Dr Stanton Boxset

by T L Swan

  “Hey,” the man behind us cries. “don’t touch her stuff. Security!” he says.

  Mr. Drunk and Disorderly throws a punch at my savior, and a scuffle breaks out.

  Security comes running in from everywhere, and I am pushed back as he throws punches and screams obscenities. Oh hell I do not need this today.

  Eventually they get him under control, and he is taken away in handcuffs. The kind security guard picks up my bags. “Sorry about that,” he apologizes, “Come with me,” he says as he unhooks the rope on the line.

  “Thank you.” I smile awkwardly at everyone else in the line. I hate jumping the queue, but

  at this point I don’t care. “Great.” I sheepishly follow him, and he takes me to a young man’s counter. He looks up and smiles broadly “Hello.”

  “Hi.”

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”

  “Look after her.” the security guard tells the ticket man, and he gives us both a wink and disappears through the crowd.

  “Identification please?” the man asks.

  I scramble through my purse and dig out my passport and pass it over: he smiles as he looks at the photo. Oh man, that’s the worst photo in all of history. “Did you see me on Most Wanted?” I ask.

  “Possibly. That photo: Is it even you?” he laughs.

  I smile, embarrassed. “I hope not. I’m in trouble if it is.”

  He types in my details. “Okay, so we have you flying to New York today with a...” He stops typing and reads.

  “Uh-huh. Preferably not next to that man.”

  “He won’t be going anywhere today,” he replies as he continues to type at a ridiculous speed. “Other than the lockup.”

  “Why would you get drunk before coming to the airport?” I ask. “He hasn’t even been inside to the airport bars yet.”

  “You would be surprised by what goes on around here,” he sighs.

  I smile. This guy is nice.

  He prints off my ticket. “I’ve upgraded you.”

  “What?”

  “First class, as an apology for him mishandling your bag.”

  My eyes widen. “Oh, that’s not necessary...really,” I stammer.

  He hands the tickets over and smile broadly. “Enjoy your flight.”

  “Thank you so much,” I gush.

  He gives me a wink, and I could just reach over and hug him. But of course I won’t. I’ll pretend that cool things like this happen to me every day.

  “Thanks again.” I smile.

  “You have access to the VIP lounge, which is located on level one. Lunch and drinks are on the house in there. Have a safe flight.” With one last smile, he looks back to the line. “Next, please.”

  I walk through the baggage checks with a huge goofy grin on my face.

  First class – just what the doctor ordered.

  Three hours later, I walk onto the plane like a rock star. I didn’t end up going into the VIP lounge because, well...I look like crap. My long, dark hair is up in a ponytail, and I’m wearing black leggings, a baggy pink sweater, and tennis shoes, but I did fix my make up a little, so that’s something. If I had known I was going to be upgraded, I would have at least tried to look the part and worn something swanky instead of looking like a homeless person. But anyway...who cares? It’s not like I’m going to see anyone I know.

  I hand my ticket over to the flight attendant. “Just through the left aisle and to the right.”

  “Thanks.” I look at my ticket and walk through the plane and see my number 1B.

  Damn it, I don’t have a window. I get to my seat, and a man sitting next to the window turns to me. Big blue eyes greet me, and he smiles. “Hello.”

  “Hi.” I stammer. Oh no... I’m sitting next to God’s gift to women...only he’s hotter.

  I look like shit. Fuck it.

  I open the overhead and he stands. “Here, let me.” He takes my bag from me and carefully places it up. He’s tall and well built wearing blue jeans and a white T-shirt, he smells like the best aftershave in history.

  “Thanks.” I murmur as I pull my hand through my ponytail, trying to smooth out the knots. I mentally kick myself for not wearing something better.

  “Do you want the window seat?” he asks.

  I stare at him as my brain misfires.

  He gestures to the seat beside the window.

  “You don’t mind?” I frown.

  “Not at all.” He smiles. “I fly all the time. You can have it.”

  I force a smile. That was code for: I know you got upgraded, you poor homeless person, and I feel sorry for you. I sit down in my seat and look nervously out the window with my hands clasped in front of me on my lap.

  “Are you going home?” He asks.

  I turn to him. Oh please don’t talk to me. You make me nervous just sitting there. “No, I’ve been at a wedding, and I have a job interview in New York on the way home. I’m only there for the day, and then I fly out again to LA. I live there.”

  “Ah.” He smiles. “I see.”

  I stare at him for a moment. I should ask him a question now. “Are...you going home?” I say.

  “Yes.”

  I nod, unsure what to say next, so I choose the lame option and stare back out the window.

  The attendant walks around with a bottle of champagne and glasses.

  Glasses? Since when do airlines give you real glass?

  Oh right, first class. I knew that.

  “Would you like some champagne to take off with, sir?” the flight attendant Jessica asks him.

  “That would be lovely.” He smiles and turns to me. “Make that two, please.”

  I frown as she pours two glasses of champagne and passes one to him and one to me.

  “Thank you.” I smile.

  I wait for the flight attendant to move out of earshot. “Do you always order drinks for other people?” I ask.

  He grins, surprised by my statement. “Did it bother you?”

  “Not at all.” I huff. Damn this Mr. Fancy Pants for thinking he can order for me. “I do like to order my own drinks though.”

  He smiles. “Well you can order the next ones, then.” He raises his glass to me and smirks as he takes a sip. He seems to be amused by my annoyance.

  I stare at him, deadpan. This could be victim number two of my cutting today. I am not in the mood for some rich old bastard to boss me around. I sip my champagne as I look out the window. Well, he’s not really old, maybe mid – to late thirties. I mean, old compared to me: I’m twenty-five, but whatever.

  “I’m Jim,” he says as he holds his hand out to shake mine.

  Oh god, now I have to be polite. I shake his hand. “Hi Jim. I’m Emily.”

  His eyes dance with mischief. “Hello, Emily.”

  His eyes are big, bright blue and dreamy, the kind I could get lost in. But why is he looking at me like that?

  The plane begins to travel slowly down the runway, and I look between the earphones and the armrest. Where do these plug in? They’re high tech, the kind that try hard YouTubers use. They don’t even have a cord. Well, this is stupid. How do I plug them in?

  “They’re Bluetooth.” Jim interrupts me.

  “Oh,” I mutter feeling stupid. Of course they are. “Right.”

  “You haven’t flown first class before?” he asks.

  “No. I got an upgrade. Some weirdo threw my bag across the airport when he was drunk. I think the guy at the desk felt sorry for me.” I give him a lopsided smile.

  He rolls his lips as if amused and sips his champagne; his eyes linger on my face as if he has something on his mind.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Perhaps the guy on the desk thought you were gorgeous and upgraded you to try to impress you.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” I sip my champagne as I try to hide my smile. That’s an odd thing to say. “Is that what you would do?” I ask. “If you were at the desk, would you upgrade
women to impress them?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I smirk.

  “Impressing a woman you’re attracted to is crucial,” he continues.

  I stare at him as I try to get my brain to keep up with the conversation. Why does that statement sound flirty? “And do tell...how would you impress a woman you’re attracted to?” I ask, fascinated.

  His eyes hold mine. “Offer her a window seat.”

  The air crackles between us, and I bite my lip to hide my goofy smile.

  “You’re trying to impress me?” I ask.

  He gives me a slow, sexy smile. “How am I doing?”

  I smirk, unsure what to say.

  “I’m simply saying you’re attractive, nothing more, nothing less. Don’t read into it. It was a statement, not a question.”

  “Oh.” I stare at him lost for words. What do I even say to that? Statement, not a question...huh? Don’t read into it. This guy is weird...and utterly gorgeous.

  The plane begins to take off with speed, and I hold my armrests and scrunch my eyes shut.

  “You don’t like take-offs?” he asks.

  “Do I look like I like take-offs?” I wince as I hang on for dear life.

  “I love them,” he replies casually. “I love the feeling of power as it surges forward. That g-force throwback.”

  Okay...why is everything coming out of his mouth sounding sexual?

  God, I need to get laid...stat.

  I exhale and stare out the window as we go higher and higher. I don’t have the energy for this guy to play cute today. I’m tired, I’m hungover, I look crappy, and my ex is a douche. I want to go to sleep and wake up next year.

  I decide I’ll watch a movie. I begin to flick through the choices on the screen in front of me.

  He leans over and says, “Great minds think alike. I’m watching a movie too.”

  I fake a smile. Just stop being all hot and in my space. You’re probably married to a vegan yoga nut who does meditation and shit.

  “Great.” I mutter deadpan. I should’ve flown coach: at least I wouldn’t have had to inhale the scent of a beautiful man for eight long, sexless hours.

  I scroll through my screen and then narrow it down to my choices.

  How to lose a guy in ten days.

  Pride and prejudice.

  The heat.

  Jumanji...well that has the Rock in it-it has to be good.

  Notting Hill.

  The Proposal.

  50 First Dates.

  Bridget Jones’s Diary.

  Pretty Woman.

  Sleepless in Seattle.

  Magic Mike XXL

  I smile at my choices. All of my favorites lined in a row: this flight is going to be a dream. I haven’t seen the sequel to Magic Mike yet, so I might start with that one. I glance over to look what Jim has picked, and I see the heading coming up.

  Lincoln.

  Ughh...a political movie. Who watches that stuff for fun? I should have known he’d be boring.

  He reaches up and taps the =screen, and I catch sight of his watch. A chunky silver Rolex. Ugh and he has money too.

  Typical.

  “What are you going to watch?” he asks.

  Oh no... I don’t want to appear ditzy. “I’m not sure yet,” I reply. Damn you...I want to watch men strip. “What are you watching?” I ask.

  “Lincoln, I’ve been meaning to see it for a long time.”

  “Sounds boring.” I say.

  He smiles at my answer. “I’ll let you know.” He puts his earphones on and begins to watch his movie and I scroll through my choices again. I really want to watch Magic Mike XXL. Does it matter if he sees? No... that’s just embarrassing. It makes me look desperate.

  Who am I kidding? I am desperate. I haven’t seen a dick in over a year.

  I tap on The Proposal. I swap one fantasy for another. I’ve always dreamed of having Ryan Reynolds as my personal assistant. The movie begins, and I smile at the screen. I love this movie. No, matter how many times I watch it, I always laugh. Gammy if my favorite.

  “You’re watching a romance?” he asks.

  “A rom-com,” I reply. For God’s sake, this guy is nosy.

  He smirks as if he’s better than me.

  “More champagne?” the flight attendant asks.

  Blue eyes look over at me. “Here’s you chance to order for us.”

  I stare at him flatly. Alright, he’s beginning to piss me off now. “We’ll have two please.”

  “What do you like about rom-coms?” he asks as he keeps his eyes on the screen in front of him.

  “Men who don’t talk during movies.” I whisper into my champagne glass.

  He smiles broadly to himself.

  “what do you like about...” I pause because I don’t even know what Lincoln is about.

  “Political films,” I ask. “The fact that they’re boring as hell?”

  “I just like true stories, regardless of what they are.”

  “So do I,” I reply. “That’s why I like romance. Love is true.”

  He chuckles into his glass, as if amused.

  I glance over at him. “What does that mean?”

  “Rom-coms are as far form reality as you can get. I bet you’re the type who reads trashy romance novels too.”

  I stare at him flatly. I think I hate this man. “I am actually...and if you must know, I’m watching Magic Mike XXL after this so I can watch gorgeous men take their clothes off.” I sip my champagne in annoyance. “And I’ll smile through the whole damn thing, regardless of your snooty judgement.”

  He laughs out loud, and it’s deep and strong and it does things to my stomach.

  I put my headphones back on and pretend to focus on my screen. I can’t, though, because I just totally embarrassed myself, and I can feel myself blushing.

  Stop Talking.

  Two hours later, I sit and stare out the window. My movie is over, but his scent is not. It’s surrounding me, taunting me with things I shouldn’t be thinking about.

  How does he smell so good?

  Unsure what to do without seeming awkward, I decide to take a nap, try to sleep through the next few hours. But first I need to go to the bathroom. I stand. “Excuse me.”

  He moves his leg a little, but not enough for me to fit through, and I have to lean over him to get past. I stumble and fall and put my hand on his thigh: it’s large and hard to my touch. “I’m so sorry,” I stammer, embarrassed.

  “That’s fine.” He smirks up at me. “More than fine.”

  I stare at him for a moment. Huh?

  “There’s a method to my madness.”

  I frown. What does that mean? I make my way past him and go to the bathroom, and then I walk around and stretch my legs a little and ponder that statement. I’m stumped – I’ve got nothing. “what did you mean by that?” I ask as I fall back into my seat.

  “Nothing.”

  “Did you give me the window seat so I would have to climb over you?”

  He tilts his head to the side “No, I gave you the window seat because you wanted it. Climbing over me was just an added bonus.”

  I stare at him as my brain misfires. Am I imagining this? Older rich guys don’t usually speak to me like this...at all. “Are you flirting with me Jim?” I ask.

  He gives me a slow sexy smile. “I don’t know. Am I?”

  “I asked you first, and don’t answer my question with a question.”

  He smirks and turns his attention back to the television screen. “This is where you should probably start flirting back...Emily.”

  I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment as I try to hide my stupid smile. “I don’t flirt. I either want a man or I don’t,” I announce.

  “Is that so,” he says as if fascinated. “And how long after you meet a man do you make that decision?”

  “Instantaneously.” I lie. That’s not true, but I’ll pretend. Faking confidence is my superpower.

  “Really?” he whispers as the f
light attendant walks past us. “Excuse me, can we have two more champagnes, please?” he asks her.

  “Of course, sir.”

  His eyes come back to met mine. “Well do tell. What was your first impression of me?”

  I pretend to look around for Jessica the flight attendant. “You may need something stronger to hear this Jim. You’re not going to like it.”

  He laughs out loud, and I find myself smiling broadly as I watch him.

  “What’s funny?” I ask.

  “You are.”

  “Why am I funny?” I frown.

  “This sense of righteousness that you have.”

  “Oh, like you don’t have that too...Mr. I’ll have two champagnes.”

  Our drinks arrive and he smiles as he passes mine to me. His eyes linger on my face as he takes a sip. “What were you doing in London?”

  “Ugh,” I roll my eyes. “I flew over for a friend’s wedding, and to be honest, I wish I hadn’t gone.”

  “Why not?”

  “My ex was there with his new squeeze, and he was being over-t he-top affectionate with her to piss me off.”

  “Which worked, obviously,” he adds as he tips his glass towards me.

  “Hmm.” I sip my drink in disgust. “Just a little.”

  “What did she look like?”

  “Long bleached-blonde hair and huge silicone lips and boobs and eyelashes and fake tan and everything I’m not.”

  “Hmm.” He listens intently.

  “Like Backseat Barbie on crack.”

  He chuckles. “Everyone loves a Backseat Barbie.”

  I look over at him in disgust. “This is where you should probably tell me that all men hate Backseat Barbies, Jim. Don’t you know anything about polite plane conversation etiquette?”

  “Obviously not.” He frowns as he considers my statement. “Why would I do that?”

  I widen my eyes toi accentuate my point. “To be nice.”

  “Oh, right.” He frowns as if bracing himself to lie. “Emily...all men are repulsed by Backseat Barbies.”

  I smile as I tip my glass to him. “Thank you, Jim.”

  “Although...” he pauses for a moment. “If the give good head...”

  What the hell?

  I snort my champagne up my nose and choke. That’s the last thing I ever expected to hear come out of his mouth. “Jim,” I splutter as it sprays everywhere.

  He laughs as he grabs his napkins and hands them over, and I wipe my drink dribbling from my chin.