Page 5 of The Rookie

“What brings you to Mexico?”

“Class,” she says shortly.

“Same. Spanish immersion?”

“Yes,” she replies, her tone clipped. “For International relations it’s kind of a clincher to know Spanish.”

“You fluent yet?”

Her head snaps up, and she glares at me. “Why do you care?”

“Just making conversation.”

“Well, don’t.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “You know, we could at least try to get along. It’s two weeks.”

“I don’t need to get along with you,” she says. “I just need you to leave me alone.”

“Outlook: doubtful,” I say with a grin.

She sighs and goes back to her book, but I can see her shoulders tense. She’s bracing for whatever comes next.

“You know, this is a small plane,” I say casually.

“So?”

“So, if there’s turbulence, I might accidentally grab your hand for comfort.”

Her book slams shut, and she turns to glare at me. “Do not touch me.”

“Noted.” I grin, sitting back. “But if you need to grab mine, I won’t judge.”

She groans and shoves her earbuds in, clearly done with me. But I’m not done with her. Not by a long shot.

We’ve been in the air for about an hour when the first jolt hits.

It’s nothing major, just enough to rattle the drink cart a few rows up. I glance out the window, unbothered, but beside me, Avery stiffens like someone just whisperedbrace for impact.

I should’ve remembered this about her. Cassie mentioned it once—Avery hates flying. And due to my obsession with the woman, I remember everything about her. Something about turbulence freaking her out. But seeing her now, gripping the armrests so tight her knuckles are white, feels weird. Almost like I’m seeing a version of her I’m not supposed to.

“You good?” I ask, leaning closer.

“I’m fine,” she says, her voice clipped. But she doesn’t look fine.

The plane shudders again, this time harder, and a flicker of panic crosses her face. She squeezes her eyes shut, breathing deeply like she’s trying to calm herself.

“Hey,” I say softly, touching her arm. “Avery.”

Her eyes snap open, and for a second, she just looks at me. Probably surprised by the sincerity in my voice for once.

Another jolt hits, and she exhales sharply. “Can I—” She stops, shaking her head. “No, never mind.”

“Can you what?” I press.

Her lips tighten, and she stares straight ahead, like she’s trying to will herself somewhere else. Finally, she mutters, “Can I hold your hand?”

I blink, caught off guard. “Seriously?”

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