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“No, not at all,” she admitted. “But in this case, I aim to get drunk within the next ten minutes so that, with any luck, I’ll forget that humans aren’t actually meant to fly.”

“Flying is super safe,” he said, surprisingly gently. “It’s…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she interrupted, waving him off.

“The odds of a plane crash right now are 1 in 16,042,000. More people are killed by donkeys than planes! The odds of a car crash are much higher, 1 in 12,400. The odds of being killed by a vending machine are 1 in 112,000. I don’t even want to get started on motorcycles.

And did you know that you’re five times more likely to be killed by a chair than a shark?

” She took a deep breath. “But the odds of me being nervous as a plane takes off are 1 in 1.”

The man’s eyebrows shot up and, for a few seconds, he just blinked at her, perplexed.

She sighed and stared into her empty glass.

She was used to that look. She had known it since she was seven, when she saved her mother’s birthday lobster from certain death in the pot…

and kept it in a tub under her bed for two weeks, until a shocked maid finally literally stumbled upon it.

Since then, many people had called her odd , although she preferred the word unique .

“I like numbers, and I start babbling when I’m tipsy or tired,” she explained softly.

“And I’m both right now, so be prepared. ”

The man laughed. It was a deep, warm laugh that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and her stomach churn. “The odds of being killed by a vending machine are 1 in 112,000?” he repeated, frowning. “Man, that’s rough. As rough as eating from a vending machine, I’d say.”

Her smile threatened to return. “Yup,” she said, nodding and rubbing her eyes again with her middle finger and thumb. “I was afraid for a moment that you’d say something horrible like as rough as my fist.”

“For God’s sake, no.” He waved her off. “My fist is much rougher.”

She snorted in amusement and the hot guy smiled again. A dimple appeared on his smooth right cheek…and she yawned.

Unbelievable. She was too tired to even appreciate the general hotness of this friendly stranger.

And she didn’t even put her hand over her mouth.

Her mother would be shocked! “Sorry,” she said, shaking her head and hastily raising her fingers to her lips.

“My manners leave a lot to be desired today. I know it’s only six, but I’ve been awake for thirty-two hours and I’ve already had a miserably long flight.

My brain isn’t working anymore. And I have to go to L.A. right now.”

“Mm hm,” her new acquaintance said, putting his boarding pass on the counter. “How about that – me, too.”

She blinked…and for some reason, her stomach clenched with joy at the realization that he was taking the same flight. “I wonder what the chances of that are,” she murmured.

“Very high,” the stranger remarked with a grin and pointed over her shoulder. “The gate is right there.”

She laughed. “Okay, that’s true.”

The man nodded, amused, took another sip of the good whiskey, and then let his gaze wander over her.

Not in an intrusive way, more like a…curious one.

It was charming; his gaze was a compliment.

And Penny had the feeling that he had been practicing for decades to look like that.

Not like he was sleazy, but in a way that made women feel beautiful in his presence — even if they were sitting in front of him without makeup, with bedhead, ketchup stains on their white linen pants, and trashy sandals.

In fact, Penny’s only respectable piece of clothing was the bright red winter jacket she was sitting on.

“So, where are you from?” he inquired. “Why are you going to LA and what’s your name? I don’t want to have to keep calling you spitting whiskey thief in my mind.”

Laughing, she tilted her head back. “You surprised me. I would have choked if I hadn’t coughed up the whiskey. And I am…” She paused.

She’d been close to saying her full name. She’d been taught to do so decades ago. Her mother’s voice echoed in her head: Don’t be falsely modest, Penelope. Let everyone know who your family is and how best to google you!

The problem was that after the debacle a few years ago, her name had become rather infamous and almost every American she told asked if she was the Penelope Clark, or at least related by marriage to the businessman and multimillionaire.

Since she was a terrible liar and, as his daughter, didn’t like lying, anyway, her confession was usually followed by hundreds of questions.

And the revelation that she was flying to LA because she might soon own a hockey team was certainly not something her counterpart would simply accept without asking questions.

So, she held out her hand and said, “I’m Penny. I have to go to LA for family stuff and I just arrived from Buenos Aires, where I was working.”

The man took her hand. His was surprisingly rough and large, as if he worked with them a lot, even though she assumed he had an office job. He remarked in an amused tone, “There was a very long pause before your name.”

She grimaced. “I know.”

“Is it real, anyway? Or did you just drug me with the drink, and I’ll wake up in three hours without clothes or my wallet?”

She laughed. “The clothes thing is tempting — I haven’t seen a naked man in ages. I think it would be worth starting again with you.” She glanced at him meaningfully. “But I’d let you keep your wallet. I don’t need it.”

He grinned. “I see. So, you’re single.”

Her cheeks grew hot. “What?”

“You haven’t seen a man naked in ages.”

Oh, that. “Well, maybe I’m only interested in women. Or maybe I’m in a happy relationship that is so intellectually satisfying that any physical contact seems unimportant.”

He leaned toward her so that his scent of pine forest and whiskey enveloped her and then whispered, “I don’t think so. You only say things like that when you haven’t had physical contact for a long time. So, is your name really Penny? Or am I actually flirting with Roswitha? Or Candy Blue?”

She laughed again, her chest tingling with anticipation.

Was he flirting with her? That was what her mind automatically focused on.

Although, more importantly, he had immediately understood that she was hiding something from him and had only been in a relationship with a battery-powered boyfriend for ages.

Damn. The guy was charming and attentive.

That was bad. It meant she would almost certainly be in the newspaper soon.

Her face would be plastered on the internet and, since he lived in LA, he would see it and…

oh, she just wanted to be herself for a few more hours, without thinking about having to fulfill expectations that she had never come close to a single day in her life.

At least, that was her parents’ version of her story.

“My name really is Penny,” she murmured.

“Penelope, if you must know, but nobody calls me that. So…You know what?” She scratched her chin thoughtfully.

“I appreciate you being polite enough to ask, but I have a suggestion. We’re going to sit here for another half hour and then get on the same plane.

You’re funny and likable.” And hot . “And I’d like to talk to you some more.

But could we not reveal our last names and not talk about what we’re doing here and what we’ve done and who we really are and why we’re going to L.A.

I don’t like to lie, but I don’t want to talk about it, either.

So, let’s just be friendly strangers who talk about everything under the sun, but not about family and work?

Anonymous but honest? What do you say? You can keep me awake until we’re on the plane — and I can entertain you with more death statistics or tell you which whiskey you should order next.

” Filled with hope, she lifted one corner of her mouth because this guy might be exactly what she needed just then:

Distraction.