Greatest Distraction (Distracted #1) (8 page)

“God Bless it! I get it!” Scooping up my purse and carry-on, I shoved my Kindle roughly back inside and stomped away from the uncomfortable fake leather seats. If I had to hear that voice tell me the exact same thing
again
I was going to lose my mind. Seriously, how many times is it necessary to repeat yourself? I mean, most people are smart enough to read the big screens with the times on it, right?

“What flight number did they say was delayed?” I heard a woman ask her traveling partner and I shook my head. Okay, so I guess not everyone was smart enough to read the signs.

Desperate to escape the artificial woman’s voice, I made my way into the bar lounge. Pausing only for a moment at the “platinum passengers only” sign, I continued on and perched on one of the stools at the bar and waited impatiently for the bartender to come down my direction. He seemed deep in thought with a man at the end of the bar, and I rapped my nails loudly on the wood countertop. Looking up, he caught my eye, held a hand up signaling he’d be over in a moment, and said something to the man he was talking to, making him laugh.

MMM, that laugh
, I thought idly, slightly intrigued. Of course, I refused to look at him - that would defeat the purpose. Nope, I’d sit here and sigh loudly in hopes that the neglectful barman got his act in gear. It had been over five minutes and he still hadn’t even come over to tell me he wasn’t coming over just yet, and it was making me more than frustrated. I understand being busy, but the bar wasn’t. Therefore, it stood to reason that I shouldn’t have to be kept waiting for forever so the hottie with the husky laugh could socialize.

Giving up, I pulled my e-reader back out from my bag and swiped it to life, hoping for a good distraction.
Usually reading put me in a good mood, as well as killed time for me, but I couldn’t concentrate.
Bar-guy must be a fracking comedian,
I thought, hoping my unspoken words could drown out the sound of their laughter. Just as I was about to either throw my book at them or storm off in a super dramatic huff, my attention was drawn up. Well, if it wasn’t the comedian.

“Well
, hello there. What can I get you, pretty girl?”

“Vodka cranberry,” I answered, purposely cutting my words short. I wasn’t intere
sted in him or his ‘pretty girl’ comment. I wanted my drink and I wanted it five, wait, now seven, minutes ago.

The man in front of me frowned before nodding and grasping for the house vodka. I clicked my teeth and shook my head ‘no,’ hoping he’d understand
my meaning. Good for me, he did, and placed his hand on a bottle of Gray Goose, raising his eyes and waiting for my approval. When I inclined my head in agreement, he smiled brightly before pouring my drink.

Content my cocktail was being poured to my
liking, I turned my eyes downward, once again trying to pick up where I left off. I didn’t glance up when my glass was set on a square white napkin, merely wrapped my hand around it and brought to my lips. I was probably coming off as a snooty bitch, which I was feeling, and I spared a moment to feel a little guilty.

“Is this seat taken?” a masculine voice intruded on my moment of guilt and my head snapped up, recognizing the sound. It was
him, the laughing man.

So, it wasn’t just his laugh that was delectable. He was absolutely yummy, exactly what I would consider my
‘type.’ He was tallish, despite my sitting down, with dark hair and eyes the color of green water – not the algae-filled, ugly, smelly kind, but the perfect, clear, breathtaking green of the majestic oceans. His chin was strong, leading into even stronger cheekbones, both covered in a stubble that made me want to lick him. Yes, I said lick him, damn it.

“Hello?” he asked again, forcing me to realize I’d been staring. I couldn’t help it! He was perfectly muscular, while still being lean and not bulky. His arms were made for cuddling and he showed them off well – wearing a tight fitting
V-neck tee paired with dark-wash blue jeans. To top off the hottie-patottie look he was going for? He was sporting black Chucks.
Damn.

“Um…” I answered, definitely winning the most-articulate award in Atlanta. Shaking my head, I decided to give the art of speech another go. “No. No one is sitting there.”

In return, I was graced with a mega-watt smile that if I hadn’t been sitting would make me weak in the knees. Go figure, he just
had
to have perfect pearly white teeth and a freaking dimple. A DIMPLE for crying out loud.  Nope, not affected. Not affected. Sigh.

“Thank you,” the man said as he gracefully perched himself onto the bar chair beside me. How anyone his size
could be graceful was beyond me; he made me look like a bumbling fool when I’d gotten into mine and for a second I hoped he hadn’t seen me.

What do you care,
Ryen? You’re leaving in
, I thought, glancing at my watch,
an hour and a half now. You’re going to the big city and you’ll never see this guy again. Go back to reading
. I started to do just that, taking a final glance at the nice specimen of man beside me before turning back to the book in my hands. He cleared his throat, obviously trying to get my attention, but I continued reading about Simon Wallbanger and how I wished he was real and moved in next door to Elle’s place in New York. Alice Clayton was a new author to me, but Elle had demanded I read it and gifted it to me on New Year’s when I was spending the evening alone. I’d been depressed and I’d put the book on the back burner for a while … Now I was questioning my sanity on why I’d done that.

“What are you reading?” the man beside me asked, interrupting my concentration. I looked up, clearly annoyed, giving him my best dagger glare.

“A book,” I answered, turning my attention back down, hoping he’d get the message I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to read, obviously, or I wouldn’t be doing just that … on an e-reader … that has books.

“Is it good?”

“It would be, if I could actually read it.” This time my words came out incredibly sarcastic with a hint of ire to them that I couldn’t have hidden even if I wanted to. Yes, he was yummy and normally I would be all over him like a bee to honey, but not today. I was irked, I wanted to get on my flight, and I wanted to get the hell out of Georgia. The last thing I wanted was a man who was sex-on-a-stick to keep me here. I had plans!

“I wouldn’t have any idea why that’s a problem; it’s awfully quiet in here, especially for a bar. Not something I’m used to, actually,” he remarked, his voice smooth and even, completely void of any acknowledgement to my
snark.

Setting my reader on the bar, I clutched my drink tightly and took a sip, praying for patience and
the strength to deal with this man. He was probably the type, he looked it at least, who rarely got shot down in a bar, quiet or otherwise. First time for everything - kinda sad, really, because if I’d met him in New York a week from now I’d probably have entertained the idea of a date or something. Or white-hot sex in the apartment, you know, all the good stuff. But now just wasn’t the time.

“Look,
Mister Good-Looking,” I scolded him, finger pointing and all, his eyes following it. “Just like Peter, Paul and Mary sang: ‘I’m leavin’ on a jet plane, don’t know when I’ll be back again.’ Since my flight is delayed, I was looking for a little peace from the reoccurring noise of the loudspeaker so I could read and drink some booze. Instead, here you are, interrupting the hot times I’m reading.” I stopped for a moment, deciding to get off the path of what I was reading quickly – he didn’t need to know.  “Why
are
you here, for that matter? I’m not a blonde pinup girl looking for a man who can buy her drinks … I can buy my own.”

“Well, wow. Here I thought you were a pretty woman alone in a bar. I, too, am waiting on a flight – we are, after all, in an a
irport, you know. Most people here are doing the same thing. As for your drinks, good for you, I didn’t offer. I merely thought two was better than one.”

“Now you sound like a Spice Girls song,” I mumbled grumpily. Okay, maybe he hadn’t offered me a drink
… and I quashed the feeling that I wished he had.
Stop it, stop it, stop it.

“What was that?” he asked, eyes narrowing at me. I’m pretty sure he heard me, but with that look trained on me? No way was I going to repeat myself. See? Told you I’m smart, most of the time, anyway.

I was saved by the loudspeaker informing us all that despite the previously repeated message, flight fourteen-sixty-two would be boarding in fifteen minutes. Glancing down at my watch I was pleasantly surprised to find that though we were still delayed from my original arrival time in New York, we were going to be an hour ahead of the later schedule. I danced a little on the inside. Finally.

“Never mind,” I told him, climbing from my chair and throwing a ten on the bar to pay my tab. I hollered at the bartender to keep the change as a tip, scooped my bags up from the floor, and sashayed my way out
door, hoping that the hottie was watching me go. Realizing I’d left my Kindle on the bar, I turned, finding the man holding it and glancing at the screen. I blushed a little, snatched it from his hands, and once again strolled toward the gate for my plane. Allowing myself one look back, I found his eyes on me and I warmed. Too bad I’d had to go back in - I’d killed the first perfect exit.

When I’d bought my ticket, I’d purchased a first class ticket, mainly because all the other window seats were taken, which
was a must for me and flying. I just couldn’t fly and ride in the middle or aisle seats without a chance of getting sick. At the time I’d felt bad, spending money that didn’t really need to be spent on an upgrade, but I’d bit the bullet and decided to live with my choice. Now I was very grateful I’d done it.

One of the best parts about first class?
You get to board first. That probably doesn’t sound like a huge selling point, but this was a super big plane, and it was at capacity. Capacity for a plane this size meant
a lot
of passengers to fight with, getting bashed in the face a couple times as the guy next to you tried to put his too-big-to-be-a-carry-on bag in the compartment overhead, and getting stepped on more times than a rodeo clown. Instead of all that hassle, I was greeted by a nice flight attendant named Lucy, who dutifully showed me to my seat, stored my bag for me, and handed me champagne along with a promise of hard liquor once we were in the air. See? Definitely a better choice.

First class is spacious, too, and I couldn’t help but squirm in my seat, feeling out the extra room there was. Plush, memory
-foam seating made the chair almost illegally comfortable and for the first time in my life I decided to take a nap during the flight. Elle had pulled some strings and put me on the guest lists for some A-list events while I was in the city, and I knew, knowing her, even more would be coming. The first was an event at Radio City Music hall later tonight – some white-carpet event for charity. There would be some high-profile names there and I was excited to get to go, not at all nervous about going stag. The best part of white carpet to red carpet was the fact that it wasn’t quite as dressy, quite as couple-like, and I appreciated my friend’s thoughtfulness. She’d probably meant it as a way to find a guy – one with money, no less – but that was fine. I got to go be pretty, schmooze with some people I wouldn’t normally get to, and live my first night up.

Pulling a provided eye mask over my f
ace, I reclined back, belted in of course, and closed my eyes. I was given a blanket by Lucy, who interrupted my almost-sleep for only a moment to ask if there was anything more she could get me, and then it was almost complete blissful silence. Why was first class so much quieter than coach? Not that I was complaining … It was heavenly. Relaxing.

Two hours later, Lucy woke me, handing me another glass of champagne. She winked as she took my blanket and eye mask and I smiled back at her. I was downright chipper after my nap
, and hearing the pilot come over the loudspeaker announcing we were landing in just a few moments made my mood soar even higher. I looked out the window, staring in awe at the sky scrapers that looked so small from such heights. It was dusk and lights twinkled from everywhere, shining like a beacon for an adventure. I felt like the city was calling to me, begging for me to explore it and myself, enjoy some time out of the norm. I didn’t want to live here anymore, despite how good it felt to be back, but I’d stayed away entirely too long.