Dirty Addiction (Dirty 2)

I smirk but otherwise don’t give her any attention. This is better. Now, she’s going to have the entire flight to worry about me.

I put my earbuds in, planning on listening to an audiobook about business strategies to keep my mind occupied. I close my eyes, ignoring the safety briefing and all the other BS that happens before the flight takes off. I’ve flown enough times to know how everything works. I feel the plane take off at some point while I listen to my book.

“Excuse me,” I hear Skye’s voice say even through my haze of sleep and the audiobook.

I try to ignore her as she convinces the stranger next to me to swap seats with her. I keep my eyes closed like I don’t notice her at all as she finally takes a seat next to me, even after her thigh and hand brush against my leg—whether intentionally or unintentionally. I try to act like I couldn’t care less about her when what I really want to do is sneak her into the restroom and fuck her brains out.

“I know you can hear me and that you know I’m here. Stop acting like you can’t hear me,” Skye says.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you were on this plane.” I remove one of my earbuds, giving her half of my attention.

“Don’t play dumb,” she says, reaching for my other earbud and jerking it out of my ear.

“I knew you couldn’t get enough of me.”

She huffs and rolls her eyes again. She lifts her legs up into her seat, and she wraps her arms around them like she is giving herself one big hug. “Why did you follow me here?”

“I didn’t follow you. I live in LA. When you told me you were leaving, I got on the next available flight since there was no longer a reason to stay in Albuquerque.”

“Liar. You don’t live in LA.”

I closely study her. “You looked me up, did you?”

She looks away from me. “No, I didn’t.”

I laugh. “You totally did.”

“No, I didn’t,” she says empathetically.

“Then, how do you know I don’t live in LA?”

“Because you live in Detroit.”

I bite my lip to keep my excitement down. She looked me up. She wants me just as badly as I want her. I just have to figure out what the key is to unlocking her hesitation about starting this up again. Because, clearly, the pain I caused her on the last day in paradise isn’t the reason.

“Why don’t you want to do the arrangement?”

“Because you’re an ass.”

“I am, but then that’s exactly what you wanted. An ass. So, tell me the real reason you won’t agree to my arrangement, and I’ll leave you alone forever.”

“For real? After I tell you the truth, you’ll get out of my life and never come back?”

“I promise I’ll leave you alone. If that’s what you want.”

She leans her chair back and closes her eyes like she’s going to take a long nap.

“Are you going to tell me or not?”

“I’m going to show you.”

To my surprise, the rest of the flight is uneventful. We both sleep—or at least pretend to sleep. When we land, we get off the flight, being relatively civil to one another. After we collect our bags, she tells me to get into her car with her.

I do.

The Maserati we climb into isn’t a rental. It’s a car that she owns but is the complete opposite of her car in Albuquerque. That pickup truck was all about function and getting the job done with no fuss about its appearance. This car is a luxury car with little purpose other than to provide comfort and be flashy to all those who look at it.

“Do you have a split personality or something?” I ask as she drives.