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“Upper bowl.”
He nods, finishing his text before pocketing his phone. “Stop by the box office on your way in tomorrow and there will be floor tickets waiting for you. We aren’t doing any meet and greets on this tour, but I’ll send someone to meet you at the box office to take you to your seats and they’ll have some signed merch for you from the guys.” He says it all so simply, as if rattling off a coffee order. Like what he did was a run of the mill occurrence, and maybe for him, it is.
But by the way that Natasha’s entire face lights up and her eyes go as round as saucers, he just made her entire day. She’s looking at him like he just hung the moon in here for her own personal enjoyment, and I think if there was a mirror in front of me, I’d see me looking at him the same way.
“Thank you,” she whispers, the depth of her sincerity heavy in her tone.
“Did you want a picture? I’d rather do one before I fuck up my hair.” Walker smiles.
Natasha stands on shaky legs, nodding her head emphatically. I offer to take it and she hands me her phone, coming around the counter and hugging Walker, his large frame swallowing her whole.
I snap a few photos of them, a smile pulling at my own face witnessing the kindness he’s showing her. She thanks him over and over again, before our instructor comes out from the back suited up and ready to walk us through the process.
Throughout the entire interaction, I almost forgot I was here to get blasted around in a high speed wind tunnel that I voluntarily, or sort of involuntarily, signed up for.
* * *
“I wanna go again.” My breath come in short bursts, like I just ran a marathon. My cheeks are flushed and still burning from the force of the wind, adrenaline flowing through me as easily as the blood in my veins. I haven’t felt a high like this in years and to think I almost sabotaged myself by letting my fear override me.
Walker pushes a hand through his dark, disheveled hair and smiles at me. “Told you it’d be worth it.”
He was right, though I won’t admit it.
“I don’t even care that it’s going to take me hours to detangle this.” I hold my ponytail up in one hand, strands a tangled mess. I had it braided to start, but lost my hair tie partway through.
“I’ll help you out,” Walker offers.
“And what do you know about detangling hair?”
“I grew up with a sister with hair as long as yours.”
“Fair enough.”
We’re in a changing room, shucking off our suits that we wore on top of our regular clothing. The moment I have my boots laced up, I’m back on my feet, unable to sit still after an experience like that. I pace around the room, needing something to do, something to keep this feeling going.
Walker watches me with a fondness I haven’t really noticed before. “What?” I ask him. “Why are you watching me like that?”
He dips his head down to finish tying his laces, then flips his head back up to me, brushing the hair out of his eyes with a tattooed forearm. “I like seeing you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Alive,” he shrugs.
I jolt back at his response, but as it settles, I realize I just might like it too.
* * *
“This place supposedly has the best TexMex,” Walker opens the door for me and I’m hit with a blast of much welcomed air-conditioning. The second thing I’m hit with is the incredible smell. Fresh tortillas, spices, the sound of sizzling plates coming out of the kitchen. My mouth instantly waters as we’re seated at a booth in the back corner of the restaurant, no one else in our section.
Usman takes a spot at the bar in sight, but far enough away to give us privacy.
Our waiter comes by to take our drink order and drop off chips and salsa, which I immediately dive into. A beer for Walker, a Diet Coke for me.
We peruse the menu quietly, enjoying the lively music wafting through the speakers around the dining room, both coming down a bit still from the adrenaline rush of our morning.
When we have drinks in hand and food orders in, Walker squares his shoulders and gives me his full attention. I immediately want to melt under his strong gaze, not harsh but intense. Green eyes glimmer in the bright lighting, equal parts mischief and sincerity.
One thing I’ve noticed about James Walker is that when you get his attention, you get all of it. There is no half-assing with him.
