Chapter 2
The smell grows stronger, and I cough in response. Other passengers’ heads pop up like meerkats, investigating the odor as well. I stretch my body to look in other rows; I look to my right, but it’s not that row. Everyone is asleep.
Landon grabs my forearm, and I feel warm all throughout, even if my nose is on fire.
“I will get to the bottom of this smell—when the seatbelt sign goes off.” Landon points to the ceiling, and the seatbelt sign glows in its tyranny.
“Oh my God,” a woman screeches, and I see the culprit.
A pair of hairy feet with yellow talons for toenails rest casually on an armrest. I see the smelly asshole’s head who lounges without shame. I point around Landon, and he gasps.
“Someone has to tell him his feet are nasty,” I whisper.
“Maybe he knows, and he doesn’t care. My Uncle Harry is like that. Wait, is that my Uncle Harry?” Landon lifts slightly from his seat. “No, it’s not him. Too much hair on the head.”
“Do you think anyone is going to say anything?” I ask. I peer around the row, and now the toes are spread apart like fingers. Gross. There is whispering but no blatant signs of response.
“I doubt it. Though, you never know.”
The smell loses its aggressive rottenness, and I can breathe without my eyes watering. The whispering dies down, and he finally takes his feet off the armrest. Now, I’m just excited to tell everyone about this shoeless guy, even if the ordeal lasted two seconds.
I also cannot wait to tell everyone about this really cute guy who made a ho-hum flight great.
A ding sounds from overhead, and we look up to see the seatbelt light is off.
“It’s your moment to shine!” Landon says as he barrels out of the aisle and stands up, almost falling into an older woman asleep with her mouth open.
I grab my carry-on and brush past Landon. The quick swish of our clothes sends goosebumps up my arms. We share a smile, inches from each other’s face, and he pats my upper back with his palm. More goosebumps.
“He’s also eating a full bag of pork rinds,” Landon whispers. The shoeless, unapologetic man grabs a fistful of the snack and crunches loudly. From the back, I see his rowmate squirm. I feel bad for her.
I charge the rear of the plane.
I half-smile at the flight attendant, still strapped in the jump seat, scrolling on her phone. The bathroom door sticks, and I brace my weight to push the door open. I have zero upper body strength so this is about to get comical, real fast. It finally opens with a thwack, I don’t fall in,and relief washes over me. I’m so close to being comfortable I could cry. I also want to get back to my seat. To Landon.
I set my bag down on the toilet and immediately strip out of my jacket and pull my stiff blouse over my head.
Visions of Landon slowly undressing me come out of nowhere.
I’ve known Landon for thirty minutes, and I’m already having sexual fantasies about him. Great.
It has been a while since I’ve had sex. As the wedding with Patrick loomed, we slept together less and less. He did not reach for me, and I fell asleep in an exhausted heap every night. I thought not sleeping together for a month prior to our wedding was normal; we would rip each other’s clothes off once the stress of the wedding was over. Patrick calling it off definitely affirmed that, no, we had a problem.
Somehow, we lost each other.
Landon is not a good fixation for my sexual fantasies. First off, we’re on a plane. Joining the Mile High Club does not appeal to me, and I would never attempt it. With my luck, I would get stuck in the bathroom or fall out, buck naked. Second, I barely know him. I’ve only had sex with men I’ve dated, and who knows if Landon and I will see each other past this plane ride. Seeing someone’s bare feet always leads to bonding, but I don’t think enough to bump uglies.
I avoid the mirror as I stuff the suit in crumples and pull on my favorite leggings that feel like butter on my legs and my trusty black flats. I breathe out a sigh of relief. My hair is doing nothing for me, so I collect half of it into a bun on my head and find some blessed makeup wipes. As I remove the layers of professional makeup, my skin breathes, and I feel better. I check my appearance once last time. Maybe I’m checking it so I look good for Landon. Even if there’s no chance for sex or romance in the immediate future, I still want to feel nice and pretty.
After I collect all my belongings and deposit my wipe in the trash, I try the door, and it doesn’t budge. Huh. Even with more force, my yanks do nothing. Maybe setting my stuff down would help? I prop my bag on the closed toilet and turn around, bracing my feet to pull this mother-fucker open. I change arms in case that helps. Nope. I double-check that it’s unlocked. It is. Why won’t you open? I even stick my tongue out to harness magical door-opening capabilities.
Nothing.
Then, I do what any normal, sane woman would do. I start screaming and banging the door like a lunatic. Flashes of news stories about “Woman Stuck in Bathroom on Skyline Airlines Flight Has to Be Sedated” scroll through my mind. Would they have to land the plane?
“I’m coming—don’t worry!” a female voice says from the other side. “Is it unlocked?”
“Yes!” I yell, still pulling.
“Okay, it’ll be fine! I promise,” she says calmly. “This has been sticking a lot lately.”
It takes roughly twenty seconds of joint effort until I see my hero. The door finally dislodges, and she stands there. She has dark hair tied back in a classy bun and wears the navy-and-yellow uniform well.
“Oh wow, I thought I needed to get the jaws of life to get you out!” she jokes. I smile hesitantly, the claustrophobic trauma still buzzing through my veins. She continues with a hand flip. “That door has been sticking forever. I keep telling the higher-ups we need to fix it, but they never listen to me. At least one person gets stuck every flight.”
I wonder about the liability, but the flight attendant says in a hushed tone, “Do you want something to drink? I can get it for you before everyone else.”
She taps into one way to get me to forget any stressful situation. Alcohol. I remember the Island Margarita, the drink Landon had his eye on. I still really want a Bloody Mary.
I really don’t know what I want.
“Bloody Mary,” I blurt out.
She points her finger at me with a sassy finger gun. “You got it. My name is Jade, if you need anything else at all.”
“Erin,” I say as we shake hands. I’m sitting in 34B, I believe.”
“You got it. I’ll mix it up and bring it straight to you,” she says with a wink.
I meet a cute guy and get a drink before everyone else? Besides the whole getting-locked-in-the-bathroom thing, this is turning into a great flight.
I walk back to my seat, and Landon pops up. He spreads his arms.
“You were saved! The flight attendant had it handled, but I would’ve stepped in if it would’ve gone on five more seconds. I enjoy talking to you too much.”
I blush as I walk past him. He rubs my shoulder as I pass, and the goosebumps are back.
“I think she was worried the airline would get sued, so I’m even getting a drink early out of it.” I pump my fist.
“Nice,” Landon says, holding his hand up. I high-five him, and he clasps his fingers over mine. Our eyes lock, and his smile disappears. I do not look away. Please kiss me, Landon. Make this the most epic flight ever.
He averts his eyes, and the moment is gone. “You look a lot more comfy.”
“Oh yes. I feel like a brand-new woman,” I say.
“You got to change, you’re getting a drink early, and me? You’re having the best flight ever.”
I smack him lightly with the back of my hand. “I was just thinking that.”
“Erin,” Jade, the flight attendant, says. “Here’s your Bloody Mary.”
“Thank you, Jade,” I say, taking the plastic cup brimming with liquid from her. Jade leaves, and I take my first sip. Usually, airplane cocktails leave a lot to be desired. This Bloody Mary is an airplane drink unicorn.
“This is the most amazing Bloody Mary I’ve ever had. There is so much vodka in this.”
“Let me try,” Landon asks. I hand him the drink, and he sips, pursing his lips. “Ooh my. I will have to carry you off this plane.”
“If I am so lucky,” I say, stirring the drink with the plastic toothpick. The drink cart rolls by, and Landon rubs his palms together. I sip my drink. Yes, I want another one, and I want Jade to mix it.
We bounce from topic to topic, ping-ponging and stacking on each other’s energy. He tells a lively story about his dog growing up named Spot who made friends with a neighborhood raccoon they named Dot. I laugh so hard I snort unattractively. I tell him about my friends, and I even tell this story about a drunk girl we met in the bathroom in Lake Tahoe and how we steered her toward rekindling things with an ex.
Landon’s jaw drops halfway through the story and never closes.
“No way. So, you stayed friends with her?”
“Oh yeah,” I say. “Zoey is a riot. We absolutely love her. We got invited to her wedding.”
Jade drops off another Bloody Mary for me and an Island Margarita for Landon. He sips it, and his face collapses. My Bloody Mary, while still good, was not as good as the “don’t sue us” one was.
“So, Erin,” he says, leaning his head against the seat.
“So, Landon,” I say. I take another sip. The vodka is doing wonders for my soul.
“I want to know everything about you. First off, are you single?”
“Yes. Incredibly single.” I down the last of my drink.
“Oh man. That bad, huh?” Landon asks, and his smile returns.
“I was supposed to get married,” I say. “It didn’t work out.”
“Did you break up before the wedding or…”
“No,” I say. Memories from that day come back to me. The night before, Patrick did not respond to my texts after I checked into our bridal suite without him. I remember writing it off since the wine flowed at our rehearsal dinner, and I assumed he had passed out. Patrick was affectionate, kissing my cheek and running his fingertips up and down my bare arm all through the toasts. We walked out to look at the water, and he told me how excited he was to marry me.
Then, I was slipping on my dream dress, about to pull a strap over my shoulder, when Cassie came in with her phone in her hand.
“He’s not coming,” Cassie said, her eyes filling with tears. I do not remember much after that. Our other friend, Sarah, somehow wrestled me out of my dress, dressed me in sweatpants, and mainlined me vodka. I was a blank slate, devoid of all feelings. It took some time for the tears to come with the intense rage. How could someone be affectionate at a rehearsal dinner and then bail as I pulled on my dress?
“He texted my friend the morning of our wedding and told her he was not coming,” I say. “He did not have the decency to tell me himself. He told my friend.”
I say all of this with a finger point; my eyes focused on Landon’s lap.
“I’m glad he screwed up, though,” Landon says.
I smile, and there is no chance for tears. “What about you?”
“Single,” Landon says.
Looking to the ceiling, I smile. “I can’t believe this.”
“What?” he asks. He waggles his eyebrows, and I want to kiss his lips off, he’s so damn cute.
“I get this horrible middle seat, and you waltz onto this plane.”
Landon ponders for a moment. “I don’t know if I waltzed so much as ran onto this plane like my life depended on it.” He pauses. “Maybe I was running to you. Though, I don’t believe in that shit.”
“What?” I ask.
“Fate. Love at first sight. This is just a happy coincidence.”
I’ll take it.
He reciprocates my huge grin. I see his slightly crooked teeth that give him a boyish charm. We inch closer to one another, his breath hot on my face. We are so close our foreheads almost touch. My lips almost touch his as I hear, “Oh my God, he’s loose!”