Change Your Ticket [n.h.]

Chapter 2

Edited 11-4-2015

I quickly scoot past him and sit in my designated seat and set my carry-on at my feet. I try not to look at the astonishingly gorgeous boy next to me. I wish they would have just left me in economy to sulk and cry on my own without him next to me. Why does fate have to be so cruel?

At least I did put on a little makeup before leaving the house, I shudder to think how much worse I would have looked if I hadn’t. I turn to the window to try and wipe the tears away and collect myself before he notices. I am sure he doesn’t want to sit through this long flight next to a blubbering mess. Where have I seen him before? It must have been just in the airport. I can’t shake the déjà vu feeling.

I decide to keep to myself; it is for the best, I don't want to annoy him. He looks like he is well accustomed to first class. He is wearing a simple black t-shirt and a pair of shorts. Oh my god his legs are goals. He has a strong, chiseled jaw underneath light stubble. His eyes are distractingly handsome, my stomach flutters just looking at him. I need to quit before he notices, prying my eyes away and staring at my lavender striped socks. Why didn't I put my shoes back on? Oh right, because I am an idiot.

 One advantage of being placed in first class is the space it gives you. Even after buckling my seatbelt, I am able to comfortably pull my knees up in front of myself and wrap my arms around them. They are going over procedures and pointing out exits as we ready for takeoff. I hate takeoffs.

As we taxi to the runway, I place my feet on the floor in front of me, grip the armrest firmly, and squeeze my eyes shut. Something about hurdling down a strip of pavement in a giant metal tube with wings doesn’t sit well with me. My bizarre reaction must have drawn some attention because next thing I know I feel a firm warm hand on top of mine that sends a shock through me like nothing I have felt before. My eyes fly open and look first at my hand, covered by his and then slowly up to the face that is now looking at me with open concern. Great. I must look like a lunatic.

“You must not fly often, huh?” says the gorgeous man in a Irish accent. Of course. Those looks weren’t enough; he had to be Irish, too. I am swooning on the inside.

“No. I've only flown a few times before. Never gets any easier.” I reply, trying to steady my voice, but it still came out a little too high.

He smiles a sweet, soft smile. “Well, here,” he takes my hand in his, “squeeze as much as you like. Promise you won’t hurt me. What's your name?” He has an expectant look in his eye.

As I go to answer, we start gaining speed down the runway. My stomach is in my throat as we get in the air and it makes talking impossible. I don’t relax until we level out.

“Emily,” I say shakily. “Thanks for that,...I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?” I ask squeezing his hand lightly then letting go. My hand tingles everywhere it was touched by his, I must have squeezed his a little too hard. Why is he looking at me like that? Like I have sprouted a second head or something.

“Emily, that is a pretty name. I'm Niall....but you probably already know that, aye?  Well Emily, headed to London for business or pleasure?” he says as he places his hand back on his armrest and rests one of his legs on the other at the knee. He looks perfectly at ease. I feel like the air around us is charged with something, what I am not sure. Wait, why would I already know his name? I mean he does look familiar....crap. I hope I haven't met him before and  forgotten him. I'd feel horrible if that were the case.

“Business. I have an internship at Syco Music in London. What about you?” Why am I watching his movements so closely? He is very distracting. And what is with this odd tension between us? I have never experienced anything quite like it. My stomach has butterflies. It must be the altitude.  I try to focus on the back of the seat in front of me before I hyperventilate.