Page 13 of Forced Proximity
His words took the wind out of my sails. “Thank you.”
“No problem, Dru.”
The honeyed words from that man’s lips…it sounded like a caress against my most intimate parts.
Geez, the man was potent.
The flight attendant got everyone’s drink orders, then got everyone’s food out to them next.
Except mine was most definitely not chicken parmesan like I’d ordered.
I stared at it in disgust, but didn’t correct the man.
Finnian, however, did.
When the flight attendant came to bring him his chicken parmesan, he picked up my tray and held it out to the flight attendant and said, “This isn’t what she ordered. You can give her mine for now.”
The flight attendant looked like he’d swallowed a lemon.
“There aren’t enough chicken…”
“You asked her first, and I can tell you now that you had enough when you asked me,” he pointed out. “I also know, because one of my good friends is a flight attendant, that staff also gets their choice last. So if you have a chicken parmesan sitting back there for the pilot or yourself, then you might want to go ahead and switch out this for one of those.”
The flight attendant took the food, set down mine with a small clatter, and left.
I opened my mouth and closed it, ready to thank the man again, but the flight attendant was back just as fast with Finnian’s food.
“Prick,” Finnian muttered as the flight attendant left. “I wouldn’t drink or eat anything else that he’s personally made for you.”
I groaned. “Got it.”
“You never asked.”
I looked over at him and said, “Asked what?”
“What my name was.”
I unrolled my cutlery and placed it gently on the tray next to my plate before saying, “I feel like if you wanted me to have it, you’d have shared. Usually that’s what happens when someone asks for someone else’s name—offers theirs up in return. Since you didn’t do that, I didn’t ask because I figured you didn’t want me to know it.”
He tilted his head. “You don’t recognize me at all, do you?”
I was already shaking my head. “Not at all. Should I?”
He cleared his throat. “I guess if you don’t follow politics, then you probably wouldn’t have a frame of reference.”
“I don’t.” I shuddered. “I try to stay out of politics. The less I hear about them, the better.”
“Amen,” he muttered.
I lifted a brow, ready to ask him more about his comment, but the flight attendant was back, bumping me in the shoulder with his ass as he passed.
I jolted, causing my plate to clatter.
“It’s Finnian, but everyone calls me Apollo,” he replied.
“Finnian.”
Four
