The Stopover (The Miles High Club 1)

“Is everything all right?” he asks.

“Yes, why?”

His eyes hold mine for a beat, and I know that Jameson has said something about our fight this morning. “Just checking.”

“Everything’s great.”

“Good.”

“See you later.” I bounce out of the office like I don’t have a care in the world.

It’s late Friday night, and I stare at the television, my mind in a blurred haze. I haven’t heard from Jameson since our fight on Wednesday morning. I’ve seen him in passing at work, but that’s all.

Maybe that’s it—maybe I won’t see him again.

On Wednesday, the romantic in me was convinced he had real feelings for me and that he would come back begging. On Thursday, I decided that the man has deep emotional flaws if he couldn’t see he had feelings for me.

Today . . . I wonder if I meant anything at all. Maybe I’ve looked at the whole thing through rose-colored glasses? All along he’s given me signs, and like a fool, I’ve ignored every one of them.

He leaves for London on Monday, I think—not that I would know if his plans have changed.

My mind goes back to the flight where we met, and now that I know the life that he leads . . . I can see it all so clearly.

He didn’t ask for my number because he didn’t want anything—he even said that was the reason why. But I never thought that he actually meant he didn’t want anything. I thought there was an ulterior motive and that was just the lie he used to cover it. Maybe some people are just wired never to want more. Or maybe he just hasn’t met the right person yet.

So many maybes.

My door buzzes, and I frown and get up and push the button. “Hello.”

“Hey.” The voice is distorted.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me,” he pants.

“Jameson?”

“You expecting someone else?” he says, obviously annoyed.

I smile, buzz him in, and run into the bedroom to take off my ragged nightdress that has hot chocolate spilled down the front of it. I flap my arms around in a panic and grab a towel off the rack. I wrap it around my chest as if I just got out of the shower. It’s a lot better than a soiled nightdress with dancing teddy bears on it. Why my grandma thinks dancing teddies is something I need, I’ll never know.

A knock sounds at the door, and I open it in a rush. And there he stands. Piercing blue eyes greet me. He’s wet with perspiration and panting.

My face falls. “Did you run all the way here?”

He nods. He has a melancholy feeling oozing out of him.

“Are you all right?” I ask.

He shrugs, and his eyes search mine.

“Jay,” I whisper as my heart melts. I take him in my arms and hold him tight. He clings to me as if his life depends on it.

We stand in each other’s arms for a long time; no words are needed. At this moment, he needs me.

“Did the ax murderer chase you here?” I whisper up against his cheek.

He smiles and grips me tighter. “Maybe.”