was like, Hey, guys! I am not that miserable dragon woman who accidentally burned that lady's head off because she was making Swiss cheese out of my work! I am nice, and nice is good even though it's really bullshit, so please like me and all my niceness!
In the end, I was left with that one-on-one convo from hell. Not unlike this moment right now.
I glanced over at him. Given the way I'd launched myself into this situation, I'd viewed him as the opponent and avoided taking in any of his features. Not a strategic use of time. I'd noticed his hair because it was the stuff of shampoo commercials, and I'd noticed his severely pressed trousers because that crease could slice bread. I'd picked up the basics. Enough to know he was the kind of guy who required things a certain way and that way was both precise and expensive. Now that he was busy blinking at the clouds and resenting my existence, I had an opportunity to look him over.
He was a pretty one. That hair was a good chunk of it. Thick, dark, shot through with natural gold and copper highlights. They had to be natural. That kind of coloring took some coin, and I couldn't see him spending money on highlights when he could invest in aggressive trouser ironing services.
He was a big guy though not so big that he seemed shoehorned into his seat. Broad shoulders, strong arms, trim waist. He wasn't about to Hulk out of his button-down shirt and I appreciated that. There was nothing that stopped me in my tracks faster than spotting man nipples through a dress shirt. Nothing against man nipples but I didn't care to see them poking out at me in the regular course of business.
I shifted my gaze down his body, taking in the long, long lines of his legs. He was a tall one too. I glanced at his shoes, an expensive-looking pair I could only categorize as Fancy Man. But it wasn't the type of shoe that held my attention. It was the old adage about shoes of a certain size.
So, naturally, I choked on my own saliva.
Ash whipped his gaze toward me as I coughed. "Do you need the Heimlich or something?"
I shook my head, still coughing and now flapping my hands in front of my face as if that would help anything.
"This is what you get for eating pocket eggs, Zelda."
I tried to wave him off while wiping tears from my cheeks, which turned into slapping my face and patting his arm. Perfect. Just perfect.
He pushed his bottle of water into my palm. "Drink," he ordered.
I complied, chugging while he regarded me with a wary stare. When I'd drained the bottle and coughed myself back into order, I murmured, "Thanks. Sorry for the—you know—this."
He went on staring. "You're wackier than a bag of hammers."
I laughed at that but covered my mouth because it was a rusty, phlegmy laugh that really tested the limits of tolerable behavior among seatmates. "That doesn't sound like something you'd say."
His brows furrowed a bit. "And why not?"
I tugged my lower lip between my teeth, squinted away from him. Glancing away meant I was looking at his enormous shoes again. What was the rule about the foot-penis ratio? Was it one to one? Or was it simply a matter of the sock fitting either way?
"Zelda," he prompted. "Was your brain deprived of oxygen too long?"
I jerked up, forcing myself to meet his eyes and stop thinking about his dick. Oh my god, I was thinking about his dick! After I'd called him joyless and tyrannical—oh my god, again! What was wrong with me? Why did I do this? Me and my me-ishness, yes, but I wasn't supposed to invite anyone's dick into that riot. Oh my god. "Nope. I'm all right here. All good," I replied. "It just doesn't sound like you. The wacky hammers. You're not a metaphor guy. You're finite, specific, tangible."
He shrugged. "My mom says it a lot. I think I picked it up from her."
I crossed my arms over my torso and grinned. "Ah. I see."
"You need not gloat about it," he replied.
"I'm not gloating." I gave him a dramatic headshake. "I'm pleased that my instinct was correct."
"You delight in that correctness," he said. "You're not going to say 'I told you so,' but you'll feel that. Won't you?"
"And why do you say that? Why wouldn't I hit you with the 'I told you so'?"