2. Hudson

2

HUDSON

A s I duck through the entrance of the plane to make my way down the bean pole they call an aisle, I instantly regret my coach decision. The air is as stiff as Marge Simpson’s hair and as spacious as a Costco parking lot on Christmas Eve. I’m trying to remain positive, but I hope this isn’t a precursor to how this weekend will turn out.

I walk past the seats, and I skim over the aisle numbers for row nineteen. Seventeen, eighteen, ah, nineteen. Here we are.

A quick glance down at the dual lined exit seats has my neck whiplash with a double take. Gorgeous, bright auburn hair, that flows over a petite woman, steals my attention. Her leg is crossed over the other as she balances a crossword puzzle on her lap, nibbling on the top of the pen she is holding.

Sensing my looming presence, she tilts her head toward me, simultaneously bringing her hand to her face to pull the thick cinnamon curtain that attempts to cradle her face behind her ear.

The gaze of her emerald eyes collides with my chocolate ones, and the back draft that flows between them creates a mesh of invisible fireworks that I feel everywhere . The once stuffy air is now replaced with thick, dense oxygen, forbidding my body to breathe, and I’m internally choking on the rapid beating of my own heart.

She is the most captivating woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.

“Is that your seat?” a gruff voice behind me asks impatiently, ripping us out of our trance.

I turn to look at him, back to the aisle number, then up at the empty overhead bins. I give a simple nod and pick up my luggage to fill the empty space.

I’m terrified that if I look back down at the seat, she’ll be gone. Like one of those mystery women in a movie when the character thinks he sees his dream girl, but when he blinks, she has disappeared, leaving him questioning everything in his life, including his sanity.

That’s me. I’m that guy.

But when I glance back down, she’s still here. Bewitching me. Turning my once confident charm into oatmeal. The same color as the sweater that hangs off one side of her shoulder, exposing her creamy complexion.

I unzip the front pocket of my bag that I’ve just tucked into the overhead bin to grab my headphones. As I pull them out, a pack of Big Red gum falls out, bounces on the top of the chair in front of mine, then ricochets toward the window seat like a goddamn projectile missile, hitting Little Red straight in the forehead.

She flinches, but still, somehow, snatches the falling gum pack with her free hand before it falls to the floor.

“I am so sorry,” I profess. Genuine concern laces my voice as I sit down.

“It’s okay.” She giggles while handing me the gum. “I have three older brothers. I’ve had worse things thrown at my head.”

The natural pink tint to her lips curl upward in a timid smile and her eyes squint, matching the emotion of her tempting mouth .

She shifts her shoulders away from me to face the back of the seat in front of her, but I’m not ready for this conversation to end. “I have three older brothers, too.”

Her head snaps back to me. “No, you don’t.” An accusatory statement, not a question.

“No, really.” I chuckle at her reaction. I pull out my phone, tapping on the photo app to bring up a picture of my brothers from Thanksgiving, from just a handful of weeks back. My parents insist that we always go back home to Texas for that specific holiday. In my twenty-eight years on this earth, I have yet to miss a Thanksgiving, and I’m not sure I want to feel the wrath of my mother if I ever do.

I click on a photo and twist the phone in her direction. “This is my oldest brother, Henry, and,” pointing to the two guys between Henry and me, “the twins, Graham and Grant.”

“And who is this guy?” She points to me, with my arm wrapped around the shoulder of my favorite brother, Grant.

“Oh, that guy.” I clear my throat. “Well, he’s six-four, strapping young man. Born and raised in Texas, but currently resides in San Diego.” I instantly hate not knowing where she lives and debate asking her to move wherever I am. Instead of being a complete psycho, I boldly continue with, “he loves baseball, 90s punk music, and recently discovered his weakness for beautiful redheads who like crossword puzzles.”

Her eyebrows raise, and an adorable smirk appears over her lips. “He’s a charmer, I see.”

Oh, I will charm your panties off, little red.

“What’s your name?” I ask, holding my hand out.

“Ember.” She slides her dainty hand into mine as she gives it a kind shake. Her touch is like velvet on my calloused hand, engulfing me further into her spell. The shockwaves travel down my spine into the uncontrollable appendage between my legs. It forces me to shift in my seat, which is exactly what I don’t need right now .

“I’m Hudson.”

The captain comes over the speaker, tearing both our eyes and hands apart. He introduces himself and confirms our flight arrival time in Las Vegas.

Two hours will never be enough time. I’d fly to Antarctica in this tin can if it meant I could have more time with her.