Chapter 11

Andrew

HE HAD PLANNED ON SLEEPING ON THE PLANE, but Christine's initiative made it impossible. He packed the few things he had brought in the travel bag. He'd always been travelling light, since the early days in his career when he didn't own many things and he wouldn't have had the money to pay for extra space. Now his travel bag had shrunk to the size of his gym bag.

"You'll do great," Christine said when she hugged him good bye.

"Tell me what happens with the cop," he said, kissing her cheek.

"Not a cop," she said.

The taxi took him to the airport with time to spare, but he sat on a chair in one of the waiting rooms, away from his gate, gathering his thoughts before meeting her. He heard his name in the airport's PA system.

At least now she knew he was on that plane. She might think he was stalking her or maybe she thought it was a coincidence. Even if this time it hadn't been his doing, he had stalked her all those months when Jeanne hid him in a booth at Dusk so he could hear her. 

A few minutes later, he was in his luxurious first class seat feeling he was sitting in an ant farm. He didn't need the big screen or all the amenities surrounding him for better connectivity to everyone in the world except the woman who was a dozen feet from him.

"Is everything all right, Mr. King?" his flight attendant asked. "Do you need anything before we take off? We have an excellent champagne."

"I'd like to change my seat," he said.

The young woman looked vaguely unhappy.

"All first-class seats are taken, but I can check with my colleagues-"

"Not with another first-class seat," he interrupted her. "I'd like seat 9E. Could you ask the person sitting there if they would like to swap?"

The professional smile was back on her lips.

"Of course, sir."

"Before takeoff, please," he said. "I'm not interested in any other seat on the plane. Just 9E."

She nodded. "I'll deal with that immediately, Mr. King."

He stood up and started pacing in the small suite called seat 4A. That place was as big as the van they used to carry all the Wanderlust equipment on their first years. The smooth cream leather of the armchair, the pristine white curtains by the large window, the big screen TV, every little luxury detail stifled him.

What if Christine had been wrong and he had demanded a seat that wasn't next to her? He should have checked first. Talked to her. Asked her if she wanted his company. Vy was the one with fear of flying, but he felt on the verge of a panic attack.

The flight attended returned, followed by a young man in jeans and ripped t-shirt, with a laptop bag on slunk over his shoulder. Not what he had expected from a business class traveler.

"Everything is settled, Mr. King," the flight attended said. "Seat 9E is yours."

"I almost said no," the guy said, "but 'miss Cupid' here was very persuasive."

Instead of embarrassing him, the comment relaxed him. It had to be Vy in the other seat if this guy considered passing on the opportunity to travel first class to be near her. He'd been sure that his motives would be crystal clear to everyone as soon as they saw was sitting in 9F.

"Thank you," he said to both of them.

"I'll take you to 9E," the blushing flight attendant said.

"Good luck," the guy said, grinning.

He thanked "Miss Cupid" before they got to his new seat, and the girl took the hint to let him find the rest of the way by himself. When he got there, Vy had headphones over her ears and a black eye mask over her eyes. He should not have found that image sexy.

He felt his heartbeat raising as he looked at her in silence. She was eerily beautiful. He had never seen Vy peaceful before. She'd always been a ball of explosive energy. She'd been sound and fire. He relished in the luxury of looking at her mouth and recalling how it felt on his. Those sensual, plump, maddeningly kissable lips, slightly parted as she breathed steadily were so close. He had kissed her twice, always like a thief in the middle of the night. He wanted to run his thumb over that full bottom lip and watch the black engulf the green in her eyes.

The plane started to roll on the tarmac, and Vy jerked upright.

"We're taking off?" she asked as she kicked the headphones off

She fumbled with the ribbon of her eye mask for a few seconds than yanked it off.

"It's ok," he said. "Yes, we're taking off."

"Andrew?" she whispered, and he saw terror in her eyes.

"I'm here," he confirmed. "We'll be fine. Take my hand."

She clasped his hand in hers and he felt her shaking.

"We'll be in the air in a few seconds," he said.

"Don't say that," she said groaning.

Her grip on his hand increased in intensity.

"I'm never going to play the guitar again," he said.

She turned her head, not understanding at first, then her eyes fell on their hands. She tried to jerk her hand away, but he was ready and he hanged on to it.

"Not letting you go," he said.

Her breast rose and fell rapidly with each deep breath. Her cheeks were paper white and he could see her fading away. He had to find a way to distract her before she fainted.

"So, you think guys with tattoos are hot," he said.

"What?"

"I heard you talking to my daughter," he said. "And there I was, thinking of removing my old tattoos."

"Why would you do that?" she asked. "I mean, you can do what you want with your body."

Her voice went up toward the end.

"Really? I was going to ask your opinion about the beard. I'm thinking of shaving it off again."

"D-don't. Don't care," she said.

The pressure on his head decreased a little. The moisture level however, went up. As if she wasn't enough of a bad liar, her body's reactions betrayed her completely. 

He guided her palm to his cheek. "Doesn't it feel too long to you?" he asked.

It turned out not to be a very good move. Her touch made him dizzy. He closed his eyes and leaned into it as she had leaned into his all those months ago, on a November evening by the frozen pool outside the Sing House.

"Don't shave the beard," she whispered throatily.

She cleared her throat and he took her hand off his face. They were still holding hands a few minutes later, when the flight attended passed by their chair and asked if everything was ok.