ll uncuff us once the plane starts.” That was always the plan at least.
He looks straight ahead, not at me, while he speaks. “You mean, you’re not afraid I’ll find a parachute and jump out mid-air?”
“Well, now that you mention it,” I banter, trying to lighten the mood.
Beckett doesn’t acknowledge me or my poor attempt at a joke. I suppose a smile from him would be too much to ask.
My attention detours as a towering man strides down the narrow aisle. I skim him far too eagerly. Dog tags lie against his form-fitting white button-down, his brown hair tucked behind both ears, and a closer shave makes him appear a year or two younger.
He still has the commanding gait of a leader.
Still possesses grave sternness in his locked shoulders and tightened eyes.
Still resembles a brooding, handsome Thatcher Moretti. To me at least.
My smile rises, a rush ofhopecascading over me. Helping subdue the pit in my stomach. Despite all my hang-ups and personal fears, I’m so very glad he’s here. I want him beside me.
More than anyone.
His stoic eyes stay on mine, which most likely display tangled affections and curiosities. Thatcher does a much better job of acting like I’m his brother’s girlfriend. Nothing more, nothing less.
“Banks,” I greet from my chair.
Beckett slips me a weird look. Most likely for pretending my boyfriend is his twin brother when Tony isn’t even around to fool at the moment.
But I’m practicing.
Practice is important, and Thatcher nearly smiles. I’d say we both enjoy being in cahoots again. It isn’t so bad this time because all the people we love are in on the secret.
“Jane,” Thatcher says strongly. He reaches the rear and holds out a water bottle to me, then another to Beckett.
“Merci.” I take the bottle gratefully and twist open the lid—Beckett shoots to a stance, forcing my hand with him.
Merde—the bottle tips backwards, spilling onto my breasts and soaking my zebra blouse. Thatcher has quick reflexes and rights the bottle before I’m completely doused, and I stand up and glance at Beckett.
A fraction of remorse flits in his eyes.
“That was quiteunnecessary,” I tell him.
He frowns. “You’re the one who wants to be cuffed to me.”
“I don’t want to—”
“I have to take a piss.” Beckett interrupts me. His voice has changed, almost panicked. “Can you please…?” He extends his wrist.
Thatcher and I exchange a look, one full of apprehension. Something isn’t right. My brother hasn’t been this hostile since I spoke to him back in the apartment.
And then I notice the change: the door to the airplane. The flight crew has finally boarded, which means we only have about ten minutes before takeoff.
If Beckett were to make a move to leave, it’s now or never. Thatcher must see this too because he narrows a look on me and shakes his head. Silently telling medon’t do it.
I touch my brother’s arm. “We can go together.”
“No we can’t,” Beckett snaps. “I’m not peeing in front of my sister. Just uncuff me. I’ll be in and out in two minutes.” He looks to Thatcher. “Guard the door if that’ll make you both feel better.”
