To See You Read Free

was so interesting before, yet he was definitely intriguing. And not really a slob—that was my own bias. Clearly, I was having some sort of psychotic breakdown on this airplane.
    “Editor? Pretty impressive.”
    “Um, I’m not sure how to respond. Do I not look like I could be an editor?”
    My claws were out. It was a bad habit of mine after years of defending my lofty goals and aptitude, a defense mechanism I should have dropped long ago. You’d think that with my lofty goals, I would be happier by now.
    He ran a hand through his black hair. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Just you look young enough to be a college student.”
    He had masculine hands, clean nails, and his hair was sort of that messy look, mussed without trying. It suited him and his whole I don’t care about my appearance attitude. I could use a little more of that ’tude.
    I shrugged. “I graduated early and took a job with another virtual rag where I did an internship. Bubble came for me shortly after that. I jumped at it, basically. I’d been working nonstop, round-the-clock, at the internship, and I finally felt like I was getting ahead. Now I like it; just not sure I will love it forever.”
    He nodded, his eyes squinting a little as he took me in, surveying not just my body—he was doing that too—but it felt more like he was trying to really see me. Get me . All of me.
    It was an odd thing to experience after living in New York for eight years where no one truly got anyone. Life was spent treading on the surface— cramps constantly making my proverbial legs ache, trying to remain afloat —where I desperately struggled to remain at the very top, not willing to be the one to dive in. That’s where the bottom-feeders were.
    “So, yeah,” I said. “I’m an editor.”
    Here I was explaining myself to a stranger, talking more about my inner self than I did to my closest friends, and I didn’t even know his name. Janie would flip if she saw what I was up to, especially with this freak.
    That hateful thought reminded me of my earlier text, and shame coated every cell in my body. This guy was nothing but a gentleman, and handsome if I studied him long enough. Not a freak or the Biggest Loser.
    I tried to look away, busy my mind with something else, but his deep voice interrupted my thoughts. It was a tad scratchy, and I had to admit, that was sexy. I wanted to close my eyes and listen to him ask me questions.
    And give him my answers, unfiltered and real—since he meant nothing to me.
    “Sweet. Still, an editor. You should be proud. Wow . . . I’ve been doing my own gig for close to a decade. Before that I was nothing more than a glorified coffee-runner . . . that’s code for intern out west. For a long time, actually, I did that. But I paid my dues and now I work for myself, doing my own thing. Know what I mean?”
    “I’m sorry to say, but not really. Even with this gig .” I used air quotes, which was not like me. I was unsettled, a bit off-kilter around this guy. “I’m still putting my time in and all that. But it’s kind of cool to know there’s an end of the rainbow somewhere. At least, to meet one person who’s done it. I’ve been on the grind for so long, pushing to do everything faster and better than the next person. Was it worth it?”
    I smoothed my hand over Lucy, the universal signal that I had work to do, but I didn’t know if I really wanted him to leave me alone.
    More emotional waves crashed around me. This guy wasn’t all that bad—his voice and eyes and hands and compliments were something new to me. He was compelling me to speak the truth, to utter out loud the things that kept me awake at night. A small part of me wanted to get lost in him and whatever he was all about.
    When a bout of turbulence rocked the cabin, knocking me into the dude, I was certain it was God’s way of punishing me for my bitchiness.
    “You okay?” He beat me to the punch before I had a chance to apologize for elbowing