The signs that a woman wants you aren’t obvious to every guy. But if you look close enough and you're a keen observer, you'll see them.

Consider my situation on a flight from Chicago to Barcelona a few days after the New Year.

In front of me, and across the aisle, sat an attractive woman who kept glancing backwards over her shoulder. A cute blondie a few years older than me.

The reasons I knew she was into me were subtle but I didn’t miss them. Every time she glanced back, she deliberately lingered her gaze on my cocky smirk, blue-green eyes, and olive-colored skin. I was reading a book, but since I’m an expert at peripheral vision, I easily caught her stealing glances at me.

“Jesus, when is the stewardess going to be up here. We are first class after all,” she huffed. I timed it just right so the next time when she glanced back toward the curtain, she found my eyes smirking back at her.

“Good service is so hard to come by these days.” I grinned and shook my head.

She smiled at me but seemed surprised. Probably because most guys these days are such pussies that they won't even talk to girls in the flesh, let alone openly flirt back. They’re so used to their electronic dating profiles, Tinder, and Snapchat, they feel more comfortable swiping left and right on their smartphones. Meanwhile, they are scared to interact with women in real life.  

Me? I’m an old school type. A regular Clint fucking Eastwood. I don’t even have a Facebook page. Fuck Facebook.

“All I need is a drink.” She smiled wryly, batting her eyelashes and giving me an expression that had 'fuck me' written all over her face.

“I could use a refill myself.” I jingled the ice in my now empty Jack-and-Coke and raised both of my brows at her.

“There’s no one in the seat next to you,” she remarked, half question and half statement, grinning as she craned her neck to look over my shoulder into the seat next to me.

“Nope.” I quirked the sides of my lips up slightly. “Want to give me some company? Long flight.”

“I suppose you might make a better travel companion then McDrooly over here.” She nodded to the man next to her. Only an hour into the flight, the guy was snoring so loud it made me want to personally apply a nasal strip to his face.

I turned my legs so she could squeeze through and sit in the window seat next to me. She put her hand on my shoulder for ‘balance’ as she walked by. But I knew she didn’t really care about balance. She was checking out the goods, like a man running his hands over a car he’s considering taking for a ride. Call me cocky, but I wasn’t surprised. I'm a professional basketball player, I work out a lot, and women have always enjoyed feeling me up. Abs and arms are usually their top priorities, but once they catch wind of what’s below, that usually seals the deal.

She eased into seat and slid her hand off my shoulder.

“I’m Chandler.” I smiled, reaching a hand out.

“Renee,” she replied, returning my grip.

“Pleasure to meet you Renee.”

Like she had done with my shoulder, she let her hand linger a little longer than was normal.

“You have strong forearms.” She ran her hand up to my bicep and gave it a light squeeze. “And giant hands. Do you play a sport?”

“Basketball.” I smiled.

She opened her mouth slightly, ran her tongue along her lips, and flashed her eyes at me once more as she slid her hand off my forearm. “Basketball. That’s hot.”

Renee was attractive, objectively, at least. She had on a sexy black skirt and a blue tank top that hugged her upper body.

I smiled again, and leaned back, seeing exactly where this was going. We’d chat for the next hour with some heavy flirting. The drinks would help lubricate the fact that—despite our mild physical attraction—we were virtually strangers.

A stewardess walked by, seeming a little flustered, her cheeks red and her hair out of place.

“Excuse me miss, we’d like to order a couple of drinks, please,” I said with a polite smile.

She ignored me and continued past. A second later she stopped, turned, and looked over her shoulder with a delayed reaction. “I’m sorry sir, but we’re dealing with a bit of a…situation right now.” She chose her word carefully. “And I need to go speak with the Captain.”

“Well, when you’re done dealing with that situation, we would love to get some first class service,” Renee chimed in. “We need some drinks.”

“Right away, ma’am.” The stewardess made a sort of exaggerated curtsy motion, as if conveying that she had bigger fish to fry than our drinks. She disappeared into the flight deck.

“Well, that was rude,” Renee said, clearly annoyed. “I am certainly not a ma’am.” I noticed a slight bulge inside her cheek as she ran her tongue inside her mouth and stared at me with her big blue eyes. “Quite a Miss.”

I stood up and stepped into the aisle. “Well, Miss, I’m going to get us some drinks from the bar in the back since it looks like we are in a serve ourselves situation. What’ll you have?”

“Vodka tonic with lemon. No lime. Lemon.”

There was a certain bite to the way she said the words that made me slightly irritated. But still, I’d get her the drink. “You got it. Be right back.”

The Boeing 747 was a jumbo jet and had several rows of curtains every twenty seats or so. The lights were mostly dimmed except for a few night owls up reading. The passengers were a mix of Spaniards, tourists, businesspeople, and a few scattered students. Most of them surely planned to sleep most of the way to Europe. I saw one wide-eyed guy with glasses looking out the window. He didn’t look tired at all. I wondered if this was his first flight or trip to Europe.

When I reached the very last curtain I could hear a woman speaking. No, yelling. And there was laughter from the crew. I opened the curtains, and twenty feet away I saw the center of the disturbance.

She had long brown hair, a short stature, and was gesturing toward the liquor cart. I slowed my walk so that I could gauge the situation.

"Miss, I'm sorry but the liquor cart has been closed for the night,” the stewardess said in an even tone.

"That’s a lie," the brunette countered, swaying ever so slightly.

I tilted my head and squinted my eyes, trying to see her face in the sparse lighting. Something about her mannerisms seemed instantly familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on why. And then there was her voice, which had this unique perky quality to it. I scanned my memory, but something did not compute.   

“If I have money, the bar is open,” she emphasized, holding out a twenty dollar bill to make her point.

"It's not a lie. The bar is closed,” the stewardess countered. This was a bold-faced lie, since blondie and I were about to order booze. Not to mention flights didn’t exactly have cut off hours since we were over international waters.

"It isn’t, though. Come on, sister. I’ve had a tough year. A tougher month. And another drink is going to fix all my problems. Trust me.” She said the words with such conviction that the stewardess seemed like she wanted to believe her.

Wait. That voice. I swallowed and my heart began to palpitate when she turned, briefly, I saw her face.

Squirt.