as promised, here's the next chapter! this is way lengthier than the other ones.
thank you so much for your reviews i hope you enjoy! x
Ally
Falling asleep has always been a challenge for me. I lie awake thinking about things that don't always make sense.
Pondering.
Worrying.
Wondering, what if.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has turned off the 'fasten seat belt' sign, and you may now move around the cabin."
Confused, I open my eyes.
No way. I fell asleep... and on a plane.
That has never happened.
Yet, as I look around, it's obvious that time has passed. The cabin lights are dimmed, seats are reclining, and the flight attendant is just approaching my row with a tray of drinks.
Surprised by the quiet, I look toward my seatmate. His eyes are closed and his hand is gripping the armrest just below mine.
Hmmm... either he's really tired or he doesn't like flying either.
Against my better judgment, I take this time to study him more clearly. His thick eyelashes are beautiful. The scruff on his face looks as intentional as his messy hair, and just as mouth-watering. I might have been wearing my wine goggles earlier, but right now I know he is fine.
"Here you go." The bubbly Tiffany hands me another glass of wine.
"Thank you," I answer, trying to be quiet while I pull down my own tray table.
My seatmate's eyes open.
Tiffany looks at him with a huge smile. "Here's your beer, sir."
"Thank you," he says in a super-sexy, gravelly voice.
I consider whether I should close my eyes again and avoid any further conversation, or talk to him and see where this goes, if anywhere.
Just then, perhaps still a little groggy, he sets his bottle on my tray table and stretches. God, the power he seems to command in the small space has me tingling from head to toe. And again, I find myself staring at that body of his.
When his arms return to his sides, his hips surge forward. I can't help it. My eyes go straight to his crotch. Oh my God, what is he doing?
Kegels?
How bad is it that I join in?
One.
Two.
Three.
The moan that escapes my mouth snaps me back to reality.
Enough is enough. I need to unplug from this situation before anything else embarrassing happens. Yet, I can't. All I can think about is scratch number ten of the list— here is my chance to go back and check off number four instead.
And he has to be all for it.
Right?
After all, he's doing pelvic exercises to improve his stamina in this game. They say you can do them anywhere. And he seems to subscribe to that philosophy. He obviously doesn't realize I'm watching him.
That voice is smooth like molasses and startles me from my sex thoughts. "I think this belongs to you."
My gaze darts from his hips to his hands.
He's holding my iPod, which had been under his butt.
Okay, so he wasn't doing Kegels.
I forgot all about that little thing.
My mind is still replaying the way his hips moved, and my delayed reaction gives him enough time to turn it on. My earphones must still be on his seat because as soon as he swipes across the screen, "Like a Virgin" blares through the cabin.
Seriously, could this flight get any worse?
My seatmate is grinning like the cat that just ate the canary. "Eighties? Wow, I didn't think anyone listened to that anymore."
To that I have no defense, and the truth sounds better than any concocted lie. "It's on my Songs About Me playlist," I admit.
He grins even harder as the lyrics continue to play.
Without hesitation, I pluck my iPod from his grip and turn it off. "What can I say— I love Madonna. Hair pulled back in a bow, black tank tops, necklaces, and bracelets are my thing."
A brow rises, slightly, but I catch it and those little butterfly wings start batting against my belly again. "Your thing, huh?" He seems to ponder that for a moment; either that or he is picturing me singing the song.
My whole body tightens at the thought of doing just that— for him.
Leaning toward me, he tries to snatch my iPod back. "Can I see what else is on your Songs About Me playlist?" He stresses the words songs about me, but not in a way meant to make fun of it, more in an I'm really interested in this tone.
I shake my head no.
"Come on, hand it over. Otherwise, how am I going to learn what else is your thing?"
With a slight shrug meant to be sexy, I answer, "That's top-secret information. If I tell you, I might have to kill you." And then I tuck my iPod, along with my book, in the seat pocket in front of me.
The flirty, sassy side of me is back.
I like it.
"That's a chance I'll have to take." My seatmate is determined, and he swoops his hand right over my tray table but instead of snatching my iPod, he takes my book.
The cabin is dark, really dark, so I don't bother to try to retrieve it. He won't be able to read. But like I said, he seems determined and solves that problem rather quickly.
Turning the overhead light on, he grabs the bag of M&M's, opens them, pours them on my table, then leans closer to me.
I sip my wine and watch him as he separates the M&M's in two piles. I like the way he moves with determination. It's a turn-on.
When he's done, he picks up his bottle.
I look down and see he's given me all the dark M&M's and taken the colored ones for himself.
"Do I want to know?" I ask in amusement, pointing to the two piles.
Taking a sip of his beer, he grins. "Just making sure you don't end up with any of the green ones. You know what they say about those."
My eyes fixate on the way the liquid goes down his throat, the way his Adam's apple moves as he swallows, the way his chest rises and falls. Picking up one of his green M&M's, I look at him and pop it into my mouth. "I do know what they say."
That intake of breath is unmistakable.
Settling beside me, he tosses a few in his mouth from my pile and starts reading. "Completely bare, Summer willingly spread her legs and allowed the men to devour her.'"
I squeeze my thighs together. Wow. Who would have thought a guy reading to you would be such a turn-on?
My seatmate's cheeks look a little flushed. His voice sounds a little raspier, too, and yet he continues to read. Upon finishing chapter one, he pauses to take a sip from his bottle and then looks over at me. "This is good stuff. You are a very interesting person."
My breathing a little erratic, I ask, "What do you mean?"
His laugh is low and slow and a little drowsy. "Going from a virgin to porn in an instant."
Now my flush is creeping up my chest and turning my face pink. "It's not like that. I'm trying to find myself. Who I want to be. Should be. Who I really am. Maybe who I used to be."
I should add that this novel is considered erotica, not porn, but I don't. Does it really matter? Either way, the air between us is almost dripping with sexual tension.
My comment seems to hit somewhere deep within himself. For a moment, his face goes blank. "I get it," he tells me before resuming his slouched position close to me.
So close.
So hot.
I can barely breathe.
A pocket of turbulence doesn't even make me panic. In fact, the plane ride has been a little rocky this entire time and I'm not bothered by it in the least.
In half a minute our arms are touching again and our faces are soon very, very close as he whisper-reads to me. By the time he gets to chapter three, we've each consumed two more drinks and eaten the entire bag of M&M's.
We shared the green ones.
My seatmate's voice continues to melt me as he turns mere words into gooey caramel. "'While Owen buried his face in her pussy and ate her like he was feasting on her, she took her time with Gabe, drawing out his orgasm until he begged.'"
As crazy as it sounds, I find myself mouthing the words along with him. Pausing just before Summer has her climax, I have to lick my lips. My throat feels so dry.
Our breathing is very loud. His and mine. It seems to combine and could quite possibly be combustible.
My seatmate makes a noise and bites down on his lower lip. I catch a flash of teeth when he does. His hair has also fallen forward, and it shields his gaze. Sitting up straighter, he closes his eyes and shuts the book. "I think we should stop for a while."
"Yeah," I tell him in a hoarse, low voice I wish didn't shake.
This thing developing between us can go nowhere. We're strangers who will never see each other again. Still, I feel like that doesn't matter. I don't want to worry about that. I don't want to know his name or where he lives. I only want to live in the moment.
Free.
Easy.
Never the aggressor, I find myself being one. I envision myself as Summer from the novel and lean in toward my seatmate. His eyes are closed and I stare at his gorgeous profile. I'm not touching him anymore, but I can still feel his warmth against me. This close, I can smell his scent. I breathe it in for a moment and I swear I can taste him. The urge to do so has never been greater. Just stick out my tongue and lick him like a lollipop. Wonder if he'd mind? Oh, God, the thought has me gasping for air. The noise I make isn't intentional, but loud enough that he opens his eyes.
He breathes out, "Do you want...?" He leaves the question dangling.
Yes. I want.
I swallow. Nod. Then nod again. He shivers. Looks at me. Looks around. No one is across from us. No one can see us. Closing my tray table, I find myself moving even closer, drawn to him in a way I can't explain. Still, he doesn't move. Uncertain I read the signs right, I start to lean back in my seat. He captures my wrist, and I let him pull me close.
Inches apart, I look into his eyes and make certain he sees that I want what he wants. Hot, sweaty sex, no strings attached.
Reaching up, he turns the overhead light off. Now we're in the dark. I can't be certain who initiates the next bit. Him? Me? Who knows? All I know is that my hand is on his cock and his is over my hand. Even beneath the fabric of his jeans, I can feel his erection. It's so big. Hard, long, and thick. And big. Did I mention that?
Losing myself in the feel of him, I'm helpless to do anything but move forward. To do this thing I had never truly envisioned myself doing. I'm not a prude or anything, but I usually wait until the third date to do anything below the waist.
Angling just right so no one can see us, he takes my free hand and puts it behind his neck. I find my fingers instantly curling around his soft locks. And my fingers seem to have a mind of their own — tugging a little, and a little more. So unlike me. Summer must have me all riled up. When I tug again, he grits his teeth and makes a strangled gasp. That feeling of déjà vu hits me once again. I can't place it. I don't want to try. I don't care, because I've never felt like this before. So powerful. Like every touch I make arouses this man more and more.
A hand cups my breast. His palm is warm. He brushes a finger across my nipple. I'm so excited, I think I might need mouth-to-mouth. When the pace of my breathing picks up with his slightest touch, I have to close my eyes.
"Look at me," he demands.
In an instant, I do.
Seconds pass. Neither of us moves. Somehow sitting here in the dark cabin, saying nothing, with our bodies touching feels as if it is the most natural thing in the world.
My mind is racing.
I wonder if his is, too.
My pulse is pounding.
I know his is, too.
I want to say something.
Desire runs thick through my veins.
What do we do next?
I wish Trish were here so I could get her advice.
Finally, I speak. "What are," I ask with a quaking, shaking voice, "we doing?"
As if he's been holding all the air in his lungs, the breath hisses out of him. "Acting out the scene in the book. You're Summer, and why don't you pretend I'm Gabe."
"Not Owen?" I rasp, totally turned on right now.
His grin melts me. "It's a hard choice; I'd like to think I'm both men combined. How about I let you decide?"
At that my blush turns scarlet red. His words come across so cocky, I should laugh at him, but instead I find myself so wanting to find out.
When it comes to men, I literally have no moves. But something about the night's events has coalesced into a temporary insanity, on my end anyway, and I find myself unable to shake the thought of having him inside me.
Just like the way you can be standing at the edge of the high dive one second thinking to yourself, I can't do this, it's too high, and the next thing you know, you've overcome your fear of heights and you're jumping without actually realizing you've jumped... I lean over to kiss him.
I know better.
So what happens shouldn't surprise me. Just before I pass the threshold of the armrest, my seatmate abruptly unbuckles his seat belt and stands up. "I need to use the lavatory."
Is that a sign?
What Trish told me to do, is he is doing it?
No wink or nod, no "join me," but still it's close.
I wait a few minutes. Make sure the coast is clear. And then stand and follow in his path. My anxiety has increased tenfold. My whole body is trembling. I don't even know him.
"That's the point!" I can hear Trish's voice screaming at me.
She's right. This is exciting. Naughty even. I've never had sex in a public place. Is it bad that I'm wet just thinking about it? About him.
Did I just think that?
Now I'm doing more than thinking, I'm picturing that big cock I just felt, wondering if he will even fit inside me.
What if he doesn't?
Or what if he doesn't have a condom?
Worse, what if I read the signs all wrong?
Reaching the lavatory, the sign reads, 'Occupied'.
I can't go in.
I have to wait.
I'm at a crossroads... I can go the uptight path or the let my hair down and live a little path. Either wait for him to open the door or bolt back to my seat and pretend to sleep for the rest of the flight.
Which is it going to be?
Just as I take a step back, the lavatory door opens.
Standing there, long and lean, my seatmate looks so damn sexy that my knees feel weak. He blinks. Doesn't move. Stands in front of me. He's taller than I had imagined now that I'm actually standing before him. My eyes scan him from head to toe. The ends of his hair are wet — he must have splashed his face. My gaze lowers, taking in all of him, and it lands on the untied scuffed combat boots on his feet that I hadn't noticed before.
Damn, he is so sexy.
"Hi." He smiles.
"Hi." My voice cracks.
Nervous, and to be honest a little scared, I take a step closer. The air crackles between us as the distance closes. I know this is crazy. This is so, so crazy. I've never done anything like this before. I'm a good girl. I follow the rules. Walk a straight line. Don't enter forbidden zones. And yet, here I am breaking a lifetime of good to prove to myself that I'm not uptight. Though even as I think it, I know it's not the only reason.
I want this man. Really want him. And that, too, has never happened. I want him unlike I've ever wanted a man. In fact, my stomach has never twisted at the sight of any guy nor have my panties soaked at the thought of being touched by one. Even my ex had never gotten me this hot this quickly. Whatever this isn't, I know what it is— pure lust all the way.
And I'm going for it.
Inconspicuously, he glances around before taking a step back.
Me, the girl afraid of heights, is jumping off that cliff again and taking a step inside the small space. My heart beats out of control when the door closes behind me, and the sound of the click causes my mouth to part on a gasp of both certainty and uncertainty.
"Fancy meeting you here." His low chuckle tickles my eardrum.
I give him that same flirty shrug I gave him earlier and say, "I know, right?"
This time, his response is smoldering. Those hazel eyes, long lashes sweep his cheeks, and that easy grin melts me. "Do you come here often?"
Instead of answering right away, I twist around and lock the door. When I twist back, I muster up all my courage and give him a wink. "Not often enough."
I can feel the blaze of his stare. His gaze traces the lines of my face, and I swear I feel his sizzling look hot on my skin. Crazy. Intimate. Intense. Suddenly, turbulence shakes the plane once again. Again, I don't panic, and this time it's because he reaches to grab my arm, and with him anchoring me, the sudden impact doesn't alarm me or cause me to stumble.
Even as the plane levels, he doesn't let go.
A little more turbulence and his hand slides down my arm to rest on the curve of my waist. A move so blatant it makes my breath catch.
"You're a good girl— what are you doing in here with me?" he whispers, and the feel of his warm breath against my face sends shivers down my spine.
"Who said I'm a good girl?"
"Me," he whispers.
One last step is all he has to take, and as soon as he does, we're aligned thigh-to-thigh, belly-to-belly. If I tip my head just a little, and he leans down a little, our mouths will be close enough to kiss.
"I'm not," I protest. "I read porn, remember?"
"Right." He grins. "I also remember the Madonna song on your playlist. And that tells me more than some random novel you picked up in the airport in a rush."
"How do you know I just bought that? Maybe it's part of a series that I've been reading forever."
His laugh is a little wicked. "The receipt fell out when I picked it up. I saw today's date stamped on it."
"Still, that doesn't mean—" I don't get to finish telling him I'm not a virgin, if that's what he thinks. Then again, I doubt he thinks that.
Suddenly, his fingers are around my wrists, and he moves me until my back hits the door behind me. With my arms at my sides, he's caging me in. "Are you certain you want to be in here with me?"
My heart slams against my ribs, and I can't get control of my breathing. "Yes, I'm sure."
Then it happens. Bold and unfaltering, he crushes his mouth over mine. With our lips sealed, he swallows my gasp of surprise in an instant. His lips are soft, his tongue is wet, and our teeth crash as we wildly seal our mouths with a drugging kiss.
Ripples of passion overtake me and flow through my body. First, it tugs at my nipples, then it melts in my belly, and finally it explodes between my legs in a burst of desire.
God, I want him.
Knowing this, knowing this is more than checking an item off a list, I let myself go. When I do, our kiss grows more desperate. We search, demand, explore, lick, and suck. We let it consume us.
Panting, he trails those lips down my neck and his male scent, the heat of his skin, and the taste of him lingering on the tip of my tongue, all hot and wild, overwhelms me. As desire continues to shoot through me from my head to the tip of my toes, it occurs to me that I've never been this turned on from just kissing someone.
In a moment, or maybe two, he lets go of his hold on my wrists and grips my nape with one hand before sliding the other down to my hip.
Lower.
Lower still.
Excitement fills the air when his fingertips skim the soft flesh of my bare thigh. Thank God I'm leaning against the door because my knees go weak at the feel of that long, thick erection grinding into me.
That groan he makes in response to my thrusting hips is one I want to eat up. "We don't have a lot of time," he whispers like an apology.
"I know," I whisper back and start to rip his shirt over his head.
Before I even have his shirt fully over his head, and before I can raise my gaze from those smooth, muscled abs I ogled earlier, he growls, "Turn around."
Yes, he actually growls it.
And oh God, that sound, it causes a ripple of arousal to flood my veins. Wanting this as much as he does, maybe more, I abandon my attempt at taking his shirt off and leave it for him to finish pulling over his head while I turn around. Once there, I place my palms flat on the cool glass of the mirror and squeeze my eyes shut.
I'm doing this.
Really doing this.
With our bodies touching, the heat around us blazes. This is so incredibly hot, I can't even remember where I am.
Which might be a good thing.
Remember, I said he's really big, and I'm not going to lie— I'm a tiny bit worried.
But then all my apprehension melts away when he almost expertly slides his hand down my hip to my thigh, fingers catching the hem of my sundress like it's second nature.
Small tingles follow in the wake of his warm skin as he inches my hem up, up, up, up higher until my panties are front and center.
"Oh fuck," he mutters.
Okay, so I have to thank Trish for insisting I wear the black thong. Very aware of how skimpy it is, I bend a little at the hips and give him an even better view.
Those talented fingers are running the length of it like a quarterback trying to score a touchdown.
Wait... the— oh, oh!— quarterbacks don't... I jump.
His fingers are rising and then... the stinging dancing across my flesh surprises me.
He didn't just do that?
Yes, he did. He snapped my thong.
Wide-eyed, I turn to look at him.
"Sorry, I couldn't resist." He grins, and then smooths his palms over my butt cheeks, caressing right down the middle.
Dirty, dirty boy.
Hiding my intense like for his dirty side, I turn around.
As soon as I do, he reaches between my legs and moves his fingers to curve upward to brush my clit on the outside of my very wet panties.
It feels incredible.
With my eyes closed once again, I press my forehead against the mirror. This is it— I'm about to fuck a stranger. I'm about to join the Mile High Club. And I love every minute of it.
When he slides a foot between my open thighs and pushes them open even wider, I pray to God that the split doesn't cause me to slide and wind up like a wishbone on the floor. Once I feel the gap isn't too great, that I won't be torn in half, I shiver in anticipation. But then his fingers circle against me and I shudder from how freaking good it feels.
It's been a while since I've had sex, and so much longer since anyone has made me feel this desirable.
More than ready for what's next, I breathe in and in and in, almost forgetting to let the air release from my lungs until it rushes out in a loud moan of ecstasy.
That was so not intentional.
His response isn't to be missed, though. That shudder of breath. The slight tremble in his touch. The way his body presses closer to mine.
He likes my noises.
I take them up a notch, hoping I don't sound like a porno star.
With a shift in his stance, his arms snake around me and he comes at my pussy. His rough, callused hands glide down my belly, and his fingers are easily sliding inside my thong.
That dirty mouth mutters another curse when he touches my bare flesh, and I tremble from both the delicious touch and the arousing sound.
Oh God, without even giving me time to recover, he's stroking a finger along my sex, and again, and one more time, as if just liking the way it feels.
There's a very real possibility I might explode in anticipation of what's to come before it actually happens.
Men cream their pants. Do women do the same?
His chin presses into my shoulder. "You want this."
Not a question, but a command that demands an answer. My belly squeezes again. It's the first time anyone has talked to me like that in a bedroom situation. I like it. "Yes," I breathe.
Soon, I hear the small clatter of a metal buckle being undone, followed by the soft sigh of a button easing from its hole, and then finally I hear the light purr of a zipper parting.
I try to catch his reflection in the mirror, but my body is covering his.
Just then another round of turbulence hits. This time, the plane starts shaking. It's not a small bump. It rocks. First right, then left. Our bodies rock in the same motion. Unlike the last time, the turbulence doesn't pass in an instant. The bumps are so much more severe, and almost frantically, we try to brace ourselves against the wall.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has turned on the 'fasten seat belt' sign. We are now crossing a zone of turbulence. Please return to your seats immediately and keep your seat belts fastened."
The turbulence causes the plane to lose altitude, and when it drops, he tries to grab for me, and I attempt to grab for him. We need to anchor each other until the plane levels out.
Our bodies shift and move and it's then that I see it— the scrolling letter B on his chest. It's now that I get the déjà vu moment. This man I've affectionately termed Mr. Beach Bum is Mr. Uptight Prick from last night. He's Austin.
Removing my hands from his body, I clutch whatever I can. I feel a little sick that I'm in here with him. He let some woman blow him and then dismissed her like she was trash. Is that what he is planning to do to me? Oh, wait, he wouldn't have to, because we'll never see each other again.
I need to get out of here.
Now.
It happens before I can stop it. I'm holding onto the small lever that secures the door. He tries to grab my hand, and the movement of the plane causes my hand to jolt to the right. And then, just like that, we're flying out of the door.
It's both of our doing.
I blame him.
Horrified, I can't even move. I'm lying nose first on the carpet, and his body is covering mine. For those who happen to want to watch the show, I'm certain they can't see much, but they will know. Know without a doubt what we were about to do in there.
The palpitations I'm feeling in my heart are no longer a result of lust, but complete embarrassment.
"You need to get to your seats."
Mortified, I can't even look up to see who is talking to us.
I feel a tugging of my dress, down, down, down it goes. It's him. The beach bum. The prick. The manwhore. The slut. Thank God the material is cotton and not the cheap stuff that easily rips.
Soft lips whisper in my ear. "I think you're good to stand."
Regardless of my latest realization, I can't be mad at him right now. Besides, I wanted this. I practically begged for it. "What about you?" I whisper.
"Don't worry about me."
A throat clears.
This can't be happening.
Daring to allow my gaze to lift, I know as my eyes make their way up the body before me that it's Tiffany, the flight attendant with the crush on my seatmate. Soon enough, a frown and blonde hair appear in my vision.
Yep. I was right.
The Mile High Club is going to be my doom.
The flight attendant is sitting in her jump seat and she is leering at me. "Federal Aviation Administration regulations mandate a lavatory occupancy of one. I'm going to have to report this incident to the captain."
I want to slap that smirk off her face, but that would require standing, not lying horizontal with my partner-in-crime half-naked on top of me.
In addition to that, aggravating her now won't do me any good. If she turns me in, I could be accused of a flight violation or even public indecency.
Slowly, the weight on top of me disappears. The man I was just about to have sex with is rising to all of his six-plus feet.
Oh, God, his pants. His pants. They're undone, and without that belt buckled they're certain to fall as soon as he stands.
I don't pray often, but please God, give me a break here.
"This is a total misunderstanding," my seatmate tells the flight attendant, twisting to look at her over his shoulder. He's pulling his shirt over his head.
I should care about what is going on, but right now all I can think about is that scrolling B disappearing. Puff, it is gone, like it was never there. But it was. And I know who he is. What he is— a manwhore, a slut, a player, whatever term fits.
Tiffany or whatever her real name is, scoffs. "I don't think there is any misunderstanding."
Turning around, he holds a hand up as if in surrender. "Can we at least discuss it before you do anything rash?"
Petrified she's going to refuse him, I can't even fully raise my gaze to look at him now that he is facing her for fear that his big, thick cock, the one I never saw, but oh how I felt it, is out on full display.
Finally, I dare to take a peek. Phew, it's not hanging out, or sticking out, whichever is the case, for all to see. Somehow in the midst of the chaos he not only managed to push my dress down, but pull his pants up.
If I didn't hate him right now, I might kiss his feet. I think he just got us off the public indecency charge at least.
Slowly, I rise to my feet, more than aware that I am one hot mess. Even so, I try to stay close to him, shield him, give him time to zip and buckle. To make himself presentable.
The bubbly flight attendant is glaring at me.
It's like we're in a standoff.
Well, I'm not backing down. In fact, the more she narrows her eyes at me, the straighter I stand. I have to tell myself not to ball my fists for fear I might take the first swing. Probably a time to remind myself that I've never been in a fight.
When Tiffany continues to stand before us in silence, my seatmate pleads with her. "Please."
Still with the glare, this time when he speaks, she steps around me. "Well, I guess we can discuss it. Maybe I misunderstood what was taking place," the flight attendant practically purrs to my seatmate.
At that, my head snaps in his direction. Oh, please, she didn't misunderstand a goddamn thing. The physical turbulence might have passed, but the emotional one is just starting to battle within me.
Although he didn't have time to fix himself, at least his shirt is pulled down low enough to cover the fact that his pants are undone.
Thank fuck. Not a word I use often, but it is more than needed right now.
"Please take your seat," the flight attendant instructs me, but not my seatmate.
I narrow my gaze at her. This behavior certainly wasn't covered during the in-flight safety demonstration.
My seatmate nods his chin beyond the first-class curtain. "Take your seat. Let me talk to her, alone."
There's that arrogant, domineering bastard I remember from last night.
Furious, I almost say no, but then I remember I am in jeopardy of being escorted in handcuffs off the plane, so like a good little girl, I start back to my seat.
"One minute." It's the flight attendant telling him her rules. Now this is her game.
I turn to glare at her.
"Please sit in the empty row across from your assigned seat. I'm going to have to ask that you sit alone the rest of the flight."
The look on my seatmate's face is one of utter blankness.
Then again, what else would it be?
After all, a slut's work is never done.
Besides, what happened between us was a hookup gone wrong. I should be thankful that I'm not just another notch in his belt. Let that role go to her.
Sticking my chin up with pride, I look the fake Tiffany in the eyes. "I wouldn't want to sit any other way. He's all yours," I huff. With that, I pivot and march my hot mess back to my newly assigned seat.
Stewing, I practically chew my lip raw waiting for the outcome.
My ex-seatmate is back within five minutes. I want to say, "That was quick," but I hold my tongue. I know he didn't do anything with her. Yet. He must have had to make some promise about the next time she's back in New York City, depending on where he lives. I never bothered to ask, too caught up in my unusual behavior. He was a stranger and needed to stay that way, so I avoided personal questions. Now, I feel depressed that I'll never know.
"Hey, can we talk?" he whispers across the aisle.
Sensing his sincere concern, I consider it for a moment, but then I remember how he behaved last night and shake my head no. "I'm tired. I'm going to go to sleep," I tell him. Tell Austin, that is. And then I close my eyes.
Looks like I won't be checking the Mile High Club off my list today or anytime in the near future.
Too bad that's not what makes me sad.