Fell In Love With My Roomy Chapter 75

"What's your last name?" I ask, suddenly realizing that I've never inquired before. He's never let it slip.

"Chavez," he responds quietly. "Is that news to you?"

"No, you've never mentioned it or said it. You don't share much about yourself," I say, shrugging. "I just thought it would be nice to know before I visit your family."

After that, he falls silent for a while. It's almost as if he doesn't know how to respond.

"Look, I don't want you to feel like you're in the dark. If you ask, I'll tell you anything you want to know. I've already shared more with you than with most people I talk to," he says quietly.

Then they begin calling first-class passengers and members to board. He clears his throat, stands up, and nods for me to do the same.

"That's us," he says, and I follow him to the desk, where Kent checks our tickets and we show our IDs. After retrieving our documents, as I step into the tunnel leading to the plane, he places his hand on my shoulder. As he does so, my throat feels dry. It's a sign that he wants me to stay safe.

"Welcome," the flight attendant greets us, and Kent hands over our tickets. "You're in Row B right here." She points to two seats in the second row of the plane. "Here." We're sitting in the front of the plane?

"We could have taken a seat in the back," I whisper when we're alone.

"My mom insisted, and I actually agreed," he says, directing me to the window seat. As I settle into my seat, I can't help but sigh. It's quite comfortable.

"Wow, there's so much legroom here."

"You can see why I chose this," he says, sighing as he puts his phone on airplane mode and stows his bag under the seat in front of him. Given Kent's size, this is probably the only way he feels comfortable flying.

I rummage through my bag for some Gravol, as I tend to get motion sickness. I take it with a sip of my drink, fasten my seatbelt, and return to my seat.

"Good idea, especially since you can roll down a window here," he teases, making me smile and roll my eyes. "Planning to sleep?"

"No, not feeling sleepy," I jest. "You'll have to stay awake for the whole one-hour-and-seven-minute flight."

"Good, that's better than you drooling on my shoulder."

"I don't drool," I retort, crossing my arms, and he chuckles.

"I beg to differ, considering I've slept next to you more than once," he replies.

"You know nothing," I retort, making him smile.

As people begin boarding the plane around us, I'm both excited and nervous. I hope things don't take a turn for the worse between us during this trip. I hope his mom falls for our charade.

"Thanks for doing this. I know it's a lot to ask of you," he says quietly.

"It is, but I don't mind helping out, especially if it means I get to experience New York in a unique way," I respond quietly. "You don't often ask for help."

"I try my best not to," he shrugs quietly, and the plane's doors close. He clenches his jaw and clears his throat as the plane begins to move slowly. Pressing his lips together, he listens to the safety announcements.

"Are you okay?"

"This is when it gets rough," he murmurs quietly and reclines in his seat. "I'm okay once we're in the air."

"You... you're not a fan of flying?" I'm surprised and curious, so I inquire. I didn't expect this fear, especially since his family appeared to fly frequently.

"I'm not flying; I only take off and land," he whispers, licking his lips and leaning his head back against the seat.

The plane moves onto the runway as the flight attendants complete their checks and safety instructions. They return to their seats, and I bite my lip.

"Can you hold my hand?" I ask in a hushed tone. For a moment, I'm afraid he'll pull away or laugh at me, but he doesn't. He simply closes his eyes and nods, removing his hand from the armrest. His fingers spread as he reaches for my hand, and I cautiously place my hand in his, intertwining our fingers.

We had never held hands before.

How could he have kissed me and used handcuffs to wrestle with me but never held my hand? His hands were so much larger than mine, making mine seem almost too small in comparison. It felt natural, though. Kent was the first person who made me question myself a little less from time to time.

I hear the engines start, and his face contorts as if he's listening to metal scraping against metal. I don't offer empty reassurances because I know how annoying that can be. He's gripping my hand quite firmly, so I simply let him squeeze it.

We pick up speed, and I can feel it. Kent's eyes remain shut, and he remains still. I had no idea he was afraid of heights, and that's when I realize he wouldn't have asked me to fly with him if he didn't have to maintain this charade. No one would want to witness him like this.

Once we're in the air, things settle down, and he manages a few shallow breaths. His shoulders ease, but his eyes stay closed.

I don't want to release his hand, so I don't. Instead, I wait until he calms down. When he finally opens his eyes, he nods quietly and scratches the back of his neck with his other hand.

"No, you didn't see that," he whispers, half-joking and half-serious.

"Absolutely not," I smile and whisper back, looking down at our clasped hands. "You know, we're in the air now."

"I'm aware," he sighs, but instead of letting go of my hand, he holds on to it. I feel a bit queasy, but I don't say anything. I simply purse my lips and gaze out the window, where all I can see are clouds.