Jannah's POV
FUCK!I'm just realizing my mouth has been open the whole time. I don't need a mirror to tell me I'm turning red in the face. Jesus, this is so embarrassing. I blink three times in quick succession and look away.
Could this day get any worse? Why is the universe doing this? Ethan Hunt... wait, did he say his name is Ethan Hunt? Like the fictional character from Mission Impossible? No way, this guy is messing around. If I wasn't already embarrassed, I'd be laughing right away, but I can't do that now. Those brown eyes are following me, and I wish he'd look away.
"Yes, like Ethan Hunt from the movie." I can hear the shrug in his voice by now. I'm nervously nibbling on the walls of my mouth, my eyes never leaving my pink Crocs.
"I'm sorry about what's happening to your luggage. You must be mad about..." His words are trailing off when I face him.
"Don't look so surprised. I was behind you." I suck in my lower lip. How come I didn't notice him behind me? Because you're mad? The tiny snarky voice in my head responds. Right.
A small smile stretches the curves of my lips. "No biggie. I'll just get it after a week. Thanks for the... um, concern." I clear my throat at the end of my sentence.
His brown eyes widen, like I've said the Earth is flat. I don't miss the amusement twirling in those upturned eyes, but almost immediately, the look is gone, replaced by a neutral expression.
He's sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm assuming you don't travel often. One week means two weeks or... never."
"What do you mean by 'never'? My new Jimmy Choos are in that suitcase!" I screech, scooting to the edge of my seat. Whatever embarrassment has been holding my tongue is gone. My Jimmy Choos simply can't get lost-I haven't even worn them anywhere! Instagram hasn't seen them yet...
I search his face for any signs of humor, but there are none. Shit, he's not messing with me after all. With his lips partially curved downward and brows furrowed, his gaze on me is absent, a far-off look in those brown eyes.
I'm tempted to ask if he's okay, but I reserve my question.
"Hold on, give me a few minutes. I'll be back," Ethan announces, his eyes moving away from me slowly. The guy literally speaks with his eyes. Despite myself, I nod. I haven't yet changed my currency, but here I am, obeying the instructions of a stranger I met a few minutes ago, whose name almost makes me burst into one of my laughter fits that I cringe at later. But something about him is keeps me intrigued...
Barely fifteen minutes pass when I spot his so-not-hard-to-miss frame shuffling through the crowd. Ethan is the bad-boy definition of hot, sizzling hot like BBQ with hot ketchup. God, I can't wait to change my VPN and text Kaitlin. As he's getting closer, I notice an airport employee-an average-height man with a stocky build-trailing behind him.
The stocky man is moves close to me, a flustered look on his face. "Good afternoon, miss. We're sorry about your luggage. If you can give me your details, we'll make sure you get it in three days. Your luggage details, please." He wipes off the sweat on his forehead.
While I'm giving him my details, I can't help but steal a glance at Ethan, who's busy with his phone. I have only one question on my mind: Who's this guy? From his expensive Nikes, I know he's a high earner, but what I can't figure out is why he's helping me.
"Thank you," I say to the employee, though I'm not sure he hears me since he moves away quickly.
"Are you going to change your currency, or will you head to your hotel immediately?" Ethan asks. His phone screen is dead, and his right hand is tucked into the pocket of his pants.
"Are you monitoring me?" I ask suspiciously, pulling my duffel bag closer.
"Why would I? I'm just stating the obvious." For the second time, he's giving me one of his incredulous looks, but I don't flinch. I tip my chin high, sending him an equal look.
"Well, are you?" Ethan chuckles. He has a shallow dimple on the left side of his cheek, and I think it's cute.
"Thanks for everything. I'm Jannah Cole. Look, you've done so much for me already. I can handle myself from this point." I'm nod my head slowly , twisting my lips. Ethan's response to my independent demand is to fold his shoulders, a smug smirk on his lips.
"Really?" I add, when it seems like I'm speaking to the air.
"Do you have receiving dysphoria?" His question catches me off guard, and I shoot him a glare. If he wants to play hero, fine. His full lips are playfully pursed, his brown eyes are brighter-sparkling, in fact-a soft and relaxed look in them with a slight crinkle at the corners.
"No, I don't," I hiss.
"I thought so too. Which hotel?" In LA, this type of scenario would be scaring the shit out of me, and I'd have reached for my pepper spray immediately. Call it instincts or whatever, but I deeply doubt Mr. Mission Impossible here is going to try anything silly.
"Marina del Rey." His eyes slightly widen.
"Really? 'Cause I'm lodging there too."
How coincidental, if it were someone else I'd think they were lying but him? No, he isn't.
"Okay then, Tom Cruise. We could head there together." His hands reach for my duffel bag and he hangs it across his shoulder . It never dawns on me until now, but he isn't carrying any luggage.
"What type of influence did you use to get my luggage?" This is just June, the beginning of summer, yet the sun outside has to be at least thirty degrees Celsius. In no time, I'm going to get sticky all over. I slip on my shades and turn on my hand fan.
"Guess." Ethan has on a baseball cap and tinted shades like mine. My steps are slowing down due to the heat, but his are the same-maybe even faster. How can anyone move with such ease under this devilish sun?
"I don't know. Maybe you're in the drug cartel here," I mutter, earning a small smile from him.
"Shouldn't you be scared then?" He raises his brows, pinching the bridge of his nose before sniffing.
"Well, I'm not." I shrug. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"
"Guess," he repeats airily, and I wish I could push him. Dude guess what exactly?
"Voodoo? Don't tell me I'm wrong," I flip my curly hair over my shoulder. There's a sound that surprises me, coming from Ethan. It's rich and bubbly, though it hasn't lost its usual touch of composure. His chest is moving up and down with every sound, and his mouth is wide open... he's laughing at my joke? I didn't realize I was even that funny.
He still isn't filling me in with any info, and I don't press. The parking lot of the airport is filled with so many cars. From the way his neck cranes to the side, I know he's searching for his vehicle.
"Don't you want to try one more time?" he teases. I roll my eyes.
"No thank you. I don't want to know you're a drug lord and be threatened to keep your secret." He chuckles at my retort before halting beside a sports car. It isn't just any sports car; it's an Aston Martin Vantage. My eyes travel to the plate number... it isn't rented either.
I gulp hard. Is this... could this be his car? If he senses I have any questions, he doesn't say anything. Instead, he opens the car and tosses my bag to the back seat, then moves to the front passenger seat and waits beside the open door.
My feet suddenly have a mind of their own. They can't move. I just stare, wide-eyed. You can't blame me; I've never been in an Aston Martin. The only sports car I've been in is a banged-up 2016 Porsche.
He stares at me for a few minutes, shaking his head slowly, and then moves to his side of the car. I don't give a damn about what he's thinking, but damn, this car is beautiful. The black leather covering the interior is shiny, and the bright lights from all those buttons don't have a single crack or scratch, it looks like an ad.
"What did you say you did again?" I finally get inside and strap my seatbelt, silently praying to the universe that I don't embarrass myself. He's so close that his cologne feels like it's being shoved down my nostrils, and I'm getting nervous again.
"You didn't ask," he revs up the engine and adjusts the steering wheel, trying to reverse. I bite my lips and pray I don't ask any more questions.
"I'm in the Marines." Marines? I really don't know much about Ethan. He's probably in his late twenties or early thirties at most and is probably rich, but that's all. I shouldn't be in the car-not because I'm scared or anything, but just because. The attraction I feel, call it sexual chemistry-is undeniable.
But once again, I ask myself, Who's this guy?