Page 3 of Blocked Score

“You just looked the type. You know,” I wave my hand around, “golden boy football captain. From a small town in the Midwest. Engaged to your high school sweetheart. Maybe a volunteer firefighter or something like that.”

His eyes crinkle while he chuckles. “You’ve spun up quite a story for me in your head.”

Before I can respond, the cabin thrashes with turbulence again. Not as bad this time, but with the severity of the tremor that just rattled us minutes ago fresh in my head, anxiety still goes galloping through me.

This time, I don’t curl my grip into Lane’s beefy forearm. Instead, his palm blankets the back of my hand, his rougher skin warm and reassuring against my own.

“Breathe,” he tells me. His voice steadies me. I unclench my jaw and let my chest expand, pulling in a deep breath before releasing it slowly.

I do it a couple more times.

“Good,” Lane says. An intrusive scenario seeps into my mind: Lane giving me a very different set of instructions, and praising me when I follow them to a tee. I manage to chase it away.

“You know,” Lane says with confident reassurance once the flight becomes smoother. “Turbulence might suck, but it’s actually never caused a plane to crash.”

“Really?” I ask, allowing a flame of relief to flicker in my chest.

Lane shrugs. “I dunno. I made it up. I think it’s true, though.”

An incredulous laugh pops out of my mouth. I roll my eyes, but Lane’s jesting attitude actually succeeds in unwinding some of my anxiety.

“Let’s find something to talk about,” I propose. “To keep our minds off this near-death experience.”

I’m exaggerating, but this stop-start turbulence is wreaking havoc on my nervous system.

“Yeah, good idea,” he replies.

What follows for the next couple beats is a distinct lack of talking.

“Well?” I prompt him.

“What? I have to come up with the topic?”

“Yes.”

“Geez, that doesn’t seem fair.” He scratches thoughtfully underneath the sharp edge of his jaw. “I’m not really that good at coming up with random small talk.”

“Most guys develop that skill when they learn to chat up girls,” I snark, recalling seeing this skill acquisition play out numerous times at all the bar and restaurant jobs I’ve worked. Mostly under the table since I’m not twenty-one yet. “But I guess all you have to do is walk into a room and they fall to your feet.”

His emerald green eyes glimmer as a smirk tilts on his plush mouth. “You said it, not me.”

“Your eyes said it,” I shoot back.

He chuckles. “Eyes can’t talk.”

I shake my head. “Oh, you’re wrong about that. Eyes can say so much more than words.”

There’s another couple beats of silence, Lane looking at me. There’s interest dancing in his gaze, but also a sort of questioning expression. Like he’s not sure how to figure me out.

“Well, pick something for us to talk about already!” I bark. “Like something … I don’t know, deep. Philosophical. Something that’ll really get our minds off where we are right now.”

Lane purses his lips, and I can’t help but let my gaze latch onto them. They look like the perfect combination of soft but firm, like the one perfect pillow you happen to sleep on in a random hotel room that you never stop thinking about.

“Hmm,” he muses. “Uh, do you believe in an afterlife?”

My brow leaps for my hairline in outrage. I hit his shoulder with the palm of my hand. “Lane! You’re asking me to contemplate my mortality at a time like this?”

His boyish smile makes my heart do a little twirl, even though boyish smiles are never something I’ve traditionally been into.

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