The Stopover (The Miles High Club 1)

He smirks as he turns his attention back to the television screen. “This is probably where you should start flirting back . . . Emily.”

I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment as I try to hide my stupid smile. “I don’t flirt. I either want a man or I don’t,” I announce.

“Is that so?” he says as if fascinated. “And how long after you meet a man do you make that decision?”

“Instantaneously,” I lie. That’s not true, but I’ll pretend. Faking confidence is my superpower.

“Really?” he whispers as the flight attendant walks past us. “Excuse me, can we have two more champagnes, please?” he asks her.

“Of course, sir.”

His eyes come back to meet mine. “Well, do tell. What was your first impression of me?”

I pretend to look around for Jessica the flight attendant. “You may need something stronger to drink to hear this, Jim. You’re not going to like it.”

He laughs out loud, and I find myself smiling broadly as I watch him.

“What’s funny?” I ask.

“You are.”

“Why am I funny?” I frown.

“This sense of righteousness that you have.”

“Oh, like you don’t have that too . . . Mr. I’ll Have Two Champagnes.”

Our drinks arrive, and he smiles as he passes mine to me. His eyes linger on my face as he takes a sip. “What were you doing in London?”

“Ugh.” I roll my eyes. “I flew over for a friend’s wedding, and to be honest, I wish I hadn’t gone.”

“Why not?”

“My ex was there with his new squeeze, and he was being over-the-top affectionate with her to piss me off.”

“Which worked, obviously,” he adds as he tilts his glass toward me.

“Hmm.” I sip my drink in disgust. “Just a little.”

“What did she look like?”

“Long bleached-blonde hair and huge silicone lips and boobs and eyelashes and fake tan and everything I’m not.”

“Hmm.” He listens intently.

“Like Backseat Barbie on crack.”

He chuckles. “Everyone loves a Backseat Barbie.”

I look over at him in disgust. “This is probably where you should tell me that all men hate Backseat Barbies, Jim. Don’t you know anything about polite plane-conversation etiquette?”

“Obviously not.” He frowns as he considers my statement. “Why would I do that?”

I widen my eyes to accentuate my point. “To be nice.”

“Oh, right.” He frowns as if bracing himself to lie. “Emily . . . all men are repulsed by Backseat Barbies.”

I smile as I tip my glass to him. “Thank you, Jim.”