Regardless, she bit her tongue with a tight, embarrassed smile. Her eyes remained wide and manic, however, as she pretended to be entranced by the in-flight entertainment screen before her, pattering away at the touchpad even though her vision had gone too blurry to even see what she was doing. As the plane pushed back, the cold air encased her once more. This time the thought of Jon next to her wasn’t enough to warm her up. Quite the contrary, an icy chill went down her spine at what a psycho stalker she’d made of herself, which only served to make her even colder.
Just as another cold chill shot down her spine, the feeling of a plastic bag hitting her arm tore her away from her thoughts. She threw a look at Jon—who was leaning over the middle seat again—just as he hit her arm with the plastic bag a second time. Her eyes fell to the bag, which held a bright red Delta blanket.
“They only put one in every row and let us duke it out,” he said. “People go to war over these things. Get it while it’s hot.”
“Aren’t you cold?”
“I don’t get cold easily. Plus, I have this weird thing about community blankets. Bacteria. Communicable diseases. Bed bugs. This fuckin’ thing’s probably crawling with them.”
“So glad you’re doing me the favor, then…” She took the blanket with a smirk, realizing she’d just wisecracked Jon Baca. “I’d rather take a few bed bugs home with me than freeze to death, so I’ll take my chances. I live in Brooklyn anyway. Probably already have them.”
“Want me to get your coat from up top?”
“The blanket should be good, but thank you. Plus, we’re still taxiing. If the flight attendants see you get up, they will embarrass you over the P.A. They can’t wait for you to get up. Take it from someone who’s lived it.”
He nodded at her. “What’s your name?”
Stunned, she paused in the midst of opening the bag, barely managing to croak. “Uh, V-Viola. Viola Rice.”
He offered his hand. “Jon Baca.”
As if she didn’t already know that. She took his hand, voice still amazed. “Jon fuckin’ Baca.”
“Viola fuckin’ Rice.”
“Unbelievable. Is this real life?”
“Feels like it.”
“Maybe to you.”
He smiled, trapping his tongue between a set of perfect teeth as he did. A jolt had gone through her when he’d locked her hand in his and had now begun to continuously reverberate all over her body like it had become battery operated. She couldn’t tell if she was the one that had jerked, or him. As her hand found itself encased in the warm cocoon of his, feeling his every calloused fingertip scraping the back of her hand, she decided it was her. The army of butterflies that came alive in her belly and nearly beat it to death with their wings confirmed it. She was the only one of them who’d been falling apart at the seams since the moment they’d met, after all, and that moment was apparently no exception.
He returned her hand with a sigh, nibbling on the corner of his bottom lip.
Her eyes fell to watch as he did.
This was the moment another awkward silence would fall, and he’d turn away for fear of it going on any longer. The moment he’d realized the girl across from him was a nervous wreck, a lost cause, possibly even dangerous, and give up for good, proceeding to ignore her for the rest of the flight while he counted down the seconds until landing.
“I like your hair.” He leaned in deeper. “Good friend of mine has hair like yours. But hers is… I don’t know…” He made a big circle around his head with his hands. “It’s rounder or something.”
“Is this your sly way of telling me you have black friends?”
“Might be.” He smiled brightly, then chucked. “Damn… you just gonna call me out, then?”
“Mine used to be round. Like a big halo around my head.” She shrugged, playing the damaged ends of her waist-length curls between her fingers. “Guess your friend doesn’t recklessly abuse hers the way I do.”
“I don’t know. I’m kinda diggin’ yours, though. Kinda reminds me of a Disney Princess. Like Rapunzel, with an Afro.”
Was he flirting with her? Jon fuckin’ Baca? Impossible. She almost frowned at him like a science experiment she couldn’t quite solve. He was way too hot for her. Surely he knew it. Not to mention filthy rich. She imagined he preferred the kind of girls who graced the covers of Maxim Magazine. Girls with rock hard abs, come-hither smiles and breasts bigger than his head. Viola had been rocking an A-cup since middle school, her come-hither smile read more like constipation, and the closest thing she had to abs were her vital organs poking through her skin when she sucked in her stomach as hard as she could. The only things her boyish figure had earned her in life was relentless taunting in high school, scowling bouncers demanding her ID, and the nickname “peanut” from her best friend in the world. It had certainly never earned her a guy like Jon Baca. She found herself wondering what the hell he wanted from her. Was he just fucking with her?
“Wouldn’t have pegged you as a rock fan,” he said.
“Black girls listen to rock music too, you know.”
“I know that. We actually have a lot of black fans. Especially since Adam and Shaun.”
Viola nodded. He didn’t explain who Adam and Shaun were. Probably because he knew he didn’t need to. Still, Viola stayed mum about how embarrassingly excited she’d gotten when news of Adam Brand and Shaun Green had first hit the gossip circuit, years earlier. The lead singer of her favorite band dating a girl who looked just like her? As a teenager in high school, it had been the best news of her life. She remembered it like it was yesterday. Many had called it a publicity stunt when Adam had made an insensitive remark about black women, only to announce he was dating one shortly after. They’d deemed Shaun nothing more than a pawn in his PR game. Their entire relationship a fraud. A damage control farce that would be over in six months. Years later, however, Adam and Shaun were still together, recently engaged, and proving all the naysayers wrong.
“Just would’ve never guessed you liked rock though,” Jon finished. “I can usually tell.”
“Honestly? I only got into it because I had a crush on a white boy in middle school. Wanted to impress him. So I started listening to everything he listened to. Metallica, Lincoln Park, The White Keys…” She nudged him, causing him to chuckle, then shrugged. “Then, I accidentally fell in love with it.”
“Did you get the guy?”
“Nope. He told me that black people didn’t listen to rock music. You should’ve seen the look on his face. Like I was some kind of weirdo or something.”
“Fuck him.”
She grinned.
“You were listening to our music in middle school? How old are you?”
“Older than I look. Just turned twenty-one. Which makes me—”
“An infant.”
“Hey! You weren’t even legal when you starting playing for the band. You’re only five years older than me. Not a huge jump…” She paused. “Is it creepy that I already know you’re five years older than me?”
“Yes, but I had you pegged for creepy out the gate, so it’s all good.”
Her fist flew out to punch his arm before she could stop herself. Then her eyes exploded to twice their size because she’d just punched Jon Baca.
He covered his arm with a wince, as if she was actually capable of hurting him, then chuckled.
“You probably have eighteen-year-olds on your tour bus round the clock,” she teased. “Probably don’t even card them.”
“Nah, that’s Noodle’s M.O.”
She rolled her eyes at the thought of Noodle, The White Keys’ bass player, who never failed in keeping the band in the headlines with his crazy antics.
“Fuckin’ Noodle,” she laughed.
“You said it.”
She let a lull fall, giving him an out if it turned out that he’d only intended for their little exchange to be small talk and was secretly praying for it to be over already.
“So what’s waiting for yo
u in Utah?” he asked.
Butterflies were back in her stomach. “My family. My mom, specifically. Haven’t seen her since I moved to New York three years ago, so I’m pretty excited. I can’t wait to hug her, honestly.”
“I can’t wait to hug mine, either.”
“It must be hard for you to get home to see your family, huh?”
“Ten years.”
Viola’s face fell in shock. “You haven’t been home in ten years?”
“Would’ve been longer if my mom hadn’t called me in hysterical tears, telling me she couldn’t go another year without seeing me at Christmas.”
“Is it that hard for you to find time? God, it’s only been three years since I’ve seen my mom and I feel like I’d lose my mind if I had to go another. It’s like there’s a gaping hole in my chest that only she can close. Family is the greatest healer, even when you’re not even aware you need to be healed, you know? I mean, I know the band is super busy and all, but whoever manages you guys needs to ease up a little. Everyone should be allowed to go home for the holidays.”
“Nah, our management’s pretty cool. I haven’t been home in ten years because I haven’t wanted to.”
“Why not?”
He searched her eyes for a long moment as if considering how to answer that. Then he pressed his lips together and looked away, eased up on his armrest once more, and fell back into his seat with teeth clenched.
Viola cursed under her breath. “I didn’t mean to be intrusive…”
“Nah…” He waved a hand to signal congeniality, but as he stared ahead at the flight attendants in the main cabin once more, his eyes were in a faraway place.
Viola didn’t know what place she’d just sent him to, but the rapid darkening of his previously gleaming blue eyes told her it couldn’t be anywhere good. Whatever he had going on with his family, it had been enough to tear him away from her completely. Away from the unexpected but exciting little connection they’d been building. A connection that was probably now dead forever. A connection that remained dead through taxi, takeoff, and well into the in-flight service. The kind of connection—with the kind of man—that only came once in a lifetime.
She’d ruined it.
She’d ruined her one and only chance with Jon fuckin’ Baca.
Three
It wasn’t until a smiling flight attendant addressed Viola directly that she finally came up for air in the deep sea of violent regret she’d been drowning in since the moment she’d ruined her only chance with Jon Baca.
“Would you like something to drink, hun?” The flight attendant chirped, filling Viola’s tray table with the complimentary pita wrap and bottled water that every Economy Comfort customer received.
“Um, yes.” Viola sat up, noting that Jon was still staring straight ahead, ignoring her existence. Every mini liquor in the cart will do, and keep ‘em coming. “Um, I’ll have a Goose and cranberry please?”
“Sure, hun, that’ll be $7.50.”
Viola jolted. “I’m sorry, the gate agent told me that all drinks in Economy Comfort were complimentary?”
“Everything but the premium blends, hun. I could get you a Smirnoff and cran, but the Goose is gonna cost ya’.”
Smirnoff? More like poison in a bottle. Any alcohol was better than no alcohol, though. “Okay, I guess Smirnoff’s fine—”
“She’ll have the Goose and cran.” Jon caught the wide eyes of both women, holding up his American Express Black Card between two fingers. “And I’ll have a Jack, neat.”
Just like that, Viola’s heart—previously shattered into a million tiny shards at her feet—pieced itself back together. The ice-cold sea of regret she’d been drowning suddenly felt as warm as melted chocolate, calm enough to doggy paddle without worrying about the turbulent waves taking her back under.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Viola whispered as the flight attendant set her drink down and took Jon’s card.
“You want anything else?” Jon swept the in-flight menu from the seat back pocket and offered it to her. “Before she’s gone?”
“No, really, it’s okay. I’ve got my wrap.” Viola placed her hands on top of her sandwich box with a grin. “It’s more than enough.”
Jon studied her and then turned back toward the flight attendant. “Two Flight Delights, two M&Ms, and… two Pringles, please.”
Viola winced with every order. Did he know the kind of prices these crooks charged up in the air? She was certain he’d just ordered a hundred dollars worth of snacks he could get for five bucks at 7-Eleven. The flight attendant finished ringing him up, gave him all the snacks he’d ordered—most of which he dumped into the empty middle seat—and then continued, leaving them alone once more.
“I hope you didn’t order all of that for me,” Viola teased, taking a sip of her drink.
“You need it. How much do weigh? Ninety pounds?”
“What a rude question to ask a lady. And, for the record, I clear a hundred pounds quite comfortably, thank you very much. Almost too comfortably.”
“Not from where I’m sitting.” The coy smile on his face was so utterly adorable, Viola found herself fighting back to urge to apologize to him again for invading his privacy earlier.
Instead, she kept it light. “You paid for these outrageously priced snacks without so much as a blink. Clearly, you have no problem throwing money around, so why aren’t you sitting in first class? It’d certainly save you from getting saddled with creepy fans like me as seatmates.”
“I occasionally get recognized, but nowhere near as much as Adam and Yoshi. Coach is completely out of the question for them. Me… not so much.”
“You still believe that now? Even after meeting me?”
He took a swig of his drink, then met her eyes. “Now more than ever.”
A shy smile spread across her lips, and her eyes fell, once again thankful that he couldn’t see her cheeks heating up.
“My family loves Jesus…”
Her eyes flew back to him, a soft gasp tickling her throat at the unexpected change of subject.
“And I love…” His fiery blue gaze locked onto hers. “Sex. Drugs. Drinking…”
She held her breath as he, once again, picked up the conversation that she’d been more than willing to drop. The conversation that, once upon a time, she’d been convinced had lost him forever.
“My family and I don’t…” He paused, the rim of his drink lingering just below his mouth, his tattooed fingers tapping against the plastic cup as he considered his words, finally landing on, “Fit.”
She blinked rapidly, terrified to speak, lest she alienate him again.
“We don’t fit,” he finished, taking a sip and setting his drink down. “So I fly in every decade or so, long enough to show my face, so I can disappear for another ten years without too much grief from my mother.”
“Have they lived in Salt Lake their whole lives?”
“In the same log cabin my great-great-great-great grandfather built in the 1800s. Five generations.”
“That explains the Jesus love. They don’t call it Mormon Country for nothing.”
He hissed around another sip of his drink. “Couldn’t get out of that fuckin’ place fast enough.”
“God, me either. I was born and raised there, but it wasn’t until I moved to NYC for college that I actually felt like I was home. Literally, the first time I understood what home really felt like.”
He searched her eyes, a lump moving down his throat. “I don’t know what it is, but I feel really comfortable talking to you.”
“I do too.”
“Can I be honest with you?”
“Sure.”
“I find you…” He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, letting his eyes slam closed for a long moment before re-opening them. “Unbelievably attractive.”
Viola couldn’t respond because she’d convinced herself she must be dreaming. No way in hell those words had actually come out of his mouth, right?
“I—” Her voice broke. “Well—” Take me now. “I—”
He didn’t jump in to save her, his blue eyes growing more amused with every second they ran her face, studying her. Darting from her eyes to her nose to her lips and back again. It had to be a full minute that he let her sit there, stuttering and stammering like she had a speech impediment, his smile growing wider until he finally put her out of her misery and looked away, going back to his seat and giving all of his attention to the in-flight screen in front of him.
Viola nearly screamed at his retreat, still sputtering, fighting against a throat that had sealed itself shut, a thundering heart that had stolen every inch of blood from her brain, and a pair of vocal chords that had apparently gone out of service.
Now, he was gone again. Probably deciding that she couldn’t handle him. That, if an innocent admission of his attraction was enough to make her fall apart at the seams, no way in hell she could handle him in bed. He would destroy her. He was probably right, but damn if she didn’t want to give it the good old college try. She went to tell him she was attracted to him too, but by the time she found her voice, it was too late. No way to say it without making things even more awkward than they already were.
Frowning softly, he banged his knuckle onto the in-flight screen, smacking his lips. “Shit’s broken.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Your screen’s not working?”
“I think I’d be more surprised if the fuckin’ thing was working.” He cut a look at her from the corner of his eyes, licking his lips. “Maybe the middle seat?”
“Yes!” She slammed her eyes closed at the desperation in her voice, fighting to calm herself. “Yes, you should definitely try the middle seat.”
He relocated the snacks he’d dumped into the middle seat to the seat-back pocket, then used his armrest to push himself out of his chair. He kept his eyes on her as he moved to the middle seat and sat down. Just like she’d imagined, his massive frame left little room on the armrest for her, his skin instantly brushing hers as their arms fought for room. She was thankful to have opted for a dress with 3/4 length-sleeves as she found his skin sweeping hers. His was smooth as silk but hard as a rock at the same time. Like a satin scarf pulled taut around a boulder. After battle ramming its way in, his massive bicep found a home at the back of the armrest, settling snugly between her arm, which was cradled in the middle of the armrest, and the seat. They searched each other’s eyes as he leaned deeper into her space. He licked his lips again, eyes falling to hers as he did.
Refrain (Stereo Hearts Book 3) Page 3
