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Designs on the DJ Episode 5


I hated waiting. At the gas station, doctor’s appointments, the grocery store. And flying was the worst. At every stage, waiting. Check-in, baggage check, security, boarding, take off, deplaning, and baggage claim. 

Drew, with his kinetic energy, had to be everywhere early and doubly so when traveling. If I took too long, he jingled the change in his pockets. But once at the airport, he could wait for hours. In the same vein, he had to be one of the first settled on the airplane while I was the last passenger to board.

As they entered the jetway, I debated altering my routine. Pacing in the waiting area might alleviate the anxiety percolating deep in my brain, but it also meant missing out on more time with the DJ.

After purchasing a Florida sticker from a kiosk, I paced between gates. As I organized the design projects to tackle at work, the hair on my nape lifted. Searching the stream of faces, I spotted Jameson in faded jeans, a black t-shirt, and a black bomber jacket. Red headphones hung around his neck. My center clenched and fluttered as if we’d had sex instead of only pretending about it.

Jacksonville was an international airport and he could be traveling anywhere, but my heart hammered with knowing. He was headed to Dallas. We were on the same flight.

Then what? 

Just because he’d teased my dreams and I’d awakened with my clit pulsing didn’t mean squat in the sunshiny reality. It wasn’t like the three of us would ever be together outside of my fantasies. While my girly infatuation with the edgy Brit silently squealed in delight, the responsible adult admitted there was nothing to be gained from our chance encounters. 

We were long past the party, and honestly, it had stopped feeling like a game when we’d spotted one another in the terminal. Overriding my temptation to share space with Jameson, and giving a mental middle finger to being a responsible adult, I stood at the end of the line.

In a steady process, I moved through the jetway and entered the aircraft. Awareness brushed along my skin for the second time. Drew and Jameson sat across from each other in the last row of first class.

Because of course.

“Hon, sit here,” Drew said, shifting from his preferred aisle seat to the window.

I hesitated, trying to gauge his intent. He liked the aisle seat to people-watch, and conversely, the window seat offered me a comfortable position to doze. The pep talk I’d managed in the terminal surged again. Be smart. Take the window seat, it was the safer, saner, proper choice.

A ding signaled for passengers to prepare for departure and I dropped into the vacated seat.

“Thought you might miss the flight,” Jameson said as I stowed my purse under the seat in front of me.

“Only once,” I said, latching my belt. He frowned at my short answer, so I added,

“Trapped in claustrophobic conditions with recirculated air is low on my list of fun.”

“Travel enough and you get used to it. To a degree.” He shrugged. “Never figured out a hack for jet lag though.”

Drew’s fingers nudged my thigh. His dark eyes shone with excitement. He was up to something, but I couldn’t ask with Jameson only a few feet away. As I’d done for three years, I’d trust my fiancé and follow his lead. 

To Jameson, “How long have you been in America?”

He glanced at his watch, the same one he’d worn last night. “About eighteen hours. Only a few hours before I had to work the party.”

Drew leaned forward in his seat. “Sorry for stalking you at the pool.”

I whipped my head to Drew, another flutter winging through me. He hadn’t mentioned running into our new friend again, but his honest stare assured me his oversight hadn’t been intentional.

“I’m always too hyped after a set to go straight to bed.”

“Surely there are other ways to burn off the extra energy,” Drew said, referring to emptying some of his reserve tanks in our post-game sex.

The idea of Jameson with another woman last night squeezed my chest, and I admonished my foolishness. It was his prerogative if he took another woman to his bed, but it felt like sandpaper against the tender flesh of my heart. 

“Loads of ways to burn it off,” he replied, glancing in our direction. The rest was said while he studied the seatback ahead of him. “And had the woman I wanted been available, I would’ve done everything in my power to burn off the excess energy with her.” 

His admission shot the blood racing through my veins. It also made my head swim as if I peered over a precipice. One wrong step and I’d fall over the edge.

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I'm Stella

I write contemporary romance and romantic suspense why-choose stories.

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