Page 60 of Sin

“Slightly.”

“I’ll try harder.”

“Harder. My favorite word.”

Just great. That sounds like something I didn’t mean. His eyes darken and my face warms. Neither of us says anything for a full minute.

Then he asks, “Are you nervous about the presentation?”

“Yes,” I lie.

It is not entirely a lie. I’m nervous about the presentation. I’m also nervous about the plane, the hotel, the downtime, the dress, the suitcase, his sweater, his hands, his coffee, his mouth, and the fact that somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean there will be nowhere to run except a private jet bathroom, and that feels like information my imagination should never have been given.

“You’ll do well,” he says.

I take another sip of coffee even though it’s too hot and hum under my breath.

The private airport entrance appears ahead, sleek and quiet behind a security gate. My stomach flips again. This is happening.

Mason pulls up to the security checkpoint and lowers his window. While he speaks with the guard, I stare straight ahead and try to look like someone who has not made several questionable packing decisions. The guard waves us through.

As we drive toward the waiting jet, Mason glances over.

“Still time to back out,” he says.

I turn to him. “Is that what you want?”

His jaw tightens. For a second, he doesn’t answer. Then he parks near the plane and cuts the engine. The sudden silence is brutal.

He turns toward me.

“No,” he says. “I don’t want you to back out.”

The truck feels too small again.

Too warm.

Too private.

His eyes hold mine, and all I can think about is how easy it would be to lean across the console. How close we already are. How his sweater would feel beneath my fingers. How his mouth would taste like coffee.

I don’t move. Neither does he.

Then someone knocks on the window, and I nearly jump out of my skin. Mason closes his eyes for half a second, like he’s asking God for patience. I turn to find a smiling airport employee standing outside.

Saved by aviation.

Wonderful.

Mason gets out first while I sit there for one more second, breathing like a normal person. Or trying to. Then I open my door and step into the cold morning.

Mason is already at the back of the truck, lifting out my suitcase and then my overnight bag. You know, the bag with the…thing.

“What’s in here? This thing weighs a ton.”

“Shoes.”

He looks at me. Then at the bag. Then back at me.