Page 47 of One Last Rodeo
“Can’t reach,” he grumbles. “I’m too big. Get it out for me.”
“You just want me to touch your ass.”
His smile turns wicked. “I like it when you’re playful.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not playful.”
“You can touch something else when you're down there.”
That makes me laugh. I reach behind him, careful not to touch anything more than whatever's in his pocket. My fingers wrap around a soft, silky strap and I tug before holding it up. A sleep mask?
I look at it. Then him. Of course he’s smiling. His favorite hobby. The guy's like a nice bull. A very gentle one, if those exist.
“Why?” I ask softly.
“Because I know you can’t sleep without one.” He nods to the pizza slice that’s on my lap. “Now eat your pizza and drink your tiny-ass flight of wine that I got you, red, of course. Then take a nap. It’s a long flight, and Grandma’s gonna be eager to meet you. She's a yapper, so I need you to be on your best behavior.”
He leans back without another word, stretches those long legs out like he owns the whole plane, closes his eyes, and relaxes instantly.
And all I can do is stare at him, a silk eye mask dangling from one hand, a messy slice of pizza balanced on my lap atop a pile of crumpled napkins, and a tiny bottle of red wine sitting beside me.
Meanwhile, my heart taps far too loudly against my rib cage.
***
“What are you doing?”?
“What the—?” I jolt so hard my phone nearly hurls itself onto the disgusting airplane carpet I know hasn’t been vacuumed in the last three flights. “Shit, Jensen. I thought you were asleep.”
He’s definitelynotasleep anymore. Jensen’s eyes are wide open and weirdly accusing. He’s looking at me like I’ve committed a crime against him.
“I wasn’t sleeping. I was watching you.” His tone is flat. A new one for him. Gone is his usual easy smile and in its place is suspicion. “I was wondering how long it’d take you to notice, but it looks like…” He leans closer to me, gaze darting to my phone screen that I've peeled away from my chest temporarily. Rookie move. I slap it to my chest to cover it again.
I don’t care if he sees. I’m not embarrassed. But for some weird reason, I feel like I’m doing something forbidden by checking themessages I’ve received on this dating app that June downloaded a few nights ago.
“Privacy? Ever heard of it?”
He ignores my tone. “Brock,” he says slowly, dragging out the name like it personally offends him. “…Had your attention. That’s why you didn’t notice me watching you.”
“I got my first swipe back.” My voice comes out weird. It doesn’t sound like me. I swear, in my twenty-nine years on this earth, I never imagined saying the words“swipe back, swipe left, blind date, dating app.”
Jensen slow claps. Loudly. It’s like thunder cracking across the cabin. Heads turn. I panic. I grab his hands to try to stop them from connecting again, which is like trying to wrangle two oversized baseball mitts. They’re so rough and so freaking big. A memory flashes of the way his fingers felt inside me. It felt a lot like his cock.
I never thought I’d like rough hands like this on a man. Mine have always been taken care of. Never manicured since you can’t wear nail polish in surgery, but lotioned gently every night and morning. My fingers are long and lean. All the piano lessons my parents put me in as a kid paid off with great dexterity and strength.
I swear Jensen’s never met a bottle of lotion in his life.
“You can’t clap like that while the plane’s in the air!” I hiss.
He forces his hands to connect again, but instead of making the clapping noise he ends up just pinning my fingers between his.
“Your hands are so big it sounds like someone fired off warning shots in the cabin. Or cracked a whip!”
His glare softens into amusement. “I like how much you point out how big I am. This is like the fifth time on just this flight that you've made a point to bring up my size.”
“I don’t do it that much.”
“Yes. You do. You’re always pointing out my big arms, my big feet, my big hands,” his voice pitches higher to mimic mine. “’Oh Jensen, you’re so big and manly.’”
