Episode 7: “But I never sleep on planes…”
Early flights are a real bitch.
Early international flights?
[laughs softly]
Well, they are the bane of my existence. Not only do you have to get to the airport insanely early, you do it knowing full well, you’re about to be stuck inside a cramped plane for the next several hours without any reprieve in sight.
And, because I was Scoop’s resident surfing journalist—it’s okay to laugh about this—I was headed to yet another location on yet another long-ass international flight.
It was June 12th, and at a little after eight in the morning, I boarded my flight to South Africa for the next big surfing event in Eastern Cape.
To say I wasn’t excited about an eighteen-hour flight would’ve been the understatement of the century, but I hoped to fill the long time void with work and hopefully, a few hours of sleep.
The work part was definitely achievable.
But the whole sleeping part? Well, that goal was likely doomed to fail from the start.
I’ve never been the type of person who can fall asleep on planes.
I’ve tried, many, many times, but always end up wide awake and staring enviously at my snoozing seat mates.
Is it sleeping pills? Natural instincts? Booze?
I wish I knew their secrets.
With a long, restless future ahead of me, I stored my carry-on in the overhead bin, slid into my first-class seat by the window, and pulled my tablet out of my large purse before sliding the bag under the seat in front of me.
The gods had seen fit to bless me with an upgrade from business, and I was no fool. Pointing out the presumed clerical error that landed me there wasn’t on my to do list.
Normally, I preferred to write on my laptop, but have you ever tried to work on a laptop on those tiny fucking airplane trays?
[laughs]
It’s completely impossible.
Not to mention, there is absolutely no privacy when your laptop screen is lit up like a damn Christmas tree and visible to everyone around you.
While the rest of the plane boarded, I hooked myself up to my hotspot, slid my earbuds in, and turned on my favorite upbeat playlist while I browsed through my emails.
Kelly Clarkson serenaded me about a “Love So Soft,” and I clicked open a message from Vanessa.
The subject? The rough draft of my first Dear Ex-Boyfriend article.
I want the final, edited copy ready for June 18th.
It will have front-page placement.
Make it good.
Translation for those of you who aren’t fluent in Vanessa-ese: “Good job, I approve.”
Initially, I smiled.
But then, I panicked a bit over the June 18th publication date.
Did I mention it was already June 12th?
That meant I had less than six days to make sure my first Dear Ex-Boyfriend article was perfect. Not to mention, I still had my daily article responsibilities, the first surfing article to finalize for its July 9th debut, and the ongoing interviews and research needed for the next surfing article.
No pressure or anything, right?
[snorts]
But panicked or not, this was Vanessa I was dealing with.
If I showed weakness—or fear—she’d eat me alive.
Swallowing down my discomfort, I sent her a quick email back, acting way more easy breezy than I felt, and thanked her for the front-page opportunity and let her know I’d have it done in time.
Was it possible? Yes. Of course. Anything is always possible.
But was it possible to hit my deadlines while managing to sleep at some point? Now, that, my friends, was debatable.
Can you say Hello, un-concealable dark circles, bags under my eyes, and constant fatigue?
[laughs softly]
That was a near certainty of my future.
I pulled up her edits and remarks on my Dear Ex-Boyfriend rough draft and tried my damnedest not to have a panic attack when I noted there were nearly sixty comments and notations for my one-thousand-word piece.
Despite her thoughts that this was front-page material, she apparently had some opinions. Most were of the “Clarify” nature, but still, opinions nonetheless.
Surely, I could fix this baby up by the time our wheels touched down in South Africa, right?
That was also questionable, but remember, I was a Type 3 Achiever who loved a good challenge.
With a deep breath inhaled and exhaled through my lungs, I reeled in my panic and created a game plan. I’d attack her comments and notations first, then go back and start revising the whole thing.
But I’d only reached comment number two when someone made their way into the seat beside mine. I looked up from my screen and into the mocha gaze of the man who had really thrown my body for a sexual tension loop the night prior.
Jesus Christ, I silently muttered to myself.
It was like I couldn’t escape him.
Ollie grinned and his mouth moved, but I couldn’t hear the words leaving his lips over Kelly Clarkson telling me I was a “Whole Lotta Woman.”
“Huh?” I asked and slipped the earbuds out of my ears.
“I said, Mornin’,” he responded as he wrapped his seat belt around his trim waist and clicked it into place. “How are you feeling?”
I shrugged. “I’m okay.”
He looked at my tablet and tilted his head to the side as his gaze scanned the screen. “Dear Ex-Boyfriends, I’m ready for closure,” he read aloud, and I shut my eyes in discomfort.
It was one thing to read your own words quietly to yourself, but it was a whole other thing to hear those words out loud coming from someone else’s lips.
When I opened my eyes again, he was still reading along and smirking as he did.
“Jeez, nosy much?” I quickly powered down the screen, saved changes be damned, and Ollie lifted his gaze back to mine.
Of course, he just kept on smirking. “A writer who doesn’t want anyone to read what she writes? That’s a bit ironic, yeah?”
“More like, a writer who doesn’t want anyone to read what she writes until it’s actually finished,” I retorted.
“I thought you were writing a series about surfing…”
“I am,” I responded and couldn’t stop my eyes from moving heavenward. “But it’s not my only responsibility for the website.”
“I see.” He nodded toward my tablet. “So, you’re also responsible for writing letters to ex-boyfriends too?”
“It’s a work in progress, but yes, it’s part of a new series I’m working on.”
“A series that includes letters to your ex-boyfriends?”
“How many times are you going to say ex-boyfriends?”
“As many as it takes for you to answer my question.”
“You realize this is none of your business, right?”
“Doesn’t make me any less curious.” He shrugged. “Not to mention, my curiosity is more your fault than mine.”
“What?” I asked on a shocked laugh. “How is your being nosy my fault?”
“I wasn’t the one with my tablet on for the whole plane to read my letters to my ex-boyfriends.”
Even though he was annoying the shit out of me, I couldn’t not grin at that and take the wide opening he’d just kindly placed in my lap. “So, you also write a lot of letters to your ex-boyfriends?”
He winked. “Whenever I’m needing closure, I do.”
“You’re annoying.”
“Pretty sure you’ve told me this before.”
“Yeah, and I’m wondering if you’ll ever get the point.”
“If you asked my VP Zoe, she’d probably tell you not to even bother with trying.”
“Sounds like a smart woman.”
“She loathes me.”
“Yeah, pretty sure she and I would get along just fine.”
Ollie laughed at that, and I slid my tablet into the mesh holder on the back of the seat in front of mine as our flight prepared for takeoff.
The flight attendants moved down the aisles of the now-filled plane and prepared the cabin.
Once the captain greeted us over the intercom and our wheels started to taxi toward the runway, I did my best to find a comfortable position in my seat.
And like a slap to the face, it hit me. I had to endure an eighteen-hour flight with Ollie sitting beside me.
[sighs]
Did you hear that? An eighteen-hour flight.
The panic was real, my friends.
And the uncertainty about the situation was even realer.
Obviously, I’d somehow drawn the short straw that morning.
By some stroke of luck, his penchant for annoying me appeared to overshadow the fact that I’d been about one second away from throwing caution to the wind the night before and kissing him.
[laughs softly]
That surely would’ve made the trip even more awkward than it already was…
I mentally cringed when I thought about the possibilities and forced myself to stare out the window and not think about the way he’d made me feel last night.
But it was pretty much a fruitless endeavor when I glanced over my shoulder and noted, even dressed in those cargo shorts and a plain white T-shirt, how stupidly handsome he truly was.
Long, dark lashes framed his deep brown eyes, and his lips formed a soft, full line above his strong jawline. It felt a bit cruel for God to make a man look so damn good yet give him the personality of the biggest prick I’d ever met.
When those lips crested up into a grin, I blinked out of my stupor and realized Ollie’s gaze was now locked on mine.
“You okay?” he asked and searched my face.
“Uh-huh.”
“You sure? You seemed a little lost in thought there for a minute.”
[groans]
Yeah, lost in thoughts of him…
“I’m good,” I lied and even added a pathetic excuse of, “Flights just make me a little nervous.”
Flights never made me nervous. If anything, they bored me.
But, Ollie?
Yeah, he made me nervous. And the way he made me feel had my brain all kinds of fucked up.
I wanted to be turned off by him.
I wanted my annoyance to overshadow everything else.
And, maybe, if I hadn’t danced with him last night, that would be the case.
But I couldn’t change the past.
And I definitely couldn’t change the fact that I knew how good his body felt against mine. I knew he smelled like the sun and the beach with hints of soft vanilla intertwined throughout. I knew his muscles felt just as firm and toned as they looked. And I knew being inside of his arms, dancing with him and staring up into his big brown eyes gave me a high I’d never experienced before.
Obviously, I knew too fucking much.
I leaned my head back into the seat and shut my eyes as our plane started to propel forward, down the runway, until we picked up enough speed for our wheels to lift off the ground.
Between my wayward thoughts about Ollie and the fact that he would be sitting right beside me for the next several hours, I knew there was no way I’d be getting any work done.
Maybe, just maybe, for the first time in my life, I’d be able to fall asleep on the plane.
Maybe if I kept my eyes shut tightly enough, my nocturnal instincts would kick in, and my body would understand the only way to survive this flight would be to fall into an eighteen-hour coma.
A girl could dream, right?
[laughs and then groans]
Well, friends, a few hours later, a girl did dream…
I was so deep into dreamland, when the words, “Can I get you anything to drink, sir?” reached my ears, I had no idea where they’d come from.
Was I dreaming the question? I had no idea.
“I’ll take a water,” a familiar male voice answered, but his voice was so near, it startled me to blink my eyes open.
For a minute there, I didn’t know where I was or what in the hell was happening, but when I took in the leather of the first-class seats in front of me, I realized I was still on the plane and the male voice had been Ollie’s.
When I attempted to lift my head, my neck screamed out in discomfort, the tendons stiff and tight from the odd position and the stark reality that I was lying against something really hard.
It felt like a fucking rock, and eventually, I found the strength to lift my head.
But when I did, I glanced down to the find the outline of a firm, muscular shoulder covered by soft, white cotton material.
[audible groan]
Yeah. Not only had I fallen asleep, but I’d used Ollie as my own personal pillow.
Can you say face palm situation?
My stomach pretty much dropped to my feet after that, and once I sat up fully, Ollie grinned over at me.
“Good afternoon.”
“Uh…” I paused and cleared the raspy sleep from my throat. “How long have I been asleep?”
“A few hours.”
“Have I been sleeping on you the whole time?”
“Pretty much.” His grin grew wider, and those dark eyes of his brightened with amusement. “I guess I’m not completely annoying, yeah?”
Fuck, I felt mortified.
And more than that, I needed a moment to figure out what in the hell was wrong with me.
“Mind getting up for a minute so I can go to the bathroom?”
“Of course.” He nodded and let me out of our aisle.
The instant I was locked inside the small airplane bathroom, I stared at myself in the small circular mirror.
My hair was all over the damn place. My eyes were a bit puffy and swollen from sleep. And any makeup I’d put on prior to the flight had pretty much rubbed off somewhere during my nap.
I was a mess, but I wasn’t focused on that.
I was too stunned that I’d fallen asleep on the plane.
I never slept on planes.
Much less used my seatmate, the man I was trying like hell to avoid, mind you, as my own personal pillow.
For the love of God, I had to get it together before I went back to my seat. Otherwise, I feared I’d wake up in South Africa curled up in his lap like a fucking baby.
[sighs]
This is the part of the story where I tell you all I convinced myself, yet again, that I needed to stay as far away from Oliver Arsen as physically possible.
It was pretty apparent I couldn’t trust myself near him.
But did I listen to my own advice?
I guess you’ll just have to keep listening to find out…