“Hey now—” He drew back like he was wounded. “What about this”—he motioned down his frame—“says that I’m a bad boy? I grew up on a farm.”
I laughed, forgetting that we were moving steadily forward through the takeoff line. “That body? That face? That cut on your lip? Those scraped-up knuckles?” I glanced at where his sleeve met his arm, noting the swirls of black ink. “Oh, and tattoos? Quintessential bad boy material right there. I bet you left a plethora of broken hearts in your wake.”
“Who says plethora in a normal conversation?” His smile only made mine bigger. Bad boy or not, I knew Nate’s smile must have dropped its share of panties, because if we weren’t on this plane, I might have considered my first one-night stand. “I’ll tell you who. Good little college girls.”
“Guilty as charged.” I lifted my brows at him. “You even have the hot, broody reading vibe down. Very Jess Mariano of you.”
“Jess who?” He blinked in confusion.
“Jess Mariano,” I managed. Those eyes were going to be the death of me. The shade reminded me of the Ice Lakes up by Silverton, not quite glacial. More like aqua. “You know, from Gilmore Girls.”
“Never seen it.” He shook his head.
“Well, if you ever do, just remember that you’re pretty much Jess, just . . . taller and hotter.” I slammed my lips shut.
“Hotter, huh?” he teased with a knowing look that sent my body temperature up another degree or two.
“Just forget I said that.” I ripped my mortified gaze from his and unzipped my vest. How hot was it in here? “What else is on your reading list?”
His eyes narrowed just slightly, but he went along with the subject change. “I’ve already read Fahrenheit 451, Lord of the Flies, Last of the Mohicans—”
“Now that is a good movie.” I sighed. “The way he tells her that he’ll find her right before he jumps through the waterfall? Amazing. Total romance material.”
“Watching the movie doesn’t count!” He shook his head, chuckling. “And it’s not a romance. It’s an adventure with a little love story mixed in, but not a romance.”
“How can you say it’s not a romance?”
“Because the book is a little different from the movie.” He shrugged.
“Different like how?”
“You really want to know?”
“Yes!” I loved that movie. It was my go-to for a broken-heart ice cream session.
“Cora dies.”
My jaw dropped.
Nate winced. “I mean, you asked.”
“Well, now I’m sure as hell never reading it. I’ll just stick to the movie,” I muttered as we moved forward in line. Glancing out the window wasn’t helping me either. The visibility was utter crap.
Minutes sped by as we compared a few of the other books on his list. Some of them, like The Great Gatsby, I’d read in high school, but others, like Band of Brothers, I hadn’t.
“Okay, so what would be on your one hundred books list?” he asked.
“Good question.” I tilted my head in thought as we continued rolling along. “Pride and Prejudice, for sure. Then East of Eden—”
“Oh man, I had enough Steinbeck after Grapes of Wrath.”
“East of Eden is way better.” I nodded as if my opinion made it fact. “What else? The Handmaid’s Tale, and The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks was really good too—oh, have you read The Hunger Games yet? The third book just came out last year, and it’s amazing.”
“I haven’t. I just finished The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn before I picked this one up.” He glanced down at his book. “Maybe I should look at a more modern list.”
“Hey, Huck Finn is great. Nothing like sailing down the Mississippi.”
“It was good,” he agreed. “I won’t have any reading time while I’m in basic, but I packed a couple of books just in case,” he mused quietly. “A friend of mine who went through last year told me they take pretty much everything when you sign in, but I put my iPod in a labeled ziplock bag just in case.”
“How old—” I pressed my lips together before the rest of that question could come out. It was none of my business how old he was, though he looked about my age.
“How old am I?” he finished.
I nodded.
“Just turned nineteen last month. You?”
“Eighteen until March. I’m only a freshman.” I ran my thumb over the edge of my book to keep my hands busy. “Aren’t you . . . nervous?”
“About flying?” His brow furrowed slightly.
“No, about going into the army. There are a couple of wars going on.” Margo—my roommate—lost her oldest brother in Iraq a couple of years ago, but I wasn’t about to say that.
Spray hit the wings as we went through the deicing process.
“Yeah, I heard something about those.” Again with the dimple. He took a deep breath and looked forward as if considering his answer. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t consider the whole death-and-dying thing. But the way I see it, there are all kinds of wars. Some are just more visible than others. It won’t exactly be the first time someone has swung for me, and at least this time I’ll be armed. Besides, the risk is worth the reward from where I’m sitting. Think about it—if you hadn’t gotten on this plane, we never would have met. Risk and reward, right?” He glanced my way, and our eyes locked and held.
Suddenly, my wish to be off this plane had nothing to do with my fear of flying and everything to do with Nathaniel. If we’d met on campus, or even back home in Denver, this conversation wouldn’t have to end in a couple of hours when we reached Atlanta.
Then again, if we’d been on campus or in Denver, who knew if we would have had it in the first place. I didn’t exactly make a habit of chatting up hot guys. I left that up to Margo. The quiet, accessible ones were usually more my type.
“I could send you books,” I offered quietly. “If you’re allowed to read and don’t have enough while you’re there.”
“You would do that?” His eyes widened with surprise.
I nodded, and the smile he answered with sent my pulse skyrocketing.
“Flight attendants, prepare for takeoff,” the pilot said over the PA system.
Guess it was our turn.
The attendant closest to us told someone a few rows ahead to put their tray table up, then strode for his seat, buckling in to face us.
I gripped both armrests as the engines revved and we hurtled forward, the momentum pushing me back into my seat. The fog had lightened just enough to see the edge of the runway as we raced past. I squeezed my eyes shut and took a steadying breath before opening them.
Nate looked my way, then stuck his hand out, offering it palm up.
“I’m okay,” I said through gritted teeth, trying to remember to breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth.
“Take it. I won’t bite.”
Screw it.
I grasped his hand, and he laced our fingers together, warmth infusing my clammy, ice-cold skin.
“Go ahead and squeeze. You can’t break me.”
“You might regret it.” I white-knuckled his hand, my breaths coming faster and faster as we sped toward takeoff.
“I somehow doubt that.” His thumb stroked over mine. “Three minutes. Right? The first three minutes after takeoff?”