Page 2 of Wild Pitch
“Um, there are so many better ways that don’t involve absolutely destroying the integrity of the book. Have you ever heard of a bookmark?” I asked, holding up my bookmark that proclaimedI like my books dirty and my MMCs well hung.My face grew red as I dug through the seatback pocket for a distraction.
“Or even this is better.” I held up the barf bag and shook it in his face. Hopefully, before he had a chance to read and absorbthe words on my favorite bookmark, the one Kendra had sent me after she bought it from a small Etsy seller.
He laughed again, and the rich rumble of his voice vibrated through me.
“I’ve always been a bit of a destroyer of books. When I finish reading, it’s as if I’ve gone to battle right along with the characters.”
I shook my head, unable to wipe the smile from my face. Again, just my luck that I’d meet a man so incredibly easy to talk to, and he’d be married. Of course, if he were married and an experienced cheater, I probably couldn’t trust my reaction to him.
“Where are you headed…?” He finished with a question, looking for me to provide my name.
“I’m Kylie, I’m moving back to Boston. I just graduated from my Master’s program, and I’m headed home. And you?”
“I was out west finalizing my divorce.” He shrugged.
My eyes darted to the indentation on his finger once more and then connected with his. What was the emotion I saw in his eyes? Hurt? Regret? Or maybe even a hint of relief.
“That sounds like a hell of a story,” I said.
“It certainly is, but I have a very good friend who warned me that you don’t tell a woman you’re interested in about your divorce story right out of the chute.”
Oh. Damn. I’ve never had a man be this open and honest with his interest. But then again, this guy probably had at least ten years on any of the people I’d dated.
“No, probably don’t want to share that story before you’ve even given this woman your name,” I said with a grin.
He shook his head. A wry smile showcased a dimple that somehow went perfectly with the dark stubble, contrasting the rugged look with boyish charm.
“Real smooth, huh?” He asked before holding his hand out in greeting. “Luc Lecompte. I’m sorry, I’m a little out of practice.”
I took his hand, not expecting to feel a shock when our skin connected, and pulled it back sharply. He also looked down at his hand, and no, that wasn’t static, and yes, we both felt it.
Our neighbor, likely tired of listening to us, sighed heavily, heaving herself in her seat. We both stifled a laugh and then promptly returned to ignoring her existence.
“What do you do that requires you to travel for work so often?” I asked, curious to learn more about him.
“I work for the Minutemen, and I travel with the team during the season,” he said.
“So, you’re support staff?” I asked. Growing up in Boston, we lived and breathed for the Minutemen. My father would have disowned me if I dared to cheer for another team.
“You could say that. The schedule is partially the reason for my divorce.” He looked down at his hands. “Sorry, I somehow brought it up again. I swear I’ve moved on. The papers might have only just been finalized, but it ended more than a year ago.”
I nodded and smiled at him in an attempt to reassure him. “It’s okay, I’ll still give you my number.”
And now he positively beamed as he handed me his phone. I created the contact and put an airplane emoji beside my first name.
“Can you please?” Our aisle seat neighbor asked with an eye roll. She’d had enough of our chatter.
We both picked up our books and resumed reading. At some point during the flight, I’d fallen asleep on Luc’s shoulder. I woke up when we landed to find that I’d curled into him while I slept, my arm draped across his lower abdomen, dangerously close to his fly, and yep, I’d drooled. Judging from the dazed look on his face, he’d also fallen asleep.
“I thought you said you don’t sleep on airplanes?” I asked.
“I don’t. Or I never have before,” he said, eyes wide with confusion.
When we stood to deplane, he bent to help with my backpack.
“My sister is picking me up, and she’s got an infant, so I don’t want to keep her waiting too long. As soon as we get off, I’m gonna fly to see her. But you have my number?”
“I do,” he said, gently reaching to push a few strands of hair off my face and tuck them behind my ear. And yup, my eyes dropped to his mouth. How the hell was I thinking about kissing this man, morning breath and all, in the middle of a crowded airplane?
