Chapter 2 Unstable

This is only my second time flying. Ever. Not surprisingly, it's just as traumatic as the first. My eyes flit from the exit signs to the compartment where the flight attendant said the oxygen masks would deploy from. If this plane goes down I want to know exactly where I need to be. The 'fasten seatbelt' light goes off and a voice says something about cruising altitude. I don't move, fingers gripping the armrests, as I will myself to let go so I can tighten my seat belt. I flex my pelvis and the two centimeters I'm able to move lets me know that I definitely need to tighten it.

I shouldn't have that much space, right?

"Nice grip you've got there," a voice says. An slightly familiar and impossibly gravelly voice.

My head jerks upright, eyes landing on those fathomless, glacial blues again. The first-class area of the plane is spacious, but he still manages to take up more than his fair share of the room. How did I not notice his physique before? A dove gray Henley stretches tight across his broad chest and shoulders. He stares at me, cocking his head to the side, causing a lock of his dark hair to flop across his forehead. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his well-worn black jeans, which encase long and powerful legs. He's tall, like he has to duck a lot when he moves through certain places. Then again, a man that size probably commands everything and everyone to clear a path when he moves. Like nothing would dare risk standing in his way. I wonder what that feels like.

I try to get a read on what he's thinking, but his face is blank. He just stands there and stares. Borderline creepy, but he's beautiful, so it's acceptable. Kind of. Not really. Just creepy. A bout of turbulence hits and his impressive frame is barely jarred at all while I could swear we're minutes away from crashing into a mountain. Or an ocean. What are we flying over right now?

"You're scared," he says.

I'm not sure if he's just making an observation or if he's asking a question, but at this point I want him to go away. I try really hard to tell him that, but it only comes out as a whisper. He frowns and steps closer, leaning forward to hear me better.

"What?"

"I don't like your eyes," I blurt. Loudly. I would cover my mouth in hopes of keeping anything else from spewing from it, but with the plane crashing I have to maintain my grip on my seat-the cushion is a flotation device. I stare at him in horrified humiliation, waiting for his response. He stares silently for a few seconds then speaks.

"Why not?"

I expected anger or disbelief. His calm is unnerving, but I feel obligated to answer since I basically insulted him. "There's no warmth to them."

He studies me, but doesn't speak. Finally, he glances around, then leans forward and bares his teeth, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. I flinch and he quickly steps away.

"What the hell was that?" I ask.

"I smiled. Warmth," he mumbles, his cheeks flushing slightly.

Is he blushing? I stare at him in silence as I consider his words. He didn't get insulted when I said I didn't like his eyes. Instead he tried to make them warmer by . . . smiling? That definitely was not a smile. My niece tends to be grumpy from time to time and when we try to get her to smile, she does this thing where she just shows us her teeth. Like he just did. It occurs to me I don't know his first name.

"I'm Calista. You can call me Cali. I would shake your hand, but the plane is unstable."

The corner of his mouth ticks up just as a flight attendant approaches him. The smirk drops and he watches her. A bright smile flashes on her face, no chipped teeth, and she reaches out to touch his arm as she asks if he needs anything. Her name tag says Tabitha. He shakes his arm free then looks to me for an answer.

"Liquor. Strong liquor. Shots. No ice," I tell her. Clearly I've been reduced to monosyllables.

"Whiskey," he declares then drops into the vacant seat next to me. The seat Colin should be occupying.

Tabitha runs a hand through her shoulder length, brown hair as her smile falters, but she quickly plasters it back on and nods.

"Is there anything else you'd like, sir?"

She steps closer to his seat and he leans closer to me. I lean away from him. Why is he even sitting here? He tells her no and after an awkward moment her eyes cut to me. Her lips pucker and she glares at me before turning and moving away. What the hell was that, Tabitha? We watch as she goes to a curtained off section and for a moment I'm plagued by the odd thought that she'll do something to my drink.

"I'm Jayce. It's stable; you're safe," he says and places his hand on top of mine.

It's rough and calloused and exceptionally warm. Most importantly, it actually comforts me. That shouldn't be happening. Red flag. I snatch my hand away, tighten my seatbelt as far as it'll go, then fist my hands in my lap, my nails digging into my palms.

"I have a fiancé. Had a fiancé?" I pause and try to think of how I should reference Colin at this point. "I'm supposed to be getting married in four weeks, but he didn't come, so I'm just going to take a vacation and he'll come in time. He'll decide this wasn't a huge mistake and he really wants to marry me because really, he asked me. It's not like I forced him or anything like that. He should be sitting there where you are, but he didn't even come to the airport. He told me to go home and oh, dear God, kill me now. Why am I telling you all of this? Where the hell is my drink?"

He stares at me as though trying to figure out a response, but he's saved by the reappearance of smiling Tabitha. Why does her smile have to be so damn perfect? I snatch both drinks from her hands and toss them back one after the other. I don't even like liquor. I'm more of a white wine connoisseur, but the dark amber liquid burns so beautifully and the calming effect is almost instant. Unless, of course, you count the coughing fit that immediately follows. "More," I wheeze out as I pass the glasses back to the now shocked-and possibly appalled-Tabitha. Leaning forward I cough some more. Geez, that's strong. A warm palm lands on my back and proceeds to rub gently. He doesn't utter a word. He simply digs those thick fingers in just slightly and offers the little comfort that he can. Who the hell is this man and why is the silence between us so comfortable? I've known him for-I don't even know him! Covering my face with my hands I don't move again until Tabitha returns-smiling-with more drinks. I think I'll call her Smiley-pants.

"You should probably sip," Jayce says.

His voice is downright sinful with the alcohol doing wonderful things to my brain. And those lips . . . geez, those lips.

"You're probably right," I agree. I should keep my wits and not get drunk near a perfect stranger, but screw it. Screw him. Screw Colin. And just for kicks, screw Smiley-pants. Screw it all. Bottoms up, bitches! I gulp down the next two drinks, not even grimacing this time, then open my mouth to ask for more, but little miss Tabby cuts me off.

"Maybe just some soda?" she asks, that annoyingly perfect smile still in place.

Jayce gives her a nod and she rushes away to do his bidding. Pretty sure I hate her and my alcohol addled brain won't even let me figure out why.

"So. Your wedding?" he asks.

Guess we're still on this.