A/N- Well, hey there.
Disclaimer- Символы не мое. Мне нравится акула неделю. I bet lawyers can't read Russian! (Downside: neither can I.)
It was a fourteen-hour flight, and I was sitting beside the illegally attractive guy.
This doesn't happen to girls like me.
I mentally slapped myself for leaving my Italian for Lovers book in the bottom of my drawer at home. Of course, when my friends had purchased it for me as a going-away present, they thought it was a joke… if only they knew.
I was standing awkwardly in the aisle, since there were still a couple of tourists shoving their luggage into the overhead compartments blocking the way. Still, I kept glancing down at my ticket – seat L2 – and counting down the rows until I saw who was sitting in L1.
I could've cooked bacon and eggs on him. He was that hot.
Considering I'd never had a boyfriend before (-why do all of the boys like a girl who can do a keg stand, not the girl who can name the Thirteen Colonies?-) I had no idea what to do. It was impossible not to stare.
I settled with leaning against one of the empty seats and looking out one of the small windows. I could only waste about a minute of watching airport workers hustle back and forth.
It seemed as if my eyes and his body were magnets, which sounds so unbelievably stupid to say. (My life, sadly, is the furthest thing from a Harlequin.) I let myself have another glance, whereupon two very different parts of me battled it out.
Such a perfect, chiselled face…
Seriously, Bella? Did you actually just use the word "chiselled"? Go die in a hole.
And those clothes accentuate that wonderful body…
You're making such a fool of yourself.
Oh my God, it he looking at me?
The feminists of past, present and future are weeping. Weeping, Bella, weeping.
I was right. I was being an idiot. I shook off the effect that he had somehow placed over me and waited patiently for the tourists to finish with their bags.
It wasn't a big deal. A fourteen-hour flight, and I would never see him again. I was hoping to sleep through at least half of that time, with another few hours wasted on the in-flight movies. My iPod and books could easily get me through the rest.
Not a big deal at all.
My parents had shunted me between Washington to Florida in a car for most of my childhood. I was used to being in tight spaces for long amounts of time. Actually, I learned to enjoy it and revel in the time to just think.
The tourists blocking my way sat down, leaving me with a clear stretch of aisle. With my one hand clutching my necklace at my throat, and with the other on the strap of my backpack, I tried to at least appear confident as I walked down to my seat.
"L2?" he asked when I stopped next to him.
Alright, this was ridiculous. That one word – well, it wasn't even a word, but whatever - should not have that much effect on me. I was nearly ready to sell my soul to him.
"What?"
I am so smooth.
"You're sitting in L2?" He was amused, apparently, from that smirk that spread across his face. He gestured at the empty seat next to the window.
"Yeah." I quickly set my bag down (why hadn't I done this earlier?) and took out a book before tossing it on my seat. I zipped up my bag and opened the overhead compartment.
It happened so quickly.
I didn't have time to digest what happened. One second, I'm standing there, and the next, something impacted with my stomach and I was close to tasting my breakfast again. I ended up across the aisle and on the lap of some very, very surprised elderly woman.
"Wh-what?" I managed to get out. I turned to the lady and apologized profusely. That was when I turned around to face him, only to see a very worried expression across his face. He was half-in and half-out of his seat. His arm was stretched out towards me.
"Are you okay?"
"What?"
Okay, so after meeting this guy, I've said four words. Three of them were the same word. I'm such a winner at life.
He gestured to the floor, where a heavy-looking black briefcase was laying. "You opened the compartment when that started to fall out. I shoved you out of the way. I'm really sorry about that."
Seriously?
He shoved me out of the way?
If I told this story to my friends, they would have laughed and said I was making it up. Just because I made up one fictional boyfriend, now they think everything I say is a lie. Pssh.
But right now, I'll admit I felt bad about falling into damsel-in-distress mode. Still, if he could be my knight in shining armour…
I'll shut up now.
"Thank you. I appreciate it." There, a full sentence. Bravo, Bella, bravo. "Excuse me, I need to get to my seat."
"Of course." He did that half-standing thing that people do whenever you're trying to squeeze by them in a tight space, like in a movie theatre or hockey arena. Of course, I brushed by his legs, and maybe I took a little longer than I should have.
There was the customary free cheap blanket and pillow sitting in a small package on my seat. I opened it up, kicked off my shoes, and settled in for the ride.
Okay. I could do this. I could definitely-
"So what's your name? Will I just have to call you L2 for the rest of your life? That sounds like something out of Star Wars."
I laughed. "Personally, I'm more of a Star Trek girl. Shoot me."
Alright, usually Jessica and Angela and Lauren – those friends I keep referencing – tell me I let too much of my nerdiness creep into conversations, thus ruining any chances with guys. Five minutes in, and we'd already got a Star Wars versus Star Trek argument going on. I could almost hear their heart attacks.
He flashed a smile. I made a mental note to start flossing more if I could ever achieve teeth like his. "I'm impressed. Either way, I need to know your name before we can start to debate the intricacies of science fiction. I'm Edward."
"Bella." I stuck out my hand, just like Charlie always taught me to do when meeting someone. Edward looked a bit taken aback, but he still took my hand and shook it solidly.
"Are you Italian?" he asked. I nodded.
I struggled to take off my sweater at the same time as I talked. "Somewhere along the line, yeah, but this is the first time I've been there. I'm an exchange student for the summer. What about you? Any Italian in your blood?"
"No. I'm British, but I go to school in the States but my parents have a villa in Italy."
He said this all in flawless Italian.
…I mean, seriously, just shoot me now.
"Do you have any flaws? Shortcomings? Anything?" It slipped out before I could stop it.
He let out a raucous laugh, causing a good portion of the plane's occupants to look our way. He switched back to English. "Yes, but there's no way I'm going to tell you. Keep thinking I'm perfect, okay?"
"You don't even have a British accent." He sounded just like every other American I'd met.
Edward shrugged. "A side effect of having most of my schooling done here. It's a shame, really, considering that after Harry Potter, nearly every girl would kill for a man with a British accent." It was true, but I wasn't about to say that.
There. We had conversed enough for the initial awkwardness to have passed. He looked at me, as if waiting for my response, but I had nothing.
Five minutes down, thirteen hours and fifty-five minutes to go.
Great.