Page 33 of Fit for Love

“Oh,” Emma says.“Well, that sucks.”

I blow out a frustrated breath.“If I’d known sooner?—”

“I just found out,” she says.“Apparently, Ashton just told Marcus today.”

“What an asshole.”

“Actually, Marcus thinks Ashton bailed for your sake.”

“Yeah, right.”That would make him a gentleman, but I doubt he knows the definition of the word.

Unless… he wants to avoidme.Which would be extra assholey of him.

“Well, I have to run,” Emma says.“See you later.”

“Yeah.Looking forward to it.”

I hang up and take the next few breaths through my mouth—a bad idea because now instead of smelling my neighbor, I’m tasting him.

Miserable, I sit and watch the clouds cover the disappearing ground beneath us as the plane takes off.

As soon as the captain turns off the safety belt warning, the stinky guy leaps to his feet and heads to the bathroom—where he’ll hopefully wash some part of his body for the first time this year.

I get up to stretch my legs and decide to use the bathroom as well.All the ones in economy class are occupied, so I confidently walk—a.k.a.sneak—into the first-class section of the plane.

Confidence is key here, and designer clothes help as well.Nobody stops me as I walk past the first-class passengers.That is, until a deep, impossibly familiar male voice says, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

I freeze and whip my head to the left.I’m hoping I’m mistaken, but I’m not.

A pair of blue-gray eyes stares at me out of an annoyingly handsome face.

It’s Mr.Manwhore himself, sitting with an open laptop on the table in front of him.

What the fuck is he doing here?And how did I not see him first?

“You’re here?”I manage through clenched teeth.

His expression is just as displeased.“Clearly,” he says, and now that I know that it’s there, I can totally see the old money upbringing as he narrows his eyes at me.“And I could have been on Marcus’s plane, which has a pool table.”

I put my hands on my hips.“So it’s true.You tried to avoid me?”

“It’s not all about you.I didn’t go because that seemed like the easiest way to avoid you spoiling the upcoming nuptials.”

“Me?”

If I were Superman, I’d totally be shooting lasers from my eyes right now.

“Remember the cringy brunch?”he says.“And just look how you’re acting right now.”

I have to remind myself that violence is wrong.“I can obviously pretend not to hate you for a few hours.”

“Hate?”He arches an arrogant eyebrow.“What did I do to you to warrant such strong feelings?”

I roll my eyes.“That’s just a figure of speech.I don’t know—or care enough—about you to actually hate you.I just despise your type.”

He bangs his laptop shut.“What, exactly, is my type?”

“A pretty fuck boy who’s spoiled by women always falling at his feet.And who’s not used to someone seeing through his fake-charm act.”

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