Chapter 3
Please don’t let it be a snake. Please, God, don’t let it be a snake.
Landon and I sit up from our seats, peeking over the passengers’ heads to find other passengers doing the same thing. Many people scan the aisle, looking for the loose thing, but I just notice a woman, running down the aisle, giving zero information, and freaking out.
Jade, the flight attendant, rushes the woman and speaks in hushed tones as the woman frantically searches under seats and under other passengers’ feet. She begins moving belongings, and the owners object.
The woman yells out loud, “Zack Morris, where are you?!”
Landon turns to me. “That is possibly the best name ever—whatever it is.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s not. Zack Morris was a total asshole.”
“How dare you shit all over my childhood. Zack Morris is a legend,” Landon says with a wink. His arm is around my shoulder, his hand grazing my skin. “We will circle back to your thoughts on the most delightful character ever, but first, I need to watch this as it unfolds, second by second. I also need to know what Zack Morris is.”
Jade and Zack Morris’s owner continue to bend down to look under seats. Jade instructs other passengers to stay seated and to alert them if Zack Morris is found.
With all the commotion, there’s not a chance in hell anyone will sleep on this flight.
I should really learn my lesson with red-eyes. Tiredness tugs at my eyeballs, and I rub them to alleviate it, but it doesn’t help. The adrenaline of the flight and newfound crush on my rowmate mix together in an odd cocktail of alertness.
I may never sleep again.
As the search party wears on, Landon rolls his eyes and stands up, also looking for the elusive animal on the loose. He wanders to the back of the plane, and his face lights up as he crouches down. In hushed baby tones, he coaxes the small creature into his arms. He steps into the aisle and thrusts it above his head.
“I…have…found…ZACK MORRIS.”
Above his head, in his hands, is a five-pound, brown Chihuahua.
The owner ambles to him, taking the dog into her arms. She pets the dog as he shivers.
Landon plops back down in the aisle seat. We watch as the owner walks back to her seat, and Jade lowly tells her something we cannot hear. I hope Jade is triple-checking that that dog’s carrier is locked.
“That dog was totally looking to escape,” Landon says. “Did you see that dog’s eyes? They were saying help me.”
“I wonder if she dresses him in snazzy shirts in the winter.”
“Absolutely,” Landon says, grabbing for my hand. “I don’t know how I feel about Chihuahuas.”
His hand feels nice and soft with mine. I never thought I’d hold hands with a stranger on a plane, multiple times, but here I am.
“Oh, I know how I feel about Chihuahuas. Anything under fifty pounds is not really a dog,” I say.
“False,” Landon says. “My roommate has a French Bulldog named Mr. Jazzles. Frenchies are the best dogs EVER.”
I ponder that for a moment and nod. “Okay, I like those dogs. They are the only small dogs I allow.”
“Yes,” Landon says with a fist cheer.
I pause for a moment. “This is the craziest flight I’ve ever been on.”
“I usually sleep and avoid everyone, but this flight is different. Special,” Landon says, shaking our connected hands on my lap.
“You have been super chatty. You’re not like this with everyone?”
Landon shakes his head. “Nope. I mean, I’m friendly. Something about traveling, though; I just prefer to keep to myself. This is definitely an anomaly.”
“I’m glad I’m your anomaly,” I say, patting our hands intertwined between us. “I dare say this is fate, even though you don’t believe in it.”
“Oh man, now you did it.” Landon turns to me, his eyes twinkling with something mischievous. “You mentioned it.”
“Don’t you think this was fate? Meant to be? We got seated together on this crazy flight? We were destined to meet? It’s love at first sight?”
Landon shakes his head. “You’re great and all, but no.”
I laugh and cover his hand with mine. Landon covers my hand with his other hand, like we are teammates about to crush a match. Something about Landon being on this flight feels like destiny, like I am meant to be seated next to him.
My day was absolute hell. I cried in the bathroom for ten minutes during a break in negotiations. I wiped the mascara from under my eyes and plastered the bravest face on to finish the meeting; though, inside, I internally screamed. Then, a hunky, Zack Morris-loving, smiley app creator charged the plane, and my day was completely salvaged.
“It feels like you were meant to sit next to me,” I say, resting my head on the headrest. “I was having the worst day. You are a ray of light.”
He brings his hand to his chest. “Oh, thank you. I do still think this is random.”
He leans back as well. “I’m having a great time with you, Erin. Maybe the best time I’ve ever had on a plane. Truly. I just don’t think this is the universe telling me anything. This is just a fun thing that happened.”
“You mentioned you were running to me earlier. That has to mean something,” I tease.
“Oh, that. It sounded romantic, so I said it. I didn’t feel like I was actually running to my destiny. I was legitimately late.”
Though I’ve been disappointed with it, I believe in love. I’m a glutton for punishment.
This thing with Landon is definitely a one-off. A happy accident of a hot, genuine guy seated next to me on an airplane. This could be an experience I reference back to as a moment of magic that only needed to last a few hours to take hold of me forever—even if he claims he doesn’t feel the magic.
We did just meet two hours ago.
“Was that an almost kiss earlier?” I ask. I might as well know. It will hurt like hell, but I brace for the answer.
“Oh, I definitely almost kissed you earlier,” Landon says. “Just because I don’t believe in fate doesn’t mean there isn’t anything between us. I still want to kiss you.”
“Oh good,” I say. Our eyes lock again, and I roll my lips together. His lips part slightly, and I want to grab his face and plant a thousand kisses on it. I imagine him undressing me slowly, taking his time as his hands caress my skin, trailing goosebumps along it. My eyelashes flutter with the thought.
This could be the kiss to end all kisses.
That putrid smell from earlier hits me again, and I cringe, closing my eyes. It burns my nostrils, and I gag. I peer around the row of seats, and Smelly Feet Guy is at it again. His feet rest on the armrest. Again.
“Some people, man,” Landon says loud enough.
Smelly Feet Guy, who had been quiet the entire plane ride, except the pork-rinds chomping sounds, turns around, glaring at Landon.
“What did you say, Pretty Boy?” Smelly Feet Guy asks.
Oh fucking shit.
“I said, ‘Some people, man.’ I was talking about you and your feet, bro.”
Mild, cautious clapping sounds through the cabin.
“I have a condition. My feet get sweaty on planes since I get overheated.”
“Don’t we all,” Landon says. “My feet feel like they’re being waterboarded in the jungle in my shoes right now. I have these stupid wool trainers, and my feet are on FIRE. You don’t see me being a dick.”
The clapping grows louder.
The balls on Landon. Patrick and other guys I’ve dated would’ve quietly cursed another person like this. Suffer in silence. Seeing Landon stand up for every person on Flight 457 to San Francisco makes my nipples hard.
Smelly Feet Guy unclips his seatbelt and stands up. He is the size of Goliath; his head is close to the top of this airplane. He’s wearing a fashion vest.
A full brocade, green-and-pink vest over a black T-shirt.
“Kid, you better watch your mouth.”
Landon’s eyes go wide. He presses his hand down in the air to the man. “Please be seated.”
“Yeah, sit down!” another guy yells from three rows forward. Other passengers turn to watch the commotion and sit up in their seats.
Jade jogs to the man from the rear of the plane. “Hello! Is there anything I can help you with?”
“This little punk is telling me to put my shoes on. I have a condition.”
“Your feet stink, man,” another guy tells him, waving his hand in front of his nose.
“Sir, I am asking you to sit down,” Jade says. I see the back of her head, but the pleading in her voice is real.
He looks flustered, his hands clenching into fists. Landon’s hands are up in a universal “don’t shoot” pose. Smelly Feet Guy looks around and points a meaty finger at Landon.
“You better be quiet,” he says in hushed tones. He walks to his seat, and his butt is almost in his seat.
Almost.
Then, Landon opens his big mouth.
“I’ll be quiet—when you put your shoes back on.”
Everything happens quickly after that. I shift out of the way, practically climbing onto my sleeping neighbor who is jostled awake with the commotion. He blinks like he just resurfaced from a coma.
Here’s what I think happened: Smelly Feet Guy stood up, wound up, and clobbered Landon in the face. Something goes flying from Landon, and it lands on my thigh, perfectly in the lip of my shirt.
I grab it before it goes flying, and it’s a fucking tooth.
There’s a flurry of limbs and bodies. A man wedges himself between Landon and Smelly Feet Guy, and Smelly Feet Guy screeches.
“You stepped on my foot!” he yells when Landon just lost a tooth.
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!” I say. I clasp it in my hand as two men—one of them being Landon—wrestles Smelly Feet Guy to the ground. Another man steps in, and they haul the brute of a man to the rear of the plane. They rearrange groggy passengers from the back row, moving one person to Smelly Feet Guy’s original spot. A tank of a man steps in and sits on the aisle while Smelly Feet Guy is shoved next to the window.
Jade, the flight attendant, scurries around, running from the front of the plane to the back of the plane. She talks to Landon, examining his face each direction. She runs off and returns with a plastic bag of ice.
Landon turns around with a bruised lip and a big smile. A tooth from his bottom row is missing. He smacks the bag of ice to his lip and gives me a thumbs up.
My mouth stretches in horror. I don’t understand how Landon has so much chill right now.
“What?” he asks.
I hold up the tooth in the palm of my hand. A light whine echoes from my mouth.
“Oh,” he says, plucking it from my hand. “Thanks! Those things are expensive.”
My forehead scrunches in confusion. “What?”
“It’s a fake tooth,” Landon says. “I lost my original one when I played hockey. Cliché, I know.” He clasps it between two fingers.
My breath shallows, and Landon cups my anxiety-hitched shoulder. “It’s really not that big of a deal. It’s not the first time it’s been knocked loose. To be honest, this is not my first fight.”
“I have so many questions,” I say.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking,” a man’s voice announces over the intercom. “Unfortunately, since we had an incident, we will have to divert to the nearest airport. We ask you to remain calm and seated with your seatbelt fastened. We will hopefully get you back on your way to San Francisco with minimal delays.”
Lots of yelling and chattering erupt over the plane. Jade stops every few rows to answer questions. There’s lots of complaining, and I notice one lucky son-of-a-bitch is still passed out with his mouth wide open.
Everyone is upset. All because Landon stood up to a man with hot, sweating feet.
I’ve never witnessed anything sexier.
“When were you in fights before?” I ask, resting my arm on his shoulder.
Landon shrugs and says, “I once saw this guy who would not leave this woman alone at a bar. I approached him, and the woman told me he was an ex-boyfriend who couldn’t accept they were broken up. The man punched me, so I punched him back. Sprained my hand, but it was totally worth it.”
It doesn’t make sense what I do next. I do it anyway.
I grab his face and kiss him.
“Ow,” he yelps as my lips touch his. I pull away, and he breaks into a smile. “Just kidding. I’m a tank.”
He grabs my face and kisses me softly, and the world falls away.