Flying coach was bullshit. The crying babies and the cramped seats weren’t even the worst of it, although admittedly not a perk. The real problem with sitting in the back of the plane was the comradery among the other passengers. In first-class no one tried to chat about the weather or ask the dreaded “Are you visiting or returning home?”. No, in first class we sat in our large, reclining seats with plenty of leg room, cold drink on the tray table, laptop open, and we minded our own damn business.

I didn’t sit in first class because of some ego trip where I needed to flaunt my better than average salary around. I did it because I preferred the silence. Also, I traveled so much it was almost always a free upgrade. Not today.

At least I’d been lucky enough to snag an aisle seat. Unlike the girl sitting in 8B. She didn’t look up as I shrugged off my suit jacket and placed it with my carry-on bag in the overhead bin. She stared down at the magazine in her hands, a pen gripped in her mouth.

Pink lips were wrapped around the blue pen and her eyebrows were drawn together in deep concentration. The only indication I had that she knew her seat neighbor had arrived was the way she shielded the magazine with an elbow as I slid into my seat. Her stance reminded me of those smart kids who strategically placed their arm around the edge of the desk so that no one could cheat off their test answers.

Intrigued, I settled in and peeked over her arm and down at the glossy pages only catching the headline: How to Get Out of the Friend Zone and Land the Guy of Your Dreams. My eyes trailed up to the young woman so enthralled with such a ludicrous title and I studied her closer.

She was beautiful, but not in an in your face way. I definitely couldn’t see her being banned to the friend zone. Her blonde hair was piled up in a bun on the top of her head, face clear and tanned even in the dreary March weather we’d been having. A faded, oversized floral dress was worn over leggings and sparkly shoes completed a look that was a cross between a preppy sorority girl and an artsy free spirit. She dressed in a way that told me she didn’t know she was beautiful or if she knew, she just didn’t care enough to conform to a style.

Judging by her reading material I was sold on the first option.

As the other passengers filed into their seats, I found myself intrigued and unable to focus on anything but 8B. I glanced over politely, hoping she’d look up and make eye contact so I could get a better look at her. No luck. She kept her focus on the garbage reading material in front of her as the cabin doors were closed and the flight attendants prepared for departure. When we’d reached twenty thousand feet and she still hadn’t so much as side-eyed me, I gave up and pulled out my laptop to do some work.

I stared at the reports in front of me for five minutes, not reading a word, before I gave up and closed the laptop with a snap. She jumped, startled, and I turned to give her my attention. When her eyes finally found mine, I inhaled sharply.

Bright blue eyes were outlined with a heavy hand on the eyeliner or eyeshadow, whatever it was called, in a striking blue. I couldn’t decide if was a fashion statement or a fashion disaster, but her eyes held mine captive and my lips parted to speak, only no words came out. We stared for a moment too long, neither saying a word, until she glanced down at her exposed reading and flipped it shut.

“There’s no such thing as the friend zone with guys,” I said, finally finding my voice.

“Excuse me?”

Clearing my throat, I watched her cheeks pink with embarrassment. “With women, they tend to put men into categories like that: friends, guys they’re sort of interested in, guys they want to sleep with, guys they want a relationship with, etc. Men, we don’t do that. We don’t fit women into tidy little categories. We’re either interested or we’re not. And it changes constantly. What that article should have said was “How to Be More Than a One Night Fling” because that’s what you really want, right? To be more than a random hookup or friends with benefits.” I used my fingers to make quotations around the last phrase. “I never cared for that expression.”

A tiny noise escaped her mouth as she stared at me with a shocked look on her face.

“Want my advice?”

“No,” she blurted and shook her head, closing her eyes and turning her head to face forward. The captain’s voice filtered through the speakers giving the usual spiel and I drummed my fingers on the top of my computer waiting for him to finish so I could apologize.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. You don’t want to waste your time on a guy that makes you read trash articles like that. He’s an idiot, for what it’s worth.”

“I wasn’t reading for me,” she said with a defensive tone. “I read all the articles.”

“Nah, not like that you don’t. You were glued to that thing. I’ve been trying to get your attention for the last half hour.”

“You have?” she asked, scrunching up her face in a way that created a cute little wrinkle between her eyebrows.

“Tell me about the article. What was their advice?”

Clutching the magazine to her chest, she looked up at me like she was gauging the seriousness of my question. I leaned back, giving her my full attention.

“It said not to hang out with a man you’re interested in alone unless it’s a scheduled date. No texting or phone calls except to make plans until after the third official date. No sexting, obviously.”

“Obviously?”

“Well yeah, the article suggests it makes it easy for a guy to get what he wants without having to work for it.”

“True, but he’s probably not putting you in the friend zone if he’s staring at your boobs on his phone.”

“He’s probably not thinking of me as more than a hook up either.”

“Depends on the rack.” I grinned. “But fair enough. No sexting. Any others?”

She hesitated before answering, looking away. “Date men in his circle of friends.”

“Who wrote this trash?” I asked, grabbing the magazine and flipping to the article finding the rules she’d just mentioned. Dirty little trick: date his friends. When he sees that other men want you, he’ll stop seeing you as a friend.

“You want to know how to get out of the friend zone or not be a random hook up? Stop reading articles like this. This woman probably lives alone with fifty hamsters.”

“Hamsters?”

“Yeah, I know people always say cats, but I like cats.”

Smiling, she seemed to relax a bit. “You seem pretty sure. What are your credentials and why should I listen to you?”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

“College?”

She nodded.

“I’m thirty-four and I’m not sure that advice would even work on me. Look, guys your age are preoccupied with parties and fun. You’re asking him to work for it when there’s practically a buffet line of other, delectable options.”

She scoffed.

“Look, I’m certainly no expert on relationships, but I know that,” I handed the magazine back to her, “is crap.”

“Okay, I give. What do you think a girl that finds herself in this situation should do?”

“Well without knowing the situation exactly, I’d say for starters this girl should find excuses to hang around the guy as much as possible. If you aren’t around, he’ll find someone else. And I don’t mean hang out together playing Xbox in sweat pants, although, something tells me you could pull that off,” I said, letting my eyes graze over her again. “You want to dress to get his attention – dresses or skirts, high heels, hair down, just a touch of makeup. And, absolutely do not sleep with his friends. It might make him jealous, but it also makes you just another easy lay.”

“That’s it?”

The unbelieving look on her face caused a laugh to rumble in my chest. “It’s not a perfect list, there are always other considerations like personal preferences and chemistry, but we’re simple creatures.”

“A woman being in the same room as you, dressed nice, who hasn’t slept with your friends. That’s all it takes to get your attention?”

“My attention? Nah, but I’m not your target audience. Contrary to popular belief, we men do mature as we age.”

“What does it take for a woman to get your attention?”

Surprised by the question, I thought for a moment not coming up with any good answers. “I’ll keep you posted when I figure it out. So, tell me about the guy.”

She hesitated for just a moment. “His name is Todd. We run in the same circles, have mutual friends, usually end up at the same parties. We’ve become friends, I guess, over the years.”

“You guess?”

“I mean not friends exactly. We don’t braid each other’s hair and watch Gossip Girl, but we have some classes together and we’ve gotten to know each other over the years. We flirt, we always hang out at parties – it’s like we’ve been dancing around each other for years.”

“Interesting,” I said wondering why this guy hadn’t made a move. “He’s never tried to get you in bed?”

“What?” She looked around like she was worried about the sweet old ladies in front of us hearing our conversation. “No, of course not.”

“Sorry, I forgot people aren’t that up front in our twenties. Let me re-phrase, does he hit you up with texts at the end of the night or put himself near you when it’s time for everyone to leave?”

Squirming in her seat, her unease was apparent. So was my answer. I had no doubt the guy in question was into her and was making a play, however subtle and indirect, to sleep with her. A heaviness settled on my chest at the thought of this beautiful and inexperienced young woman fumbling into bed with some jackass.

“You sure you want to be with Ted? He sounds like an idiot.”

“Todd. And yes, he’s great. He comes from a well-respected family, he’s captain of the squash team, pre-med…” Her voice trailed off.

Nodding, it was my turn to squirm. I disliked the guy more with every new tidbit she threw my way. I knew Todd’s type. Arrogant, rich, entitled. I’d dealt with them my entire life.

“Well,” I cleared my throat. “A guy like Tim is going to have expectations and pressure to be with a certain kind of woman, at least one he plans to keep around long-term. Keep the clothing tasteful – no tube tops or miniskirts and nothing like whatever it is you have on now. No offense, but where did you get that dress?” I didn’t wait for an answer, but the flush that had gathered in her cheeks spread down her neck.

I continued, “He’s probably used to women fawning over him, so don’t throw yourself at him, but stay in his line of vision and have something ready to say when he does approach you. Mention his last match or ask about his future plans. Be interested in him and let him see that there’s more to you than a pretty face. You want to be good enough to introduce to his parents, but sexy enough to make him the envy of all his buddies. Give him a little physical contact – nothing too aggressive, just light touching to show you’re interested.”

“What if that doesn’t work?”

“It’ll work.”

“How can you be so sure?”

I shrugged and bit back the obvious. He’d be a fool to let this girl get away from him.

“What’s your name, Tad’s girl?”

“Bianca. And his name is Todd.”

“Nice to meet you, Bianca. Court.” I offered her my hand which she took and lightly squeezed.

“What do you do, Court?” She withdrew her hand and pointed at the laptop still closed on my tray table.

“Risk assessment. I help companies identify potential risks that could lower cash flow or create higher insurance rates and then implement plans and strategies so neither of those things happen. Not as exciting as pre-med.” I cut myself off, feeling ridiculous for feeling less than some egg head who, statistically speaking, was not very likely to actually become a doctor.

“You’re travelling for work, or…?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “I live in New York, but I fly out every month or so to see a client. What were you doing in the city?”

“I went home for Spring break to visit my family.”

“From New York City and you didn’t go to NYU? Shocking.”

“I wanted a more rigorous engineering program. Plus, my parents wanted me to get out on my own.”

“Impressive. And an engineer, huh? Beauty and brains.”

The speakers crackled, and the captain welcomed us to Connecticut while I watched Bianca bite her lip and wring her hands.

“You seeing Tom tonight?”

She raised her eyebrows at my failure to say the right name but didn’t correct me this time. “Yeah, there’s a party to celebrate everyone coming back from Spring break.”

“Don’t wear that,” I said dryly, motioning at her outfit and wishing I could see her done up to impress.

She pulled out her cell and held it with two hands tapping furiously with both thumbs. “No tube tops, no miniskirts, have something to say, light touches…”

“You’re taking notes?”

“I’m a good student.”

Pulling out my card, I handed it to her, our fingertips touched as I held on longer than necessary. “How about you just call me if you need a refresher course.”