Page 20 of Done with You

The person beside him shuffled a little, said something, and then their knee started to bounce furiously.

Aiden peeled one eye open and glanced over and down just enough to see the knee.

It was slim and bony and covered in brown pants that seemed a few sizes too big.

The hand that gripped the knee had knobby fingers, nails nibbled down to the quick, and the way the person—obviously a man based on the musky scent of aftershave—was bunching his fingers and knuckles said he was nervous.

Stress sweat filled the air and Aiden peeled another eye open and turned his head a little more to take in the Panicky Pete beside him.

The guy was thin, short, probably in his mid-fifties, with a shiny bald head, thin gray hair at his temples, and round glasses. He was blinking a lot and kept swallowing. His nostrils flared and his movements were jerky.

He was making Aiden nervous.

Aiden’s knee started to bounce, too, but he put his hand down on it firmly, and it stopped.

“I don’t like flying,” the man said, catching Aiden watching him. “And in this weather.” He shook his head. “Nuh-uh.”

Aiden nodded. “It’ll be fine, man. Not a huge fan of flying myself, but you’ve gotta have faith that they wouldn’t take off if the conditions weren’t suitable.”

The guy’s head bobbed a little.

That’s when the person in the aisle seat spun around from where they’d been speaking to the flight attendant, and Aiden’s jaw dropped while his stomach nearly hit his feet.

Her brown eyes with the different shades of gold went wide, and her mouth opened. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” he spat back.

“You two know each other?” the balding man asked, his level of panic rising.

“Sort of,” Oona said with a sarcastic bite.

“A-and you get along?” the middle-seat man asked, clearly reading the tension rolling off Oona and the way she was glaring at Aiden like he was dog shit on the bottom of her shoe.

Aiden lifted a brow and snorted. “I wouldn’t say that.”

A rush of heat flooded Oona’s cheeks turning them pink. “We did. Now we don’t, apparently.”

The middle-seat guy’s eyes were as dark as an ink spill and nearly doubled in size, and his hand shot up in the air. Then he started pressing the “call” button above profusely before waving his hand to get the flight attendant’s attention.

A flight attendant came down the aisle. “Yes?”

“I-I need to switch seats. These two are enemies.”

Aiden snorted at the word enemy.

That seemed a bit extreme of a term. Like he and Oona were two knights on opposite sides of a battlefield, fighting for different monarchs, swords drawn, chain mail rattling, and horses stomping hooves as the fog settled over the moor.

“I can’t be between them,” the man continued to say. “It’s bad luck and I’m already terrified of flying. I need to either get off this plane or switch seats. I can’t. I just can’t. Please. Please.” He tried to stand up, but forgot that he was buckled in. He unbuckled his belt, then stood up, pushing past Oona and heaving on the seat in front of him.

The passenger in front of him had her hair up and resting against the back of her seat, his fingers got tangled in her ponytail, making the woman yell out, “Ouch.”

“Sir, you need to sit down. We’re about to take off,” the flight attendant—a woman in her forties with dark red hair and lipstick to match—said.

“I can’t sit between them. It’s bad luck. I can’t.” He shook his head and was now in the aisle, trying to open the overhead compartment. “I need to get off the plane. I can’t. They are baaaadddd energy. Bad. The way he’s looking at her.” He directed his focus back on Aiden. “I don’t like it.”

“How am I looking at her?” Aiden asked, lifting his arms so his palms faced up.

“Like you want to kill her,” the bald guy said.

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