I had boarded first class and gotten entirely too comfortable—comfortable enough that it took repeated tapping on my face to wake me.
I opened my eyes.
The first thing I saw was a pair of almost exaggeratedly ice-blue eyes—so cold and precise they felt unreal,
Did people actually have eyes like that?
They were the kind of eyes I'd usually reserve for a fictional heartthrob—the kind I described on the page, not the kind I expected to find staring back at me in real life.
Apparently, I'd fallen asleep on his shoulder. And judging by what I was looking at, I didn't regret it one bit. He was blonde, with soft pink lips and a symmetrically perfect face. Did I mention he was… very well built?
"Hi."
That voice.
Deep. Smooth. Dangerous.
It could absolutely ruin my self-control on a good day.
"Can you hear me?"
Oh no—he was talking to me.
Act normal, Aubrey. Act normal.
"I love your eyes," I blurted out. "I—I didn't mean that."
Classic.
"what?! Why? You hate my eyes?" he asked, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow.
"No! Your eyes are beautiful. I just… you know… it slipped out. I didn't mean to say that especially not to someone I just met," I stammered while my heart pounded like a drum.
He chuckled softly. "It's fine. And thank you. You must've been really stressed—you fell asleep almost immediately after takeoff."
"Oh—wait." I froze. "Did I snore?"
"Yes," he said calmly. "And you drooled on my shoulder."
Mortification burned through me as he smirked.
"I'm so sorry," I rushed. "I didn't mean to—"
"But you did," he interrupted. "And it's fine. Your spit smelled like lavender oil on my jacket."
Sarcasm. Of course.
"What is your problem?" I snapped. "Okay, fine—I drooled on you. It was an accident. It's not like I can undo it."
"No," he agreed easily.
"Thank you."
"But," he added, leaning closer, "we can make it fair."
"How?" I asked, confused.
"If you let me drool on your clothes."
I stared at him. "What?! Are you out of your mind?"
He laughed. "Relax. I'm joking."
He extended his hand. "Jake Hudson."
I took it. His grip was warm, steady. I couldn't remember the last time something so small felt so… new.
"Aubrey Everhart," I said.
"Oh small world," he said, surprised. "You're the author."
"Yeah. And you are…?" I hesitated. "I don't think I recognize you."
"That's because I'm not a public figure," he replied. "I'm a crisis consultant."
"A crisis consultant who reads my books?" I teased. "Aren't you already drowning in work?"
"My little sister recommended one," he said. "After that, I couldn't stop."
Heat crept into my face, but I brushed it off.
"Thank you," I said, straightening in my seat. "Uh—sorry about the… drool. But I need to focus on my own things now, if you don't mind."
I slipped my headphones on, blocking him out before he could even attempt to respond.
It was rude.
I knew that.
But I didn't like the way talking to him made me feel.
And that scared me more than any chaos ever could.