Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
There is definitely no lust.
Okay, maybe a little. I wasn’t blind, and my vagina was not dead. Not to mention, I would have gladly made him a one-night stand on New Year’s Eve had he just kept his mouth shut.
I got in line behind a woman in head-to-toe leopard print, then scanned the terminal for Vance. His head of unruly, dark hair was nowhere in sight. Shocking. I’d expected the man who was early to everything to be first in line to board. Maybe he’d bailed or gotten stuck in traffic. Maybe, oh God, maybe he would miss the flight and the assignment could be all mine... How to travel with someone you hate. Travel tip number one: make an offering to the gods of travel and pray they miss their flight. Ten out of ten, highly recommend.
Did you put laxatives in his coffee and not tell me?
I debated on it but then worried, with your luck, he’d end up in the seat beside you, shitting himself. No one needs that trauma.
I don’t see him at the gate.
His eager butt probably has priority boarding or something.
The gate opened, and I tucked away my phone. Passengers slowly boarded.
When it was my turn to hand over my boarding pass, I took one last look at the dwindling line before I ducked onto the jet bridge.
I checked each aisle on the plane.
He wasn’t there.
A giddy sense of excitement washed through me as I stuffed my carry-on into the overhead bin, but it was short-lived. By the time my ass hit the seat, his deep voice came from the front of the plane.
“Excuse me…” He slipped past a family trying to wrangle their kids into seats, then stopped in the middle of the aisle and stared up at the overfilled compartments.
He huffed, slipped off his backpack, and lifted it above his head.
My gaze drifted down his broad back, annoyed at the way his white T-shirt clung to every ripped muscle. Then my focus dropped to his ass—his really nice ass on display in gray sweatpants. I half-sighed, half-groaned. Every man knew gray sweatpants were on the same level as lace lingerie.
God, why was it so hot in here? I reached up, fiddling with the air vent.
That was it. Vance Morgan was like a freaking devil. All suave and charismatic and perpetually evil, and I had to spend the next two weeks sleeping in a room with him. For my dignity’s sake, I could only hope he was the kind of man who farted in his sleep.
Without warning, he turned around. The outline of his cock-a-doodle-doo was right in my face.
“Oh, there you are, Alice Capone.” He smiled because he evidently thought his stupid jokes were funny. “Too bad we couldn’t sit together. Would’ve been great for the write-up.”
Would’ve been great for jack shit. “Tip number one,” I said. “When traveling with someone you hate, don’t book seats beside each other. It saves you from wanting to commit murder.”
He cracked a grin. A dimple popped before he folded his massive self into one of the tiny economy seats.
Eventually, the commotion of the other boarding passengers fell quiet.
Much to my delight, the aisle seat beside me was still empty. Take that and shove it, bad-luck demons. Ten hours of nothing but me and the free drinks and every comedy movie chock-full of stupid jokes no one should find funny at my disposal.
Smiling, I fastened my seatbelt and tapped the screen in front of me, searching through the movie titles for Dumb and Dumber. Just as I went to plug in my headphones, the wail of crying children came from the front of the plane.
A woman with disheveled hair and a newborn strapped to her chest stumbled down the aisle. Three other small, screaming kids in tow.
When she guided a boy and a girl to the seats on either side of Vance, I laughed. Then horror set in as she brought the other little boy with a chocolate-covered face to the empty seat beside mine.
“Don’t bite, pinch, hit, or kick the nice lady,” she said, then gave him a stern finger before she walked off.
He looked at me and crammed a finger knuckle deep up his nose. “I want the window seat.”
I forced a smile. “Well—”
“I want the window seat!” He pointed his booger-covered finger at me. “Give it to me, lady!”
I plastered myself to the wall to put as much distance between me and the sticky-looking booger as I could. Before I could tell him no, he howled. Literally howled like a werewolf being ripped to pieces by hunters armed with ash-wood arrows. “I don’t wanna sit there,” he shouted, kicking the seat beside mine before he ate his booger.
I glanced around him at his oblivious mother, who had already shoved earplugs into her ears.
Booger Boy stomped his feet in a bratty fashion reminiscent of Veruca Salt from Willy Wonka as he demanded I give him my seat.