we look at each other and we smile that smile like a secret we share we both know we've found what the whole world is searching for.
"THE FIRST TIME I SAW YOU, MY HEART WHISPERED: "THAT'S THE ONE"
...................................
AGASTYA MUKHERJE...
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He laughs out loud, and it’s deep and strong and does things to my stomach.
I put my headphones back on and pretend to focus on my screen. I can’t, though, because I just totally embarrassed myself, and I can feel myself blushing.
Stop talking.
Two hours later, I sat and stared out the window. My movie is over, but his scent is not. It’s surrounding me, taunting me with things that I shouldn’t be thinking about.
How does he smell so good?
Unsure what to do without seeming awkward, I decide I’ll take a nap, try to sleep through the next few hours, but first I need to go to the bathroom. I stand. “Excuse me.”
He moves his legs a little but not enough for me to fit through, and I have to lean over him to get past. I stumble and fall and put my hand on his thigh; it’s large and hard to my touch. “I’m so sorry,” I stammeredamd feel embarassed.
“That’s fine.” He smirks up at me. “More than fine.”
I stare at him for a moment. Huh?
“There’s a method to my madness.”
I frown. What does that mean? I make my way past him and go to the bathroom, and then I walk around and stretch my legs a little as I ponder that statement. I’m stumped—I’ve got nothing. “What did you mean by that?” I ask as I fall back into my seat.
“Nothing.”
“Did you give me the window seat so I would have to climb over you?”
He tilts his head to the side. “No, I gave you the window seat because you wanted it. Climbing over me was just an added bonus.”
I stare at him as I struggle to respond. Am I imagining this? Older rich guys don’t usually speak to me like this . . . at all. “Are you flirting with me, agastya?” I ask.
He gives me a slow, sexy smile. “I don’t know. Am I?”
" I asked you first, and don’t answer my question with a question okay.”
He smirks as he turns his attention back to the television screen. “This is probably where you should start flirting back . . . Saanvi.”
I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment as I try to hide my stupid smile. “I don’t flirt. I either want a man or I don’t,” I announce.
“Is that so?” he says as if fascinated. “And how long after you meet a man do you make that decision?”
“Instantaneously,” I lie. That’s not true, but I’ll pretend. Faking confidence is my superpower.
“Really?” he whispers as the flight attendant walks past us. “Excuse me, can we have two more champagnes, please?” he asks her.
“Of course, sir.”
His eyes come back to meet mine. “Well, do tell. What was your first impression of me?”
and hands them over, and I wipe the drink dribbling from my chin.
“Men who look like you are not supposed to talk about head.” I cough.
“Why not?” he asks incredulously. “And what do you mean, men who look like me?”
“All serious and stuff.”
He looks at me deadpan. “Define stuff.”
“You know, older, rich, and bossy.”
His eyes dance with delight. “And what gives you the impression that I’m rich and bossy?”
I exhale in an over exaggerated way. “You look rich.”
“How do I?”
“Your fancy watch. The cut of your shirt.” I glance down at his shoes. “I’ve never seen shoes like that before. Where did you even get those?”
“In a shop, saanvi .” He looks at his watch. “And I’ll have you know that this watch was a gift from a girlfriend.”
I roll my eyes. “I bet she’s a vegan yoga nut and she must have gluten free food only.”
He smirks.
“I know your type of woman.”
“Really.” He leans closer. “Please go on—this character analysis is fascinating for me .”
I smile as a little voice from my subconscious screams, Stop drinking, fool! “I’m assuming you live in Mumbai.”
“Correct.”
“In an apartment.”
“Affirmative.”
“You probably work at some ritzy company who pay you hefty amount.”
He smiles; he likes this game. “Perhaps.”
“You would have a girlfriend or . . .” I glance down. “You don’t wear a wedding ring . . . so perhaps you cheat on your wife when you travel for work?”
He chuckles. “You really should make a profession out of this. I’m amazed at the accuracy.”
I like this game too; I smile broadly. “What do you think about me?” I ask. “What was your first impression when I walked onto the plane?”
“Well.” He frowns as he considers the question. “Do you want the politically correct version?”
“No. I want the truth.”
“Right . . . well, in that case, I noticed your long legs and the curve of your neck. The dimple in your chin. You are the most attractive woman I’ve seen in a long time, and when you smiled, it brought me to my feet.”
I smile softly as the air swirls between us.
“And then you spoke . . . and ruined everything.”
What?
I burst out laughing. “I ruined everything? How did I ruin everything?”
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