3. Hudson

3

HUDSON

A s I suspected, the two hours on this short-ass plane ride is not enough time. The flight attendant just walked by informing us they will start prepping to land, and I have never wanted to hold a plane hostage more than I do now.

“No, no. I’m telling you we can debate about this all day long, but I’ll win. Big Red is the best gum to ever be made.” I flip open the top of the same pack that hit the top of her head, offering her a piece.

She throws her head back, half giggling, half eye rolling. “Juicy Fruit all day,” she banters back.

“But, how?” I push back. “Juicy Fruit does nothing for your breath, and it loses flavor in like two point five seconds.”

“But Big Red? It’s like ‘oh, I’m unassuming cinnamon gum’.” She waves her hands in front of her, giving the gum an extra girly voice, “But one piece, and it’s like lightning in your mouth and the sting lasts forever.”

Kinda like you.

Exactly like you .

Except the lightning engulfs my entire body, and that everlasting sting will linger everywhere.

I chuckle, shaking my head. She has no idea.

The irony is not lost on me. Not only does she have all the side effects of my favorite ridiculously powerful gum, but she has the same commanding red hair, and her name is Ember.

Give me the sting and light me on fire, little red.

Plus, she is stunning, and the conversation has come so easily. We haven’t talked about anything too personal, but everything we have talked about is organic and natural. It’s been one topic to another, flowing between the two of us like we’ve known each other our whole lives.

I’ve avoided the topic of what I do for a living, thankfully. I dislike the judgment that comes with telling people I’m a minor league baseball player. What my oldest brother, Henry, refers to as the ‘MLB for the inept’. I’m lying to myself when I use the word judgment. It’s embarrassment. I was destined for a long career in the MLB until one injury took my whole career away. I’ve been working my way back there ever since.

I found out she loves action movies and hates rom-coms. She graduated from the University of Missouri - Kansas City, with a double major in business and marketing.

I was instantly impressed when she told me she offered free marketing services to small local businesses in her town instead of doing fake mockups for her college projects. Thinking like a true entrepreneur and business professional.

Like me, she is on her way to Las Vegas as part of a wedding party. She left from Seattle for what she air-quoted as a ‘work thing’. She still lives in Missouri, a small annoying hiccup. When I asked if she travels to Seattle often, she said she hopes it becomes a more regular thing.

She seems anxious to get out of the small town she lives in, or maybe that’s just me projecting .

The last ten minutes were spent using the inside of my Big Red gum pack to play Tic Tac Toe. Apparently, she claims that Tic Tac Toe is strategic, and she is proving it by kicking my ass in every single game we have played, no matter what box I started my “X” in.

She circles one of the boxes and beats me in the final game. Again.

“See.” She kicks her chin up to me with a smug smile. “Strategy.”

“Fine, you’ve proven your point, but in case you don’t realize, my ego is never going to recover. I hope you know this is a core memory, and I’ll never get over this emotional destruction.”

She throws her head back and laughs. And Jesus, I could listen to that laugh forever.

“Here you go.” She tucks the top of the gum pack into the bottom and hands it to me.

“Oh, hell no.” I push it back toward her. “Why would I want that now? So I can kill my ego every time I want a piece of gum? No thanks. Consider that your winnings.”

She rewards me with another one of those gorgeous smiles before tucking the pack of gum into her purse.

She peeks over at the seat back pocket in front of my seat, and tilts her head to read the sideways lettering, then flicks the corner of the ticket. “So, you got kicked out of first class and have to rough it back here with us in coach today, huh?”

I angle my view to look at the tickets, a first-class ticket with a slash through it and the reprinted coach ticket unevenly peeking out from behind it. I quickly send a silent little thank you to Ruth for this jackpot of a seat. I can’t help but smile when I reply. “Yeah, apparently they overbooked the first-class seats, so they offered me this one. But,” I lean in close to her ear, “this is hardly roughing it, little red.”

I didn’t mean for it to come out as sexual as it sounded, but when her cheeks flush with pink, I have no regrets .

“But I am encroaching on your seat here,” I touch my shoulders to indicate my size, “which is why I typically always fly first or business class. I try to respect my fellow seatmates.”

“Well, thank goodness for your selfless act.” Her sarcastic smirk is on full display as she shifts in her seat to face me. “What’s the width measurement here, anyway? I’m surprised you made it through the cabin doors.” She places her palm over my shoulder and arm, then trails it along the front of my collarbone, using her hand as a ridiculous tool for measurement.

She’s hyper focused on her palm, trailing along my chest, as she attempts to take an actual measurement with her hand, her tongue is sticking out between her teeth with how deep she is concentrating, and with every touch, she sends bolts of electricity all the way to my toes.

She’s like a little red Magneto.

“You’ve got to be at least twenty-two inches.” She’s looking down at her palm, still using her thumb and pointer finger to remeasure her palm as a scale in inches.

When she lifts her gaze to look at mine, my eyebrows are lifted and I’m pressing my lips in a hard line as an attempt to keep my mouth shut while I wait for her to realize what she said.

Her smile fades with a look of pure shock on her face. “No… no, I meant—” Her palms cover her face, interrupting herself.

“Oh no, you can stop and leave it there. I’m fine with this completely distorted measurement.” I laugh, pulling her hands down from covering her beautiful, embarrassed face.

With her hands in mine, I turn her hand over so her palm is facing up.

“Your palm is a terrible ruler,” I say, using this as an excuse to touch her. I place my pointer finger at the base of her wrist then trace the lines and creases that decorate her hand, wondering which ones are her laugh lines, heart lines, and life lines, wanting to claim all of them. My finger grazes over all of them before reaching the top of her fingertip, and when I glance back up to peer into those emerald gems, her bottom lip is pulled in between her teeth, and she’s just as entranced as I am.

I lick my lips, preparing to kiss her. I want to kiss her.

“Garbage?” The crinkle of plastic ruffling rips us out of the moment as the flight attendant walks by.

She grants me a shy smile, then shifts back to face the back of the seat in front of her.

My head falls to the headrest, and I realize the seatbelt sign isn’t lit up yet. Needing a moment, I excuse myself.

“Okay, I’ve got to use the restroom, but when I get back, we’re going to finish the other debate,” I remind her.

She furrows her brow, tilting her head as her eyes scan the top of her lids. “Oh, you mean the one where you concede to the fact that Die Hard is not a Christmas movie?” Her smirk, smug as hell.

“Oh, little red. You’re going to be the death of me.”

Literally .

She smiles, biting the corner of her bottom lip, both adorable and sexy as hell. I think she likes my nickname for her, and I never plan to stop.

I push myself off the seat and squeeze out of the confines of my tiny space. I glance around, and everything looks so unfamiliar. I haven’t once glanced up to see the people around me or even where we are on the plane. All of my senses have been consumed by her from the moment I sat down.

Thankfully, the bathroom is vacant.

Unfortunately, I forgot how fucking miniature these are.

Now I fully understand the meaning of water closet . I robot shuffle in a circle to lock the door and finish my robot shuffle back toward the toilet. I lift the cover to expose the metal bowl covered with a thin blue film. The sour stench that radiates from it reminds me how great I’ve had it sitting next to Ember, who smells like tropical petals and sunshine.

I wonder if it would be weird to ask her what kind of perfume she uses so I can wash my sheets in it. And everything I own.

I wash up and exit the bathroom, turning down the aisle to see a man crouching, leaning on the armrest of my aisle seat. I squint as my feet walk, one in front of the other. When he comes into my full view, I realize he’s fucking hitting on her.

Damn, he didn’t waste any time going in for the kill after I left my seat.

Since his back is toward me, he doesn’t see me approach. I linger a couple of steps back.

“...go out while you’re in Vegas?” I hear the last bit of his question.

“Oh,” Ember says with genuine surprise.

I don’t know why you’re surprised. Every man on this goddamn plane wants to ask you out. Court you. Date you. Keep you forever.

“That’s so sweet, but I have a boyfriend.”

What the hell?

My breath is lost behind my throat, her words an invisible punch to my gut. Like this metal tin box for an airplane, my lungs find their own pressurization process, providing me with anxiety I wasn’t prepared for.

How did I not ask that question? The chemistry between us was so strong, our conversation effortless. It never came up, and I never even thought to ask. Never wanted to consider.

Of course she has a goddamn boyfriend.

I clear my throat to get the attention of the crouching douchebag here.

He stands up to his full height, meeting me face to face. Well, we do when I scowl down at him, since he is a solid foot shorter than me .

I smile. Close mouthed and sarcastic.

He leaves.

I glance down at Ember as she pushes her purse back under the seat in front of her.

When she turns to face me, it’s as if there is a glow around her. A radiance that only I can see and my heart can feel. It fights to not crack open out of the armor that keeps it safe, but feels like it breaks simultaneously.

“What?” she asks curiously.

I just shake my head and joke, because that’s what I do when I avoid something I don’t want to address. “Those bathrooms are the size of a matchbox.”

“Well, I’m sure they are compared to you. You’re like the Jolly Green Giant. Except you’re not green. So you’re just, Jolly Giant. A jolly giant.”

She giggles, and it’s infectious. Beautiful. My damnation.

I take my seat and we fall into conversation again as the flight attendants make their final rounds and buckle for landing.

Words are being exchanged, but I can only think of slamming my lips into hers. Wrapping my arms around her body, pulling her into my seat. I want to make her straddle me while I explore every inch of every curve of her gorgeous body. Run my hands through the locks of her sunset strands that have entranced me these past couple hours and make her forget there is anyone but us.

Jesus, I want to.

But I follow rules and respect boundaries.

Why? I have no fucking clue. She makes me want to break every rule I have.

The captain comes back on the loudspeaker, telling us we’ve landed, tearing me from my thoughts. The plane is heading to another city after Las Vegas, so it appears some passengers will stay on and some will get off. He asks that everyone remain seated so that those catching a connecting flight can exit first since our flight was slightly delayed.

I won’t do what I want to do and take her in every corner of this plane. But I won’t deprive myself of attempting to see her again.

“So, hey.” I remove my cap and run my hand around the back of my neck before replacing it on my head. “Why don’t we exchange numbers? We could meet for coffee or something while we’re here in Vegas?” I sound more confident than I feel.

“Oh.”

There’s that fucking ‘Oh’. The same ‘Oh’ she gave Crouching Tiger.

“I… I can’t.”

My eyes narrow in confusion. I know she feels this, too. She has to.

The little boy from Texas, who was raised with good manners, wants to respect what she just said. But the man sitting in front of the woman that has made him feel more alive than he has felt in years. That man , I want to unleash on her and see what happens.

My friends are constantly telling me to take more risks with women. Hence, why I’m still single. Actually, I’m single because I believe in more than lust. Sure, I have women that show interest in me. But a woman that sets my soul on fire, I haven’t found that.

Until her.

Until today, before getting on this plane thinking it would be an uncomfortable, draining flight. But no, physically and mentally, I’m alive. So fucking alive.

Goddammit .

I’m not letting her get away that easily.

Before I can open my mouth, she tips her chin at the emptying aisle and says, “We’re up.”

Shit, that was fast .

I stand and grab the bag I placed in the overhead bin as she leans forward to squeeze between me and the seat, brushing her ass against the front of my pants.

“Shoot, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t ever be sorry for that .” I wink, giving her my most flirtatious grin.

She returns a playful eye roll before turning around and walking down the aisle. I follow, a few paces behind, to marvel at how perfect her ass bounces with each step she takes. Her legs are thick and her calves are unbelievable. I know that’s strange, right? But her small knee and ankle joints add curves to her already muscular legs and her calves… She must wear heels all day or she’s genetically gifted. Either way, I want to run my tongue over every inch of her bottom half. Her top half, too.

“Hudson? Hudson Byrnes?” I hear someone say my name, questioningly.

I turn back to the man I just passed, sitting in an aisle to my right.

“Yes?” I reply, just as questionably as he said my name.

“Wow, I’m a huge fan.” Holding his hand out for a shake.

“Oh, thanks man, I appreciate that.” I slide my hand in his, giving him a brotherly greeting.

“You held the college record for most hits as a catcher. You were lined up to be the next Mike Piazza. You were gonna be so huge, man. Man, it’s so cool to meet you!”

The keyword: were .

My lips turn down before turning into a tip-lipped smile.

“You’re playing in San Diego, in the minors, right? Ever think you’ll make it back to the big leagues? Your ankle ready for it?”

Oh, it’s ready. My ankle, my body, my heart. They’ve all been ready. It’s the MLB that hates signing players they think are damaged goods due to an injury no one thought I would come back from .

“Yeah, still there. And, one day, hopefully, man. You never know.” I hold out my hand one more time, giving him a friendly nod.

I love being recognized, and I love fans. Especially true fans, like he was, is . But there are always so many questions about my injury and if I’m ever coming back. I never had hope of that until the last meeting with my coach, which is what brought me here.

Bringing myself back to reality, I look down the aisle of the empty plane. She’s gone.

Shit .

I glance behind me to a slew of angry faces because I held up the line for a couple of minutes. I quickly hurry my steps, not just for their sake, but for mine, too. I can’t believe she raced off without so much as a goodbye or a wave.

I duck under the entrance doors into the jet bridge and rush my way down the exit tunnel until I pass through the doors into the airport.

There are people everywhere. Slot machines. More noise than my brain wants to comprehend when it’s trying so hard to find a needle in a haystack. A cinnamon-haired needle with perfect emerald green eyes and flawless lips.

I tower over most of these people easily, but still shimmy back and forth, pressing onto my toes to stand beyond my full height, shooting my eyes in every direction to attempt to find her.

But she’s gone.