Going Up | ✓

Live A Little - (1)

Live A Little.

I've always loved airports. Ever since I was little, one of my favourite places to be was the arrivals part of an airport. I used to get my father to drive me there and we'd spend an hour or so just watching families and friends greet each other. We bonded over that.

I now sit in the almost full arrivals lounge, waiting for best friend Maddie. She's been visiting her parents, and wanted picking up from the airport. I glance around, noticing the huge smiles and squeals as loved ones greet each other.

Maddie's plane is due to land in fifteen minutes, but being the ever-organised perfectionist I am, I had to arrive early, in case she did.

'Is this seat taken?'

The low voice has me snapping my head up, and my eyes connect with the most gorgeous eyes I've ever seen. The ice blue colour holds my gaze for a moment, before I glance at the rest of the tall man's face.

There's no denying he's absolutely, gob-smackingly gorgeous.

His black hair is cropped close to his head, and a small beard clings to his jawline, but I can still see that he has an absolutely amazing jawline, despite the beard. Of course, to top off his amazing face, he just has to have a muscly, broad body as well.

Sometimes it's just unfair how good people look.

Quickly regaining my composure, hoping he didn't notice me ogling him, I shake my head. 'No, it's not,' I say, shifting slightly in my seat.

He's dressed in a posh looking suit, while I'm in a casual wool dress. Somehow, depsite wearing a dress, I still feel underdresesd next to him in his designer suit.

'Who are you waiting for?' he breaks the silence, his eyes boring into mine as he sits down next to me, his strong but inviting cologne invading my senses.

I glance over my shoulder at the clock. Anything to break the eye contact. I've hated holding eye contact with people for a long time. 'I'm waiting for a friend,' I respond, turning back around to look at him again. 'What are you doing here?'

His mouth curves into a smile. 'I'm waiting for my mother,' he replies. 'She's been away for a few days and I'm picking her up. I'm Ivan, by the way.'

The name definitely suits him. I smile lightly. 'I'm Poppy,' I tell him. 'But a lot of my friends call me Pops.'

'A pretty name for a pretty face,' he grins, cheekily, letting his eyes drop down my body, before he drags them back up again.

I roll my eyes, scoffing at him. 'Do those sorts of lines actually work with you?' I ask curiously. 'Like, if you just went up to some stranger and said that, do you honestly think she'd want to date you, or whatever?'

He shrugs casually, his eyes twinkling. 'Maybe. It would depend who she was. I don't say those lines to everybody, mind you.'

I scrunch my nose up. 'I hope not,' I reply dryly. 'We wouldn't want you saying that sort of thing to any males now, would we? Unless you swing that way, obviously, but the confident aura that you carry and the way you keep smirking at me suggests not.'

Ivan laughs at my comment. 'You're very observant, Poppy,' he chuckles, my name rolling off his tongue sensually.

I shrug, glancing down at my boots. 'I guess so,' I mumble, my confident feeling gone.

We continue talking for a good five minutes, enjoying the banter passing between us.

'Tell me, Poppy, what are you doing on Thursday evening?' he asks out of the blue, his voice husky.