“I’ve never doubted my fuckability.”
“Even when you lost all that weight?”
He laughs, but there’s a sadness to it. “You got something against skinny guys?”
“No. But… you’re…”
“You wouldn’t have fucked me twenty pounds lighter?”
“No. I just… You know what women are like. We don’t want to feel bigger than a guy.”
“Shallow.”
“Look at you.”
“Look at me?”
“You’re dating me.”
He laughs. “You’re actually admitting your gorgeous?”
“No. That my tits are amazing.”
“That idiot on Instagram wasn’t enough to convince you?”
I shake my head.
He leans in to brush his lips against my neck. “All of you is amazing, Leigh.” He nips at my skin. Moves higher. Higher. Higher. His lips close around my earlobe. “I am gonna come on your tits.”
“Here?”
“No. In the hotel.”
“Oh.”
“Unless that’s a problem.”
“Not at all.”
“Good.” He shifts into his seat just in time for the beverage tray to reach our row.
The flight attendant smiles at Ryan. “Anything to drink?”
“Water.” He looks to me. “You?”
“Vodka.”
He shoots me some serious side-eye. “It’s noon.”
“So?”
He shrugs fine. “Your body.”
I turn to the flight attendant. “And water.” Yes, he has a point about my tendency to drink my feelings. And about how I probably should be stricter about avoiding that, what with my genetic predisposition to alcoholism.
But it’s still my body.
The flight attendant hands my drinks over first.