i am so sorry that this is late once again! i will make it up to you guys!
thank you for your lovely reviews. x
Ally
There are some titles you earn that nobody can ever take away: Mother. Veteran. Ph.D. And, of course, there is the ever-coveted card-carrying member of the Mile High Club.
Yes, once you've done it high in the sky, you're pretty much set for life when it comes to always winning the never have I ever game.
But, make no mistake about it— joining the Mile High Club isn't as simple as you may think.
Or maybe it was just me who thought that.
In my defense, Trish made it out to be so incredibly easy.
Maybe for her it was.
For me— not so much.
In fact, the attempt was downright humiliating.
Then again, I should have known better. Trish always makes everything seem easier than it is.
Across the aisle, light and shadow paint him.
I haven't slept, but I have pretended to do so. Still, whenever I move or shift a little, he catches my quick glance his way, and this time is no different.
"I'm really sorry," he whispers for the hundredth time.
I can't even look him in the eyes.
In his defense, he doesn't understand why. He doesn't know I saw him getting head last night and then treat the brunette like she was dirt. Sure, I felt there was a reason, but after today, I wonder if that is just his way with all women.
Still incredibly embarrassed about everything, I look away without saying a word. Awkward situation equals bitchy woman. It's how I've always been. I can't help it.
At last giving up, he stretches those long legs, and from the corner of my eye I can see him rest his head against the window.
When I can't take it anymore, I dare to sneak a quick peek his way.
I know I shouldn't.
In that one instant it takes for me to focus on him, my heart starts to beat out of my chest.
Tall, blond, and handsome— the three perfect words to describe him.
As if uncontrollable, my breathing also picks up.
And then I stupidly start to think maybe we could try that again. This time with a lower volume, a little more discretion, and a whole lot more coordination.
No, I silently tell myself.
At least this time I listen.
One embarrassing moment on this flight is enough for a lifetime.
With his eyes closed, I can almost pretend we never met and that what just happened never took place.
Almost.
Except the feel of his lips on my neck still lingers, and the touch of his fingers against my skin continues to burn, and then there's my lady parts, which are still tingling wildly to the point of maddening irritation.
Chastising myself for even listening to Trish, and forever considering joining the Mile High Club, I feel like I want to cry, which is stupid.
I.
Will.
Never.
See.
Him.
Again.
The speaker crackles and the pilot's voice booms through the open space. "Cabin crew, prepare for landing."
Sighing, I avert my gaze and then ever so quietly buckle my seat belt and pray that the sound doesn't disturb him. I can't take another "I'm sorry" or "Are you sure you're okay?"
Soon enough, the plane starts to descend and my stomach drops. I find myself digging my nails into the armrest so tightly that my knuckles are turning white.
He was right.
And right now I have this odd feeling. I wish I were sitting next to him, listening to the sound of his caramel-like voice as he reads to me.
No. No. No, I tell myself, and I know I'm right. I don't need a man in my life, and definitely not a stranger who fucks for a hobby.
At 37,000 feet in the air, everything still feels like a haze of white fluffiness, but then the lights from the landscape below start to become clearer and so does my mind.
I'm about to start something new.
And it's exciting.
Looking out the window in anticipation, I know there are adventures waiting for me here. I've visited Miami many times with Trish through the years, but this is different. This will be me, making a new life, in a new city.
I'm so ready.
As soon as the plane lands, the pilot's voice comes over the speakers again. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Miami International Airport. The temperature is ninety-three degrees..." He continues giving us information, but I tune it out. I just want to get off this plane.
Atypical of my normal airplane behavior, I stand up immediately after the plane stops, open the bin over him, over Austin, without glancing down, and as soon as the door opens, I bolt out of it.
"Hey, wait." Austin is calling after me.
He doesn't even know my name, or that I know his, and I have to be okay with that.
He's a stranger.
A random almost screw.
And I will never see him again.
I have to be okay with that.
I say it to myself one more time so that maybe I'll believe it.
After all, that's the way it is.
There aren't that many people in the arrival terminal.
In fact, it's somewhat quiet. Then again, it is one of the last flights of the day.
Walking fast, then faster still, I practically sprint in my wedges so that Austin doesn't catch up with me. The floor is recently polished and a bit slick, so my high school track skills are a little slowed, but as soon as I come upon the first restroom, I duck into it.
Drawing breath after breath to remain calm and steady, I lock myself inside a stall and lean against the chilly metal until the threat of tears passes. Then I stand in front of the mirror. Staring at my reflection, I give myself an assessing gaze. Smudged mascara against pale skin. Naturally brown hair covered with chestnut highlights. Splotchy cheeks and a colorless mouth. All of this is the aftermath of a woman ravaged— swollen lips, messy hair, flushed cheeks.
Trish is going to see it a mile away.
To combat the almost-just-fucked image, I splash water on my face, smooth my hair, wipe under my eyes, dab on a little lip gloss, and powder my face.
There, much better.
Not really.
Done trying to improve what only a shower can fix, I contemplate going out there.
Women come and go while I pace the wash area and wait and wait and wait until I think it's safe. Until I think Austin has passed by the security gate and gone into the main terminal. By the size of his duffle, I doubt he has luggage, so I won't have to worry about seeing him in baggage claim.
Convinced the coast must be clear, I step out of the restroom and head for the main terminal, where I will proceed directly to the baggage claim. The plan is for me to text Trish once I get my luggage and that she'll pull her car up to the curb to get me.
As soon as I reach the terminal, I see her. So much for my plan to save time. She's standing beside a fountain, talking to someone. I can't see who it is. Still, she's not hard to miss. Short with black curls, and beautiful. Even though my plan has been aborted, I smile to myself. I'm happy she's waiting for me. She doesn't see me, though. I should surprise her.
Slowing my steps, I freeze when I get a little closer.
Oh.
My.
God.
The person she's talking to is Austin.
No.
No.
No.
This isn't happening.
He really is a manwhore. Trying to pick up a girl at an airport. How completely lame.
Just as I'm about to turn and run in the other direction to wait for Trish to reject him, he starts walking away from her. That was fast. Then again, he's so not her type. Or the Austin from the plane isn't, anyway. The one from last night is more her style. As flexible as she is, she always goes for the suits. Unable to see the rejection on his face, I watch that long, lean body disappear down the escalator toward the parking garage.
It is just as the top of Austin's head disappears that the screech echoes in the large space. "Allyyyyyyyy!" Trish yells and comes rushing toward me. Her long curly hair is parted down the center and flaps against her loose, flowing silk top. Wearing Converse sneakers with cheetah prints, she moves like the wind in her short-shorts. Seeing her in her quirky getup makes all my worries melt away.
Trish has this thing: she hates to match. No, wait— actually, she thinks matching is putting pieces together that don't match. Stripes with polka dots. Studded boots with frilly dresses. High heels with casual shorts. Leather and lace. She's a fashion merchandiser with her own sense of style. Sadly, not many approve, which is why she was fired from almost every major boutique in SoHo and is now a lifeguard.
"Trishhhhh!" I scream back, not caring who sees me or what they think.
Running toward each other the way you might see in a movie, soon enough we're hugging and squeezing each other.
Trish pulls back and looks me over. "I can't believe you're here. You look great."
Smiling at her, I take a moment to catch my breath. "I'm here. I'm really here."
"You're not going to regret it. I promise you. In fact, I already have our day planned out."
I laugh. "You made a plan?"
She grabs my hand and heads toward the escalator. "Yes, I did. Maybe I want to be a little like you," she says proudly.
Hmmm... like me. Oddly enough, that makes me smile.
"I took the whole day off," she tells me. "We're going to go home and sleep. Once we wake up, I'll help you unpack, because I know you won't rest until your things are organized. Once that is done, we're going to spend the rest of the day on the beach. And then later we'll have dinner with Trent."
Stepping on the escalator toward the baggage area, I look over my shoulder at her. "Trent? You're seeing someone?"
"I'm not sure what you'd call it. We haven't labeled it yet."
"And when did you meet this Trent?"
She gets that dreamy look in her eye. "Just last week. We're not serious, but I really like him. He's a performer."
I step off the escalator and look for my designated baggage claim belt. "Wow. Wow," I repeat.
Her long strides are faster than mine. "Which carousel is your luggage going to be on?"
I point to number five. "That one."
Four very large, lone black suitcases with bright tags are all that remains on the belt.
Her eyes are glued to the belt. "Please don't tell me those are all yours."
I give her one of my you know me smiles. "Yes, they are."
She sees my face and laughs. "Ally, they are not going to fit in my little car."
"Sure they will— they have to. After all, you usually have more baggage than me."
She's shaking her head.
"Then we'll strap them to the top if we have to," I tell her.
Her snort worries me. "Relax. We'll figure something out."
My freak-out is something she's used to. "No. No. No. We won't figure something out. We'll do it. We have to. What's left of my life is in these bags."
I mailed everything I could ahead of time, including most of my clothing and shoes. Yes, I have a lot of those. Luckily, I didn't have to pay for most of them.
Other things precious to me are also in these suitcases. Memories of my mother, things I've collected over the years, my journals, my lists, my songbook.
Trish grips my shoulders and her eyes stare into my hazel ones. "You're right; we'll make it work. We always do."
Relieved, I feel like I can breathe again.
And then together we hoist the suitcases off the belt, moving with them until we have all four beside us. Once we've loaded them onto a luggage cart, we start walking toward the parking garage.
I bite my tongue. My original plan of her pulling her compact BMW X1 luxury SUV up to the curb would have been much easier.
Two elevator rides later, we're in short-term parking and taking turns pushing the load to her car. It's Trish's turn, and while I was huffing and puffing the entire way up the inclined slope of the garage on my turn, she's pushing it effortlessly.
Lifeguarding has gotten her in awesome shape.
Beyond ready to ask the question, I can't hold off any longer. "Hey, was that guy talking to you earlier trying to pick you up?"
Her head darts in my direction. "You mean the guy I was talking to in the terminal just before I saw you?"
"Yes, him," I answer. "The hot, tall, blond-haired one in the worn jeans." The words just come out. I didn't mean to be so descriptive.
She lets out a comically long exhale. "No, that's Austin Moon. We work together. I would have asked him to wait around to meet you, but he had already told me he had to hurry because he had to get to work to open."
I am finding it hard to breathe.
This isn't happening.
Struck stupefied, I stop walking for a moment and try to comprehend what she just said. When I can lift my jaw off the floor, I catch up with her and feel the need to clarify. "Wait. You know him?"
Completely oblivious to my torment, Trish continues to roll the cart. With her key fob in her hand, she pops her trunk as we approach her car.
I am frozen in place.
Then she stops and looks at me. Trish is perceptive. Nothing gets by her. With a raised brow, she says, "I think the question is— how do you know him?"
The wine I had drunk so many hours ago feels like it is sloshing unpleasantly in my belly and I can't answer her.
That doesn't seem to bother her. "Do you know him from New York?"
Slowly, I shake my head no and walk toward her. Though technically speaking, I guess I do.
Trish takes a step and we're standing near each other. "Did you two meet?"
I nod, and no matter how hard I try, I can't cover my shocked reaction.
Her speculative gaze locks on mine. "Did you... Was he... on the same plane with you?"
Not watching where I'm going, I almost walk right into a car. "Yes, he was," I tell her, my voice so low it's more like a squeak.
Sweeping all of this under a rug would be a great idea. Why, oh, why does my best friend have to be so perceptive? "Anndd?" she draws out.
A flush washes over me, and in the bright lights of the garage there is no hiding it.
Her eyes widen like two blue full moons. "Oh, my God, did you join the Mile High Club with Austin Moon?"
From there, I go on autopilot. I turn away and yank one of the suitcases off the cart. "No, not exactly."
She steps in front of me and puts a halt to my movements. "Stop what you're doing right now and spill it, Dawson."
I skitter past her and haul another suitcase off the cart. "I first saw him last night at the club..."
By the time I finish telling her about last night, her shocked reaction is priceless. She can barely talk. "You... Wait... You watched..."
Making a show of it, I nod slowly. "And then I saw him again today on the plane, but at the time I didn't know it was him."
"No, wait, go back. You watched a guy getting a blow job?"
"I already told you I did."
She flings her arms around me. "I'm so proud of you. And you are so not uptight anymore."
Maybe just my attempt has cured me. I do kind of feel like my old self already. I was never as wild and free as Trish, but I'd had my share of fun and adventures.
Breaking her hold, I focus on the size of her car and the cubic feet of suitcases. This is going to be ugly.
It takes us almost twenty minutes to get all four suitcases in the car. Only two of them fit in the trunk, and luckily one just barely fit in the backseat, but the other one had to be bungee-corded to the top. Neither of us is certain it isn't going to fall off during the thirty-minute drive south.
I can see it now, my most flamboyant panties flying through the air. All I can do is pray everything holds tight.
It takes me much longer to tell her everything about Austin than it did to load the car. My anxiety level has increased tenfold knowing that she knows him. That they work together. That there's a chance I might see him again.
"Damn," she says, "the universe is fucking with you. Twice in as many days. That's crazy."
The sun is still hours away from rising, but the sky is the most beautiful shade of purple, and I find myself once again looking out into the night. "No, I'm the crazy one for even attempting something like that, and with a guy like him."
She sighs. "I honestly don't know what to say. He's not a dick. In fact, he's a nice guy."
Still staring out the window, I jerk my head toward her, appalled. "Did you hear anything that I told you? The blow job in the bar last night with whomever he was with, the way he treated her, and then the almost bathroom fucking with me. He's anything but a nice guy, Trish."
A weighted silence falls between us and neither of us looks at the other. "I know him pretty well, Ally," she finally says. "Sure, he screws around once in a while, but he's incredibly sweet. Dez and him are like my annoying siblings."
My head whips in her direction and my stomach takes another turn for the worse. "Wait! Isn't Dez the guy you told me about who starred in an MTV show?"
Her hands are gripping the wheel pretty tightly. "Yeah, that's him. He's Austin's best friend from New York."
My pulse starts pounding. My ears begin to ring. There's no air in this car. I'm not quite sure I can breathe. Once I open the window, I turn in her direction. "Trish?"
She looks over at me with a smirk on her face. "Yes, Ally?"
The devil in Converse sneakers is whom I'm narrowing my gaze on. "Doesn't Dez live next door to you?"
As if all innocence, she nods. "Yeah, and Austin, too. I told you about them. Remember?"
My eyes narrow. "I remember you telling me all about Dez and how he decided to give himself a year to figure his life out after he graduated from UCLA. You told me he was trying to write a screenplay. That he wants to work behind the camera, not in front of it. You told me a lot about him. But you never mentioned he had a roommate."
She shrugs. "I could have sworn I did. Austin moved in almost six months ago. Like I said, he's cool. We hang out all the time."
Staring over at her in complete disbelief, I am struck mute.
Austin is her neighbor, which now makes him my neighbor.
My neighbor.
They hang out!
Oh, shit.