I came to with my jeans ripped away and my knickers wrenched to my knees.
I stow my bag under the seat and take the window.Oz tosses his duffle on the empty seat across the aisle, sliding in beside me, his head hitting the seatback with an exhausted thump. He spreads his legs as wide as his giant frame allows.
Tired, he grumbles irritably. Jim, can I lean my head on your shoulders? I just want to sleep for a bit.Oz sits up then, reaching for the hem of his hoodie and pulling it up over the top of his head then rolling it up. His intended target? My chest.He comes at me, attempting to jam the wadded up sweatshirt under my chin.
I dodge the bundle headed in my direction, toward my face. Whoa buddy. Whoa. Um, what are you doing?He gives me a look. Uh, making a pillow. Sometimes shoulder bones are lumpy.
I cant help it; I laugh. Fine, but I dont necessarily want to be suffocated by you cramming your sweatshirt under my neck. Here, let me do the honors; I dont need you crushing my trachea.
Oz hands over his makeshift pillow and I refold it then roll it up. Reclining against the seat, I fold up the armrest to make more room and fit the hoodie in the crook of my neck.Why are you saying it like that?
How can you not know? I ask, genuinely curious. Would it be the worst thing in the world if I did like you? Im a great catch you know.You want the truth? Here it is: it bothers me sometimes that all you do is talk about sex. Its a turnoff for me. Like, let it go already, we get it, youre a walking hard-on.
Is that your only impression of me?Are you being serious? she deadpans. You spend half our time together making sex jokes, and yet you expect me to take you seriously right now. Jameson throws her hands in the air, mumbling to the ceiling, What is it with guys?