Page 40 of Hot Rucking Canadian

“This is a bad idea.” Travis gripped his armrests. “A really bad idea.”

“Are you sure you don’t want the window seat?” I sipped my water as if this was an everyday occurrence. Because, for me, it was.

“No, I don’t want the window seat. First, you’ll be uncomfortable and worried about cramming the poor lady on the aisle.”

The lady who had put in her earbuds and was clearly ignoring both of us.

“Secondly, when we crash, I don’t want a front-row seat.”

“We’re not in the front row.” I took another sip. “I care for you deeply, but even I couldn’t spring for two business-class tickets.”

“You shouldn’t have sprung for these.” He glanced around.

Somehow, the moment he agreed to my harebrained scheme, the tickets had magically appeared. Like they’d been sitting in the cart for the airline, waiting for me to hitbuy. He’d had to get an expedited passport and voilà. Here we were.

“I wasn’t going to let you back out. The tickets are nonrefundable.” I sniffed. “You wouldn’t want to waste the money.”

“I still think Mama could’ve asked for the time off work. Doesn’t she have seniority or something?”

“Her friend Myles is a new father. She wanted him to have time with the baby and his wife. You can’t fault Mama for having a soft spot for babies. And she’s also taking care of Mamba.” I’d repeated these points several times, but Travis never quite looked convinced. And somehow I’d talked him into requesting two weeks off work.

Apparently, his supervisor had been so surprised, she’d just stamped the request and shooed him out of her office. In twenty years, he’d always taken a payout in lieu of vacation.

Once I’d seen the amount he’d given me for the down-payment, I could see how missing all those vacations had paid off. He was just a spendthrift and hadn’t wanted me to know about his nest egg when we’d first started dating. I respected that.

“We’re going to crash.”

“We are not going to crash. Thousands of planes take off and land safely without crashing.”

“But planesdocrash.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Construction workers get injured more often. You don’t see me asking you to quit your job.” I wanted to. But I never would. He lived his life. I lived mine.

Just like when he’d watched me have my face slammed into the ground during the last game. He’d wanted to beg me to find something…less physically violent.

He hadn’t, though. At least he hadn’t come right out and done it.

So I’d held my tongue about the skyscraper.

The flight attendant began his explanation of the rules.

Badarse gripped the pamphlet and followed along carefully. He’d reluctantly admitted having taken some extra English classes after finishing his high school equivalency because he hadn’t wanted to appear illiterate. Those classes had helped when he’d taken the construction-management courses at the British Columbia Institute of Technology.

All of which he’d said with trepidation. As if I’d judge him. Either as being too smart for his job or stupid—his word—for needing the extra schooling.

Right, like I, of all people, would judge someone strong enough to ask for help when they needed it.

I was so fucking proud of him.

And had heard the airline attendant’s spiel at least once a month for years now. Dutifully, though, I paid attention.

In case Travis had any questions.

He said he preferredBadarsemost of the time.

A way to keep that barrier between the two of us. And between him and the rest of the world.

When we were with Mama or his friend Dodge, though, he was just Travis. When we were alone, he wasmy Travis.

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