Page 54 of Guarded Love

"Wait I thought…isn't seating assigned? In alphabetical order?" I manage to ask.

"It is." She shifts her weight as if she’s nervous. Interesting. "But Professor Wallace said there was a mix up with my seat. Something about a family needing to sit together and since I was a late addition to the trip...."

"I...see," I say, though my brain is still processing what this means. I'm going to be sitting next to Willow Sanchez for the entire flight to Puerto Rico.

I stand up and put my hand out. “I can put your bag in the overhead bin.”

She throws a look at me before she proceeds to lift her carry-on. “I can do it myself. Thanks.”

"Fine." I step back, giving her space.

She struggles for a moment, but manages to get it in the overhead bin. I resist the urge to help anyway, knowing it would only irritate her more. When she finally slides into the middle seat, her arm brushes against mine, and I have to temper the warmth that flowed through me as a result.

"Thanks again," she mutters, though it sounds like she'd rather say anything else.

“No problem,” I say quickly. I let out a long deep breath and close my eyes once more. The anxiety that was building in mybody seems to have peaked and now is on a downward decline. The only thing I can think of is that Willow’s presence is the cause.

And knowing that makes all the thoughts I’ve had about her so much worse.

Without a doubt, this is going to be a very long flight.

16

WILLOW

Sitting in the middle seat on a full flight is a unique kind of hell on Earth. but of course, since it’s me, I end up right in the center of the inferno. Out of all the seats on this plane, of course I would be sitting next to him.

I’m going to be trapped between Tyler Chesterfield and Blaise Dalton for the next four hours. Many girls at Crestwood would die if they were in this predicament, yet I’m wondering if the same fate would take me out of my misery permanently. Tyler's already got his headphones on, blissfully unaware of my internal meltdown as he stares out the window. Blaise is pretending to read something on his phone, but I can feel the tension and awkwardness of this situation radiating off him.

This wasn't supposed to happen. My seat was supposed to be 28D, but when Professor Wallace pulled me aside at the gate, I had the feeling it would be due to something not going right.

"Ms. Sanchez, there's been a slight change to the seating arrangements," she'd said, adjusting her glasses. "A family with a young child needed to sit together, and since you were one of our last additions to the trip..."

I'd nodded, already dreading whatever was coming next.

"Your new seat is 14B, between Mr. Chesterfield and Mr. Dalton."

I'd almost laughed, because of course. Of course the universe would stick me next to my brother's best friend. And now I’m trying to wrap my brain around what I could have done to deserve this.

Now I'm hyperaware of every inch where my elbows might accidentally touch either of them. I've tucked myself in as tightly as possible, arms crossed, hoodie pulled down over my head. The middle seat has approximately six inches of personal space, and I'm determined to use every millimeter of it.

Tyler shifts in his seat, pressing his shoulder against the window and giving me an extra inch or two of space. Blaise, on the other hand, is grasping the armrest between us in a death grip. His knuckles are white, and I can't tell if it's from anxiety or from trying not to touch me.

Who am I kidding? It’s the former.

When I shift my body slightly and let out a deep sigh, some of the tension shifts from my shoulders to my chest, particularly near my heart. To help combat it, I pull my phone out because I’m desperate for distraction. And with the way my luck is going, the flight attendant's voice crackles over the intercom.

"Please ensure all electronic devices are in airplane mode for takeoff."

Great. Even my digital escape route is blocked.

"You okay?" Blaise's voice is so quiet I almost think I imagined it.

"Fine," I mutter, not looking at him. "Just love being sandwiched between strangers for four hours."

"We're not exactly strangers," he points out.

"That makes it worse."

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