flight-risk {g.d.}

three

|elizabeth|

i catch myself staring at him throughout the first 20 minutes of the long flight.

he's gorgeous, really.

but way too dangerous for someone like me.

his plump lips mouth words and his brows scrunch together as he reads his dictionary sized book. i study the single, dangly earring hanging from one ear and his dark brown hair, how it matches the scruff on his face.

he has to be at least 25.

"ugh, you need to stop," i mumble to myself and tear my eyes away from him.

a tap on my shoulder makes me jump slightly, and i look up to see a young flight attendant.

"so sorry ma'am," she apologizes, "would you like a drink? pretzels?"

"i'm- i'm good," i say, "thanks."

"i'll take a water, please."

i turn to the mystery boy and he doesn't meet my eyes.

the flight attendant nods eagerly, probably excited that he spoke to her. i glance at my phone and see that it's only been 45 minutes into the flight.

fantastic, i think sarcastically, i have to look at him for a little over 16 more hours.

"hey," he says, "this fell from your bag i think."

he holds out a wad of bills, and my eyes widen.

it's not mine.

but he doesn't have to know that.

i could use it to start over.

it would really help me.

i glance away from the cash and to his face, and he raises his eyebrows. his eyes stare deep into mine and my words feel mushy in my mouth.

"not mine," i whisper.

i'll be mad at myself for that later.

"oh," he frowns, "you sure?"

"yes," i force myself to say.

"i'll ask around then," he shrugs.

as he turns around in his seat, i glance at the tag hanging from his carry on.

it says in big, bolder letters: grayson b. dolan

grayson.
his name's grayson.

"wasn't the people's behind us," he sighs.

grayson waves a flight attendant over and leans in, closer to me, to whisper, "this money doesn't belong to anyone in this section. do you think it could be a workers?"

"that's very nice of you for asking," she smiles, "but i wouldn't think so. i'd just say keep it."

"but it's like, 500 dollars. i can't do that. it's not mine."

"i'll ask around," she says, "but if it isn't anyone's, then keep it."

as the attendant turns away, grayson stares at me.

"how about we split it."

i almost spit out the sip of water i just took, and ask, "what?"

"i don't feel right taking it. at least all of it. let's split it."

his deep hazel eyes pierce mine, and my heart races.

"are you sure?" i ask slowly.

"i wouldn't have offered if i wasn't."

"okay," i nod, "that's great, actually. thank you."

"no problem," he shrugs, "now i'm kind of hoping they don't find the owner." he tosses me a playful smile and i return it.

i'm fully prepared for him to go back to his book, but he says, "what's your name? i'm grayson."

"elizabeth." i respond confidently, "elizabeth lowell."

"what brings you to australia?"

"um," i stare at my lap, then i look back at him as i answer, "new beginnings."

"sounds fun," he says, "i'm meeting my brother for a few weeks."

"how old's your brother?"

"20. we're twins."

i gape. "really?"

"yeah," he laughs slightly, "what's that reaction for?"

"um, i guess i just thought you were like, 23 or something..." i ramble nervously.

oh my god i'm an idiot.

i'm literally the most confident person i know, yet as soon as this guy shows up, i turn into a complete stuttering idiot. why??

thankfully, he just laughs.

"i uh, what book is that?" i ask, motioning to the book in his lap.

i couldn't give less of a shit, but i like hearing him talk.

"pride and prejudice," he grins and holds it up, "tried reading it in high school and wasn't able to get through it. i actually really appreciate the plot now, though."

"tell me about it."

"what?" he furrows his brows.

"tell me about the book."

"why?" he asks.

"we're going to be sitting here for 16 more hours," i shrug, "and my phone's dead."

it's not, actually. it's at 94%, but for some reason i really want him to tell me about his book.

"that's so weird," he says, "my family hates when i tell them about the books i'm reading."

"just get on with it," i say with a hint of playful annoyance.

"so it's about this girl, and her name is elizabeth-"

"fitting," i cut in.

"very. anyway, she's kind of... the protagonist of the story..."

i sit with him for another 10 minutes as he explains the book, and i sit and quietly listen, with the exception of sometimes asking a question.

he laughs at my dry humor, which i don't get much.

1 hour down, 16 more to go.