Page 44 of Jude
He typed on the screen and then handed it back to me.
It sat open to the Contacts page, and his details were now entered and saved.
‘You now have my number. Need anything, at all, you call me.’
With that, he took out his own handset and left me to mine.
Once we reached altitude, Chloe came round offering us hot towels, coffee or tea, and a sandwich.
We ate, and after she cleared the trays away, Jude sank back into his seat.
He adjusted it to a reclined angle, his long legs spread in the spacious space in front of him.
In time, his eyes closed, and he slipped into a quiet nap.
Then I sliced my eyes to my ring, still not quite believing my upturned life.
Was I truly his wife?
I sat back, studying Jude’s face in repose.
The cabin lights caught the hooked ridge of his nose and the sculpted angles of his jawline, framed by a neat, trim beard.
Today, his thick, wavy, black hair was in a rough man bun, accentuating his ruggedness.
His inky tee stretched over a rippling chest.
He was in charcoal fitted denim pants again, leaving no doubt about how ripped his legs were.
He was an undeniably beautiful man, with a symmetry of features that seemed almost impossible.
My gaze ran over the black ink crawling up his throat, and I was hit with the need to press my lips to his nape.
Damn, what was I thinking?
Turning away from him, and with the cabin quiet, I retrieved my phone, synced the wireless headphones, and connected to the aircraft’s WiFi network.
Curious about Jude, I typed the words ‘Six Sinners’ into the search bar of the device’s browser.
I then clicked on an HD YouTube upload of a concert from their recent stadium show at the Bellagio in Vegas.
The screen exploded with light, and my breath caught in my throat.
I sat in awe as Jude commanded twenty thousand screaming fans.
He was a force of nature on that stage, his muscled arms flexing as his fingers flew across the fretboard of a custom guitar with fluid musicality.
He controlled the entire arena with a raw, masculine gravitas.
His deep voice was hoarse, gritty, growly, and pitch-perfect.
The man could sing.
His lyrics were an unfiltered, unvarnished confession of the mistakes we humans made and the redemption we sought, which sent chills down my spine.
The band’s songs resonated, as evidenced by the crowd’s response: they sang along at the top of their voices, the thunderous resonance giving me goosebumps with the sheer force of their collective energy.
I pulled the headphones away for a second, my eyes darting to the sleeping man across from me.
