“You’re late,” a shriveled-faced flight attendant sneers the obvious at me as I fumble my way onto the plane. “Boarding pass?” She thrusts out an impatient hand, the other on her hip, and foot a-tapping while I dig around for the inconveniently elusive slip of paper.
“Do, uh, you usually ask for those? Because the man inside the airport, who probably would’ve blocked my path should I have tried to sneak my way this far, said-”
“I’m asking now. Do you have one or not?”
Okay, tuck in the dry sarcasm, Lily… kill her with kindness.
“I’m so, so sorry… but, uh” — frantically, I give myself ten-times the “pat down” as the one served up by Old Man Pervy Hands at security check, which I would’ve thought impossible — “I can’t seem to find it. It’s been that kind of day.” I strive to lighten things up, unsuccessfully — confirmed by her steadfast, unresting bitch face. “I’m in First Class; Lily Reyn—, um, Myers. Lily Myers.”
Well that went swimmingly. Couldn’t have made a bigger, bumbling jackass of myself had I been trying.
Which I wasn’t.
Much like I didn’t try, or succeed at, juking my way past security to board a plane for which I didn’t have a pass to do so.
But… “If at first you don’t succeed” and all…
“Could I maybe sit down, get situated, then look for it again? I promise, it’s here somewhere. They wouldn’t have let me this far if not, right? I just… I need a second to put my bag up and regroup.”
“Fiinnee, go ahead. Preferably sometime today.” Denise, as told to me by her nametag (I highly suspect they simply spelled She-Devil wrong), puts the utmost effort into rolling her eyes. “I won’t allow you to continue inconveniencing all the other passengers.”
Yeahhh… she might have a valid point there. Which is why, albeit a bit strained, I cordially respond, “Thank you,” before quickly maneuvering my way around, and away from, her.
“You look like you could use a drink.” A voice of rough satin tickles my ear as I flop down, with all the ungracefulness one would expect from the flustered mess that is me, into my seat.
“I’m not sure adding alcohol’s a real gr…” My words get lost the milli-instant I glance at my neighbor. And, just to make absolutely certain I pack a lifetime’s worth of utter humiliation into this one day, I simply stare. For wayyy too long. Too long to be classified as staring. I have definitely crossed over into gawking territory.
But, the damage is already done, so as a fire-alarm blush scorches my cheeks and I remain stuck in a temporarily-speechless-state-of-awestruck, I go ahead and gawkity-gawk the hell out of it; like I may never get the chance to gawk again — memorizing every detail of his striking good looks. “A…a good idea.” I finally stammer out the belated ending.
The single man; he’s not wearing a ring anyway, and there’s no telling blanched-out circle around his finger (telling me it’s hidden in his pocket), confirmed with a quick sneak peek at his left hand, sitting beside me is, bar none, the most handsome human being I’ve ever seen in my life… or dreams.
Well, suuure. I mean, why wouldn’t he be drop-dead gorgeous… seeing as how I’m on such a roll today? I’ll bet he’s rich too, and just dying to sweep me off my lil’ ol’ “reeking of subservient desperation” feet. Because that’s exactly how things happen in real life. Every. Single. Day. Right?
Wrong.
Not on any day is that how things happen!
Except right now, of course. Now… when I’m frazzled, inside and out — an uncoordinatedly walking, nonsensically talking, one-woman shitshow — who also just so happens to currently be reppin’ “the flag” of my favorite tribe of Bushwomen down south.
Yes, that down south.
Oh, and I haven’t shaved my legs in at least three days. And since I’m making a list, might as well throw the fact that I’m a little bit “gamey” in the armpit regions from all the running as to not miss my flight on there. End of list, game over… because I refuse to even think about my breath, or my no doubt mismatched, maybe even inside out, raggedy-ass bra and underwear.
No perfect chance encounter, no phenomenon, rivaling tales woven since the beginning of time — where I’m the fair maiden, ready in wait — to be had here.
My tale is a satire, filled with irony; always has been. Which is exactly why my fairy godmother — who, I might add, has a sick sense of humor and I wish like hell I could fire — has placed this glorious man of fables and the big screen beside me.
The universe’s way of making sure I never forget just how much “living with my head in the clouds” has cost me.
Sheesh, I get it already; no need to slap me across the damn face with it!
Distracted by all this thinking, I guess I forgot to stop with the gawking, because Mister Seemingly Single and Damn Sure Sexy gives a short, humble chuckle before offering me his hand. “Trevor Kincade. And you are?”
“Lily. Myers. Nice to meet you.” My cheeks reheat to unhelpfully accentuate the breathiness in my response. “Sorry about my late, and, um, theatrical entrance. I’m a bit out of sorts today.”
He cocks his head and grins, raising handsome to a whole new, heart-stopping level. “And why is that?” he asks, his perfectly straight, white teeth beaming, the modest laugh lines around his aquamarine eyes only complementing their brilliance.
“Why is what?” Nice. I’m about as savvy at casual flirting as I am at boarding a plane.
“Why are you ‘out of sorts,’ beautiful Lily?”
Because life screws with me at every turn, and you, dropped directly in my muddled path, are just another suave, gorgeous, twisted reminder of that fact?
The deep, depressing thought’s probably a bit much for a three-hour flight, so I just shake my head, softly sigh, and craft my response. “If…” I stand, thinking it best to finally get around to stowing my bag before Denise checks in and ejects me off the flight, “…we’re going to make conversation, Trevor Kincade, let’s make it about happy, interesting things. Shall we?”
With effortless fluidity, he rises and moves beside me, taking the bag from my hand. “Please, allow me,” he murmurs. “And yes, we shall, Lily. Very interesting things, things already making me quite happy.”
Who knew things were so fancy in first class? Certainly not me. I didn’t pay for the ticket — my last attempt at some sort of consolation was springing for the upgrade on Ethan’s credit card — that the fool had yet to deactivate. So, as I sip on my second flute of champagne — yes, I’d caved — I’m feeling a little buzzed and a little better…but not enough of either to miss the fact that this plane, the one I’d supposedly held up, still hasn’t left the ground.
“Excuse me, Denise?” I wave my hand in the air, Trevor’s chuckle under his breath not missing my ears.
“Oh, Denise.” My second attempt’s a bubbly-influenced melody.
Here she comes, sashaying down the aisle with a contemptuous glare for me; short-lived though, so she can shoot a sugary smile at Trevor. “What can I help you with?” she asks me, civilly at best, while eyeing Trevor, PG-rated at best.
I dip, duck, and twist like a smartass pretzel, inserting myself into her line of vision, the alcohol bolstering my sass. “Yes, hi, hello, me again. I know you’re a very busy lady and I’ve caused you quite the headache today, but I couldn’t help wondering… why haven’t we taken off yet? Are we waiting on more rogue, dragging-ass passengers such as myself?”
Oh, if sucked-a-lemon looks could kill… Denise would’ve just put my ass six feet under. And here I was, under the misconception my super-duper friendliness had no choice but to be contagious.
“I believe what she’s trying to ask is,” Trevor interjects in a voice of reason, and rich promise, made for bedrooms and balconies, while leaning in to ease the flute-too-many out of my hand, “is something wrong? Any reason you can give us as to the delay, or an idea of when we might be departing?”
Denise’s entire aura immediately shifts, into invitation mode, and she pushes her ample chest forward as she purrs, “Let me go check on that for you, Mister Kincade. I’ll be right back; I won’t keep you waiting.”
Her equally ample ass, clad in a tight skirt, has barely made two full-range swings back down the aisle when my loud scoff escapes.
“What?” he asks.
Thus far, our chit-chat has been fairly idle — the weather, my lack of versus his vast experience in airline travel, him offering, then ordering, our drinks — but when I look over at him this time and roll my eyes, I decide to let some “real talk” roll right off my tongue. “Why do men do that?”
“Do what?” He grins… all lopsided and sexy, his eyes dancing in time to his charade.
“Act like they don’t know when a woman is coming on to them? And then play coy, like they don’t know what a woman is asking?”
“Ah.” He shifts in his seat, turning into me and loosening the light blue tie that mirrors the shade of his eyes. “I see we’ve conquered the initial hurdles and reached the point of real conversation, for which I’m glad. I’m not a patient man.”
“But you make up for it with subtlety?” I smile to soften my sarcasm.
“No, Lily, I don’t. One needn’t make up for something they don’t consider to be a shortcoming. I pride myself on not only my direct approach, but my ability to ascertain what I want, when I want it. You mistook my question before. I wasn’t asking what you found humorous; I, too, was well aware of the attendant’s advance. I was asking what about it you found humorous.”
Something in his rueful stare and the smug curl to his lip has me squirming in my seat and swallowing heavily. “I… uh… I was just…”
“Mocking, in an attempt at self-preservation, as though disgusted with her behavior, rather than the more accurate disappointment in your own lack thereof?”
My jaw literally drops open and I blink rapidly, almost uncontrollably, while searching for a big, strongly worded, philosophical comeback… coming up with only, “I beg your pardon? How dare you speak to me like that. You don’t even know me!”
Even more arrogantly invasive, he slips a finger under my chin to close my jaw for me, then bends his head to fan his next warm words across my lips. “I plan to remedy that very soon, Lily… and you forgot to lie and say I was wrong.”