#somebody

PART ONE

“Finally,” you sigh, sinking into your seat with relief.

The day has already started off on the wrong foot. Delayed Ubers, mile-long TSA lines, and a barista with a serious attitude problem.

But you made it.

You’re on the plane.

You’re on time.

And thanks to a lucky upgrade, you only have to deal with one seat mate instead of being sandwiched between two.

The final call for passengers echoes through the cabin as you settle into the window seat, adjusting your blanket and neck pillow before setting up your iPad.

You pre-downloaded two seasons of Grey’s Anatomy, which should be more than enough to get you through the flight. No distractions. No drama. Just you, McDreamy, and the clouds.

You’re just popping in your earbuds when something, more like someone, nudges your arm.

“Ah, sorry, hold this?” a baritone voice says, not giving you much a choice as he shoves a paper coffee cup into your palm. You blink up, caught off guard as a tall, presumably Asian man, wrestles a duffel bag into the overhead compartment like he’s fighting for his life.

Despite his rude first impression, you can’t help but think that this man is fine, as hell.

Wearing a baseball cap, plain white tee, and gray sweats, he somehow makes casual clothing look like high fashion. The kind of good-looking that feels unfair. Effortless. Dangerous.

And you know what they say about gray sweatpants.

Snapping out of it just in time, you meet his gaze, put off by his shit-eating grin. Heat creeps up your neck. You’ve been caught.

Without thinking, you thrust his drink into his lap as he sinks into his seat. A sharp remark on the tip of your tongue, but he beats you to it.

“I was going to apologize for my hasty entrance,” he says, pulling off his cap and running a hand through the black strands that fall neatly around his face. “But you ogling me kind of kills the guilt.”

You scoff. “Please. No one was ogling you. And maybe next time, don’t shove your coffee into someone’s hands like they’re your personal assistant.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but the overhead crackles to life with the flight attendants’ safety spiel. You take the opportunity to readjust your headphones and crank up the volume, not even pretending to be polite anymore.

As far as you’re concerned, you’re fully committed to ignoring this cocky asshole for the rest of the flight.

The first three hours pass without another hiccup, and since you flew out of L.A., there’s only about two hours left to go. You stretch your legs and shift slightly, but a dull ache in your lower abdomen makes you wince. Perfect. You need to pee.

Glancing to your left, you sigh, annoyance seeping under your skin.

Your seatmate is completely passed out, head tilted back against the seat, lips parted slightly. His long legs are stretched out into the aisle, and directly in your path.

“Great,” you mutter under your breath. Now you have to wake him up.

“Hey,” you say, nudging his shoulder gently. No response.

“Excuse me, I need to get by,” you try again, a little firmer this time.

Still nothing. He’s knocked out cold, mouth slightly open, lashes too long for someone so irritating.

You stare at him, unamused.

“Come on, this isn’t funny, I really need to get by,” you say louder now, shaking his shoulder roughly.

Shaking your head, you groan. Who the hell sleeps this deeply on a plain? You can’t be arsed to keep shaking him, so you decide to crawl over him.

If only he wasn’t so massive, it would have been your first option.

Getting up slowly, you pivot in the cramped space. For this to be first class, you weren’t really feeling how little room you had.

You outstretch your leg over the both of his, gently grabbing the seat in front of you as you attempt to pull your other over.

But it seems the universe has other plans.

The plane suddenly jolts with a burst of turbulence, and before you can react, you lose your balance and go crashing straight into his lap.

“Oof!” you grunt as you land, elbow digging into his chest. A soft wheeze escapes him as he snaps awake, eyes wide in confusion and alarm.

Instinctively, his arms wrap around you, holding you in place. It’s protective. Reflexive. But it also completely blocks your escape.

Back to chest. Ass to crotch. You’re feeling way more of a stranger than anyone should on a plain.

“Damn, girl. First you were eyeing me up, now straddling me in my sleep? You don’t even know my name. Whatever happened to a first date?”

You blink, mortified as you remove his arms from your waist, scrambling off of his lap. Without a word, you make a beeline for the restroom, refusing to look back as you shut the door, locking it behind you.

Gripping the tiny sink, you stare at your reflection. “Girl… what the fuck is happening right now?” you whisper, laughing under your breath at the absurdity of it all.

How in the hell are you supposed to walk back to your seat after that?

You do your business and linger for as long as possible, but a nock at the door cuts your hideout short, giving you no choice but to exit the bathroom.

The walk back feels like the walk of shame. You completely avoiding eye contact, mumbling out a pathetic “excuse me,” as you sit down in your seat.

You don’t look at him. You refuse to look at him.

But you can feel it. The smugness radiating off of him like heat from the sun.

Less than two hours left, you remind yourself, clinging to the thought like a lifeline. You’re more than ready to land, grab your bags, and part ways with this cocky stranger for good.

Thankfully, the plane ride lands smoothly and you wasted no time getting the hell off. You retrieve your luggage and flag down a taxi without any qualms.

Currently, you stand in the check-in line at your all-inclusive resort, waiting to grab your room key. The cool air conditioning is a welcome contrast to the humid Hawaiian breeze just outside the glass doors.

Glancing around the open-air lobby, you take in the modern island décor, woven textures, tropical greenery, and view that opens right up to the Pacific.

Despite your hectic morning, you finally feel as if you can relax, more than ready to kick off your solo trip.

After receiving your key, you ride the elevator up to your floor and head down the quiet hallway. When you finally reach your room, you slide the keycard in and step inside.

An open layout greets you, bright and inviting. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in soft, golden light, and the king-size bed looks like something out of a dream, topped with a neat arrangement of sweets and a dolphin-shaped towel that makes you smile.

But it’s the bathroom that really seals the deal. Spacious and sleek, with a deep soaking tub that practically calls your name. You can already picture yourself sinking into it, letting the stress melt away.

Near the sitting area, there’s a door that looks like it leads somewhere, maybe a closet? You’re not sure, and honestly, you don’t have the energy to find out right now.

The only thing on your mind is a long, hot shower, and getting ready for your first night in Hawaii.

Dinner at the resort was delicious. Fresh seafood, tropical flavors, and the kind of indulgence that reminds you why this trip was worth every penny. You’re already looking forward to taking full advantage of all the included meals. Workout plan be damned.

Back in your room with a glass of champagne in hand, courtesy of the lobby bar, you kick off your shoes, finally deciding it’s time to unpack.

Halfway through, you start to regret your ambitious packing. You really didn't need over twenty outfits. Stuffing the last few clothing items into the dresser with minimal effort, you take a step back and eye your suitcase, which is still taking up too much space.

That's when you remember the door by the sitting area, the one you brushed off earlier. Hopefully the closet is deep enough to fit your suitcase.

Walking over, you take a sip of your champagne, and twist the handle open.

A gasp escapes your lips as you take in the sight in front of you.

It’s not a closet at all... but a full suite, completely identical to yours.

You step across the threshold, curiosity getting the better of you. “Is anyone in here?” you call out, voice a little unsure.

The delayed response pushes you to take a cautious step further.

But then a door swings open, hot steam releasing, as your heart practically sinks to your ass.

“Yes! I’m coming! Just leave it on the table, please,” a deep, familiar voice replies, striding into the room, fresh from the shower.

A towel hangs low on his hips, clinging for dear life as he rubs another through his damp hair, completely unaware of your presence. Water trickling down his chest. No, his abs. So many abs.

Too stunned to speak, you freeze, tipsy brain short circutting. Failing to understand how in the hell out of all people, he had to be the one on the other side of the door .

He must sense your staring because his arms falter slowly, head raising up enough that his eyes lock with yours.

The towel unravels, hitting the floor with a muted thud.

——

Read Part 2 Here | Masterpost