Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“That’s me,” I say, waiting for her to recognize my name and react.
The second a woman learns who I am, she either retreats in fear or dollar signs appear in her eyes, like a slot machine at a casino, hoping that with one pull, she’ll hit the jackpot.
But the recognition from this woman doesn’t come. Not the fear or the attraction. If she does know who I am, she’s doing a damn good job of hiding it.
“I’m Peyton,” she says with a smile that causes twin dimples in her cheeks to pop out, adding to her beauty. “I’m your flight attendant today. So, if you need anything, please let me know.”
Normally, I would assume those words held an insinuation somewhere in there, but this woman has transformed from embarrassed to professional in the blink of an eye.
“Can I get you something to drink? A glass of champagne or …”
“An old-fashioned, please,” I tell her. “Kingston Limited Black Label.”
“Unfortunately, we don’t carry Kingston on this flight,” she says, “but I can make it with Maker’s Mark.”
I’m about to argue that Kingston is definitely kept in stock—I make sure of it—when I remember once again that I’m not on our private plane.
“That would be great. Thanks.”
She nods and turns, and I can’t help but lean to the side so I can watch as she walks away, her luscious ass swaying in her tight skirt as she goes.
Peyton returns a few minutes later, places a napkin on my armrest, and then sets my drink down.
“For the record,” she says, her voice low and her green eyes filled with mirth, “I prefer Kingston as well. It goes down smooth.”
Well, fuck me sideways, maybe there is hope for me fucking her against the wall in the restroom on this flight.
2
Peyton
Today has been a day from hell.
It started with my now ex–best friend from college, Sara, messaging me to let me know that I should get tested. She’d found out that Brent, my ex-boyfriend—who cheated on me with Sara while I took some time off from college to move back home to take care of my sick mom—had given her chlamydia. Because she apparently cares so much about me, she wanted to make sure I knew in case he had given it to me as well.
I had already been tested after I found out he’d cheated, and thankfully, everything came back clean. But after her call, I scheduled a doctor’s appointment because I wouldn’t stop thinking about it until I knew for sure that the asshole hadn’t given me one last parting gift before I dumped his ass and then blocked him.
After receiving that wonderful message, I arrived at work, only to be accosted by Dale the Douche. He’s one of the pilots on my route who has decided that I’m his new conquest.
Gag.
At first, when Dale had asked me out—swearing he only wanted to get to know me on a friendly basis since we’d be working together—I’d agreed, thinking it would be nice to make a friend, until I learned he was married with three kids and did this shit to all the new hires, hoping to get laid.
What is it about me that attracts all the assholes? I swear it’s genetic.
My mom fell for a cocky professional boxer’s charms, let him in her pants and into her heart, and he promised her the world. For a short time, she thought they were forever, until a few years after they had me—when she found out he’d been cheating on her. From there, things went downhill.
Instead of keeping the violence in the ring, he started to take his temper out on my mom, and she knew she needed to leave him. It took her a few years to get out of the abusive situation, but she did.
I read somewhere that kids who come from abusive homes are more likely to continue the cycle, and while I want to be, like, fuck that, the fact that I keep meeting cheating assholes feels like I’m dodging bullets left and right. If the cycle is trying to continue, it can eat shit because it’s not getting me.
But I digress …
Where was I?
Ex-boyfriend and ex–best friend with chlamydia …
Cheating pilot douche …
Oh yeah, my day from hell.
The pilot is pissed because I won’t sleep with him, and now, he’s determined to make my life miserable. Like, he thinks if he harasses me enough, I’ll get so fed up that I’ll give in and spread my legs. That’s not happening.
On top of all that, my mom’s doctor has requested our presence in her office to go over her test results. And everyone knows that the only time a doctor forces you to come in is when they have bad news.
Despite all this going on, I was trying to focus on getting the flight ready—because I need this job—but my head was all over the place, and I wasn’t watching where I was going when I ran smack into a passenger. A ridiculously handsome—with his chiseled jaw, gray eyes, perfect amount of scruff—business-class passenger.