If Only Read Free Page B

airplanes.”
    His brown hair is long enough that it’s starting to curl up at his temples and above his ears. I stifle the urge to run my hands through it and silently berate myself for said urge. Something is wrong with me.
    He smiles and shrugs. “It’s all yours,” he says, stepping aside. “Watch your step on the dismount.” He looks back at me, nodding toward the door with a hesitant smile.
    I regain my composure, ready for my wittiest retort. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Or, maybe I’ll opt for not even close to witty.
    I rush into the body-sized compartment and lock the door. My breathing steadies, and my stomach stops doing acrobatics. What the hell was that?
    When I exit the loo, I make sure to watch my step on the dismount . What I’m not expecting is to see loo boy examining the compartment door, running his fingers along the seam.
    “So, here’s the thing,” he says, his brows knitted together. “The door is kind of jammed.”
    He looks down, avoiding my eyes.
    I should respond to what he said, but my only thought right now is how my stomach contracts again at the sound of his voice.
    “Hey.” He’s talking again. “Did you hear me?” His gazelifts to meet mine, and this time I see it, the glassy panic in his eyes.
    “Are you okay?” I ask, somehow regaining composure. His eyes plead for something, and I want to help him. But I don’t know what he needs.
    I grab the handle of the pocket door and try to slide it open, just to be sure he’s right. It doesn’t budge.
    As if God, or the universe, or L. Ron Hubbard has it in for me, the train jostles again, thrusting me straight back into loo boy.
    Seriously?
    My hands splay against his chest, his hard chest that I can feel beneath his thin T-shirt. The pulse of his heartbeat echoes into my hand, and I don’t want to break the connection. It would be weird, though, and a little creepy on my part, not to.
    Come on , Jordan. Get your shit together.
    He grabs me by the shoulders, and I suck in a breath. But he pushes me from him so I regain my footing and straighten, leaning on the closed door of the loo. He lets go as quickly as he grabbed me, but my shoulders hold on to the memory of his touch.
    Whatever that something was in his eyes, it slowly dissipates.
    “You’re a good distraction,” he says, a small smile blooming on his face.
    “Distraction?” I ask.
    “Sorry. Did I say that out loud?” He scratches the back of his head. “I think I better get your name if we’re going to keep bumping into each other like this.” Much like his smile, his voice is tentative, the statement coming off more as a question. He glances once through the door that has us trapped and then back at me, like he’s expecting someone to free us at any moment.
    “No pun intended?” I ask.
    “Actually,” he says, “pun absolutely intended. I’m Noah.” His features relax, calming me in the process.
    “I’m Jordan,” I reply, my nervous hands releasing the hem of my shirt. “Jordan Brooks.”
    He didn’t ask for my last name. Filling the silence with useless information, though, seems to be one of my many talents.
    “Nice to meet you, Jordan Brooks,” he says, his mouth parting in a grin, his unease morphing into assurance.
    “What are we supposed to do?” I ask.
    He slides down the door that has us in our predicament, extending his legs as far as they’ll go before hitting the wall of the loo. With no other options, I move next to him and do the same.
    “I guess we wait.” He looks around the vestibule. “Not such a small space, is it?”
    He says it like he’s convincing himself. Because the space is small, a pocket meant only for one or two people to stand.
    He leans back, knocking his knee into mine the way I imagine a big brother would do, but I don’t have a brother, and Noah’s knee against mine doesn’t give the brotherly vibe as a pulse of excitement rushes through me.
    His hand reaches to his back pocket and pulls out a small