Page 53 of Making It Burn
I stared out the window, my jaw tight.
“That was friendly,” Beau said carefully.
“Very.”I didn’t look at him.
“Mason—”
“What?”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.Why wouldn’t I be fine?”
“Because you look like you want to punch someone.”
I forced myself to take a breath.To unclench my jaw.“I’m just focused on the meetings.Making sure we’re prepared.”
“Right.The meetings.”Beau shifted in his seat, and his knee brushed against mine again.He jerked it away.“Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize every time we touch, Beau.We’re both tall.The seats are small.It’s unavoidable.”
“Fine.”He angled his body slightly toward me, and suddenly his thigh pressed against mine, solid and warm even through our jeans.“Better?”
It was not better.It was infinitely worse.Because now I was acutely aware of every point where our bodies touched—knee, thigh, shoulder — and all I could think about was Saturday night, when touching him had been intentional, when I’d pulled him closer instead of maintaining a fucking professional distance.
“It’s fine,” I managed.
The plane pushed back from the gate, and the flight attendants began their safety demonstration.Derek was in our section, and I watched with growing irritation as his eyes kept drifting back to Beau.
“He’s really going for it,” I muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Beau turned to look at me, and we were suddenly very close.Close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his eyes, could smell his cologne—something woodsy and warm that made me want to lick him.
“Mason, are you jealous?”
“No.”
“Because it kind of seems like you’re jealous.”
“I’m not jealous.I just think it’s unprofessional for a flight attendant to flirt so obviously with passengers.”
“Uh-huh.”Beau’s lips twitched.“And the fact that he’s flirting with me specifically has nothing to do with it?”
“Why would that matter?We’re colleagues.You can flirt with whomever you want.”
“Colleagues,” Beau repeated, and something in his expression shuttered.“Right.Because you made it very clear, that’s all we are.”
The plane started its taxi to the runway, the engine noise providing cover for the tension crackling between us.
“Beau—”
“It’s fine, Mason.You were right.We work together.Getting involved complicates things.I get it.”He pulled out his phone, effectively ending the conversation.“I’m just going to review these documents.”
I stared at his profile—the firm line of his jaw, the way his hair fell across his forehead, the concentration in his eyes as he scrolled through whatever was on his screen.
