“Would you like to order your meal?”
Both of us jolted as if we’d been scalded.
This insanity was mutual.
Thank fuck.
The pair of us shifted our attention to the cabin crew offering us an in-flight meal.
I crossed my legs, resting my ankle on the opposite knee in an effort to hide my erection. Admittedly, it had happened before in her presence, but now wasn’t appropriate.
I gave my meal request to the attendant and noticed that Kitty hid behind her hair once the FA departed.
Frustrated by the wall being built between us, I allowed it to grow to give her some space, and I was glad I had because she broke the silence first.
“Can I see your knuckles?”
Turning to her, I noticed her cheeks were back to being pink and that her eyes looked more sleepy than ever, so I smiled. “Considering you asked nicely…” I tilted my hands so she could read the letters inked there.
“I’d never take you for a flowers guy.”
“Why not? Nothing feminine about flowers unless you doubt your masculinity.” At her hoot, my smile morphed into a grin. “Have more on my chest.”
She licked her lips. “You do?”
“And paisley butas.”
“The tear-drop shapes?”
“Yup.”
“Why?” Her nose wrinkled. “I mean, also, why not? But…” She sighed. “You get what I’m saying, right?”
“In certain cultures, they represent ‘life.’ ‘Eternity.’”
She surprised me by brushing her fingers over the back of my hand. Holy fuck, that felt so good. So goddamn good. Innocent. But so sweet. Like a hug. God. I shouldn’t need a hug from her, but I did and—
“Would you want to live for eternity?”
I swallowed. “No. But we live for an eternity through those who remember us.”
“That’s pretty.”
“So are my tattoos,” I teased her.
Because I couldn’t hug her.
Yet.
“I meant philosophically speaking,” she sassed. “Now that you mention it, I think I remember seeing them.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. You were doing a helicopter with your dick—”
I gawked at her. “What?!”
Still seated, she circled her hips. “You know. A helicopter.”
“When the hell was this?” And why didn’t I remember my angel seeing my dick for the first time?
“Aaaaaages ago.” Her attention was fickler than the weather and thank fuck for that! Porca troia, I had no memory of this happening. “Is that ‘come over’ or ‘overcome?’ On your knuckles.”
Refusing to admit she’d flustered me, I smirked. “I guess it depends on who’s asking.” Then, my smirk died because I sounded like an asshole and I’d already taken some of my temper out on her in the lounge. I didn’t want her associating me with being a douche. “Got them after my patri, my father, passed away.”
“Gets you like that, doesn’t it?” Kitty made me jump again when her fingertips, tipped with a surprisingly plain manicure, traced the letters on my knuckles.
