Apparently sitting with the masses was beneath her. Imagine sitting next to that for six hours.
“Excuse me, but are you sitting there?” A woman with brown hair pulled up in a messy bun, wearing low-cut jeans, a red-striped T-shirt, and a pair of Converse tennis shoes, smiled at him. She held an iPod, the buds connected to her ears.
Max looked behind him and realized he had stopped in front of one of the only vacant seats in the area. “No.”
“Do you mind?”
He moved, and she sat down. Dropped her carry-on on the floor with a thud. He’d bet the bank this was Grace. Pretty, put together, even surprisingly friendly. Jace had mentioned she was fun.
“That looks heavy.”
“It is. Books. I hate flying, so I like to distract myself.” She glanced up at him. Smiled. She didn’t look so terrible. Even seemed to be the kind of person who might be just fine on her own, once he settled her in.
Please, please—“I know this sounds strange, but is your name Grace?”
She shook her head. “Sorry.”
Too bad. “Okay, thanks.”
Max checked his watch and moved to the check-in line the moment they called the flight. Oh, well—the flight was full, and who knew but she’d latch on to him right away. He should probably delay any meeting or suggestion he wanted to hang out.
Better yet, what if she didn’t even need him? What if Jace was overreacting?
He’d put money on that last supposition. Jace did have an overactive protector gene. It was what had made him good at his position as team captain. And enforcer.
Max pulled up the boarding pass on his phone and waved it over the scanner at the flight check-in, then headed down the Jetway, greeting the flight attendant before climbing into his seat. Shoot, he’d wanted an exit row. Or better yet, first class, but he’d opted out of an upgraded ticket in hopes that his flight would bump him up.
He took the window seat, then pulled out a culinary magazine and shoved his bag beneath the seat in front of him.
One by one, passengers filed in past him. He watched them out of the corner of his eye, wondering, calculating. Lip ring girl bumped past, headed toward the back. He spied the brunette a couple rows ahead, climbing into her middle seat.
He plugged in his earbuds and turned on his music. Rascal Flatts came on and he closed his eyes, leaning his head back.
Movement in the seat next to him made him open one eye. Super. Preppy LA girl landed next to him. She’d shoved her bag, a canvas backpack, under the seat in front of her and now folded her hands on her lap, looking straight ahead.
By the set of her jaw, he’d guess she had no intention of making polite seat conversation.
Perfect. No, really, perfect. He could escape into his personal entertainment without guilt.
It was the movement of her hands that caught his attention just as he closed his eyes. They shook.
He glanced at her posture out of his peripheral vision. Stiff. Even . . . holding herself together. This wasn’t the relaxed annoyance of a frequent traveler.
And her lips were moving. He turned off his music and pulled out one earbud.
Yes, talking. Quietly, as if only to herself. “This is a bad idea. This is a bad idea.”
He might agree. “Um, are you okay?”
She startled and looked at him. She had blue eyes, so blue that for a moment, he had the sense of falling. In fact, up close she didn’t look quite as snooty. Maybe it was the way her lipstick smudged, just a little, around her mouth, or the coffee stain on her shirt as if she’d stirred the creamer in too vigorously.
She looked away. “Yeah. I’m fine.” But her hands continued to shake on her lap.
He had the weird urge to clasp her grip in his. Instead he said, “You don’t look okay.”
That came out wrong, because she looked at him again, a sort of horror on her face. “Really?”
“I mean, of course, you look fine. But . . . nervous, maybe.”
“Oh.” She nodded, started a smile, but it vanished before it took root. “Yeah. I . . . don’t fly very much. And this is a long flight—over the ocean, no less. I hate flying. Did I mention that? I hate flying. I mean, it’s not like I’ve flown so much as to create a severe aversion to it, but just the concept, you know? Big metal plane in the sky, water below, nothing in between? I’m thinking the entire thing doesn’t make sense.”
“Not if you put it like that. But it’s pure physics and—”
“Don’t tell me. I’m going with magic and a lot of prayer to keep us in the sky here.”
“Okay.” Again, he had the strangest urge to hold her hand. Or distract her. “While you’re praying, maybe you could pray that guy up there doesn’t take his shoes off.” He gestured to the man across the aisle in front of them, who had already leaned his seat back against regulations and pulled out an eye mask and a pair of noise-canceling headphones.