by Max Monroe
Thankfully, tonight’s flight would be our regular crew—Captain Billy, Co-Captain Lori, Nikki, Casey, and myself. Over the past few months, we’d found a good flow of getting down to business and always finding time to make the job fun—aka screw around and be a little goofy, and maybe even slightly unprofessional, without pissing off the passengers.
It was a necessary mix when you were faced with a grueling flight schedule.
And, this round, we were facing arduous head on.
I preferred my Birmingham flights to bring me straight back to New York the same day. This round, I had no such luck. I’d be stuck with an overnight in Alabama and then faced a 6:30 a.m. flight back to New York the next morning.
It was no wonder my first priority of preflight prep was coffee. To hell with the passengers, caffeine was my sweet nectar for survival.
“Ready for final checks, Cat?” Captain Billy asked as he peeked out the cockpit door, and I moved my gaze toward the other end of the plane again.
Casey assisted the last two rows of coach into their seats, and Nikki appeared all set with her cart in the back galley.
“It looks like Nikki and Casey are about two minutes away from being ready.”
“And you?” Captain Billy asked with a knowing, hearty chuckle that appeared to come straight from his toes.
“Are you trying to say I’m running behind schedule?”
He was always a jokester, and his salt-and-pepper beard moved as his lips crested into a giant grin. “I’m just ascertaining if you would like me to give you a few extra minutes, which I could manage since we’ll have to taxi on the runway for about three minutes.”
“No extra minutes,” I said as I shut the bottom drawer of my cart and flashed him a victorious smile. “I’m all set to start final checks.”
“Perfect.” With one hand resting on the cockpit door, he adjusted the navy tie of his pilot’s uniform and gave a little nod of approval. “Intercom us when final checks are done,” he added before shutting the door closed behind him.
I grabbed the beige phone from the holder. “Begin final checks,” I announced, and Casey nodded toward me, while Nikki started going aisle by aisle to check for seat belts and make sure all belongings were stored underneath seats or in overhead bins.
I did the same, starting in first class, and by the time we met in the middle, she asked, “We good?”
I nodded, and Nikki gave Casey a thumbs-up toward the back of the plane.
“Aye, aye, Captain! Final checks are good to go!” he gladly announced into the beige phone he’d pulled away from the wall.
“Copy that,” Billy responded through the overhead speakers with a soft, amused chortle leaving his lips and crackling through the speakers. “Good evening, folks, this is your captain speaking. I’d like to be the first to welcome you aboard RoyalAir Flight 2107 to Birmingham. We’ll only have to taxi down the runway for a few quick minutes and should be wheels up toward Alabama in no time. Flight attendants stand by for departure.”
“Girl, I call dibs on safety,” Casey whispered to me as he grabbed the needed props from the first-class galley cabinet.
I rolled my eyes and laughed at the same time.
“I’m convinced one day you’ll leave RoyalAir for Broadway.”
He clasped his hands together like he was praying. “Please, God, listen to Cat.”
Always the drama queen, Casey loved putting on a show.
A giggle escaped my lips. “I call dibs on not being your assistant-slash-demonstrator.”
He grabbed the beige phone again. “Nikki, we need you front and center,” he announced and then tossed a wink in my direction.
I could hear her answering sigh from the back of the plane.
I hear ya, girl, but I had to deal with Casey’s happy, comedic ass last flight.
Her hazel eyes met mine, and a few faint wrinkles formed between her brow as she glared directly at me. Long, wavy hair, sparkling eyes, and a figure that showed she actually went to the gym, Nikki was as pretty as she was likable.
Happily married and with two college-aged sons, Nik was much further into her life than I was, but somehow, we’d instantly become friends during RoyalAir training in Cincinnati.
Her life, her wisdom, were always a much-needed change of pace for me.
I liked that she’d been with her husband for thirty years, especially when she often shared funny anecdotes of what it was like to be married to Mr. Marty Miller—notorious karaoke lover and owner of seven hundred pairs of socks that all managed to have holes in them.
I liked that her two sons drove her crazy with their antics.
And I loved that she was my friend.
“Sorry,” I mouthed toward her, but she was having no part of my silent apology for forcing her to participate in Casey’s safety show.
She shook her head in response, her auburn hair brushing across her shoulders as she did. “Liar,” she mouthed back with her red-painted lips and a quirk of her brow.
All I could do was shrug one shoulder in response, while guilt in the form of amusement crested my lips at the corners.
“Hello.” The overhead speakers crackled as Casey geared up for his big performance.
I wondered if he’d eventually find some way to add a tap dance and Barbra Streisand ballad into the routine.
“My name is Casey,” he announced giddily as Nikki walked up toward the front of the plane and snatched the props from his hands. “I’d like to welcome you to RoyalAir Flight 2107. If you’re going to Birmingham, you’re in the right place. If you’re not going to Birmingham, you’re about to have a really long evening…”
It didn’t take long for me to tune him out. I’d heard this safety spiel so many times, I could probably recite it in my sleep.
It also didn’t take long for me to grab my phone out of my pocket to check for missed calls or texts.
I was pathetic.
And yet, still nothing.
My gut clenched in disappointment, and I had the irrational urge to punch myself in my own stomach just to knock that unwanted feeling loose.
I didn’t want to be disappointed. I wanted to be rational.
Yeah, but none of that works when you really, really want him to call you…
With a frustrated exhale, I started to slide my phone back into my jacket pocket, but when it began vibrating like crazy in my hand, I practically jumped out of my heels and fumbled to bring it back in front of my face.
A soft gasp escaped my lungs, and my eyes popped wide and surprised when I saw the notification flashing on the screen. Incoming FaceTime Call: Quinn Bailey.
Holy hell, he’s calling me? He’s really calling me right now?
My heart jumped into my throat, but then took a nose dive to my feet when I realized he wasn’t just calling me, he was FaceTiming me…
As in, he wanted to see my face during the call.
Nerves vibrated inside of my belly until they extended their path and reached my fingertips. My hand shook as I gripped the phone in my palm.
Quinn wanted to video chat with me? Right now?
This has to be a mistake.
Who in their right mind chose FaceTime as their first form of contact?
Definitely had to be a mistake.
As Casey started to talk about oxygen masks, I quickly tapped decline with my index finger.
But only five seconds passed before another round of vibrating came from my phone.
I looked at the screen again, only to see the same notification popping up.
Incoming FaceTime Call: Quinn Bailey.
I tried to solve this complicated puzzle of confusion in my brain, but the only thing I could come up with was Quinn Bailey was accidentally butt-dialing me.
I hit decline again and decided to get some balls and send him a text message.
Me: I think you keep accidentally FaceTiming me…
An answering text vibrated my phone a moment later.
Quinn: Take out the word
“accidentally.”
And then another one followed before I could respond.
Quinn: Wait…are you declining my calls?
Holy moly. He wasn’t butt-dialing me?
Me: You’re calling me on purpose?
Quinn: Isn’t that what people do when they meet someone they like?
He likes me? Quinn Bailey likes me? Hold the fucking phone.
Wait. I was holding the phone. Literally. How in the hell was I supposed to respond to that?
I’m so happy you called! I like you too! I want to see you naked! Let’s be naked together!
Obviously, my brain was no use.
I stared down at the blinking cursor of my text message screen and decided to take a nearly honest approach, sans the ramble about being naked.
Me: Okay. Yeah. The call makes sense. But the fact that it’s a FaceTime VIDEO call is a little weird…
Quinn: You calling me weird, Kitty Cat? And you still didn’t answer why you’re declining my calls…
Kitty Cat. Why did that stupid nickname make me smile?
I should’ve been annoyed. But I wasn’t.
I was giddier than Casey during flight safety instructions announcements.
Me: Yeah, I guess I am calling you a little weird. ;) And I’m declining because I’m at work.
Quinn: That’s not why you’re declining…
He had me there. I could’ve easily taken a quick call, but internally, I was way too nervous to FaceTime with him. A girl needed a moment to check her makeup in the mirror, maybe brush out her hair, for something like that.
A phone call was one thing. It still allowed you to hide a little, show only as much to someone as you wanted, but having a camera in front of your face during a call was a whole different animal. The very idea of it made me feel a little too vulnerable.
Me: I really am at work.
I snapped a quick photo of my jump seat, the words RoyalAir embroidered into the cushion, and a thumbs-up from yours truly in the center of the photo.
I added the question See? and sent it to him.
Quinn: Okay…I guess I’ll take that excuse, but I’m going to make sure we talk later. :)
Yes, please!
Oh, wait. What did he mean by later? My schedule wasn’t exactly conducive to flexibility until tomorrow night when I got back home.
Uncertainty vibrated in my stomach. What if he called when I was in the air?
I didn’t want him to think I was ignoring his calls, when in reality, I was in the air and my phone was off.
Me: Later sounds good. :) Just to give you a heads-up, I’m on a flight to Birmingham right now. And tomorrow, I’ll be flying back to NYC on the 8:15 a.m. flight.
I read my text after I’d hit send. Had my words made me sound desperate?
Fuck, I hoped not.
God, why can’t I be one of those smooth, cool as a cucumber kind of girls?
It really would’ve made my life a lot easier.
Quinn: Don’t worry, Kitty Cat. I’ll make sure it happens. ;)
A grin formed across my lips after reading his words, but then realization quickly set in. What exactly did he mean by that? So, like, maybe tomorrow night he’d call me?
Obviously, if he tried the FaceTime thing again, I’d answer, but I’d cover my camera and force his version of appropriate first calls to audio. I mean, who in the hell chooses video calls before knowing someone for more than six months minimum?
Apparently, Quinn Bailey.
I smiled at the thought.
He was a conundrum of confident and humble. A gentleman to his core, but a first-class flirt at the same time. He was a freaking puzzle.
But hell if I didn’t want to solve him like my own personal Rubik’s Cube.
“I thought you weren’t leaving until tomorrow night,” Denver said, pushing my bedroom door closed behind him and plopping down on my bed so hard the whole thing bounced.
“Plans changed.”
After two of the longest days of my life with my family, I’d finally found time to make contact with Cat. I’d been backstage at the bachelor auction, and she’d been at work, and despite my best efforts to lay eyes on her face directly, all I’d gotten were a few measly texts.
I needed more. So, like any good athlete, I found a way to make it happen.
“Earlier practice?” he asked, spooning a mouthful of ice cream out of his deep burgundy bowl and closing his lips around it until they touched again. He’d been sold to Gerdie Hawthorne at the auction, and after finding out via their initial meeting that she was handsy as hell, had been drowning himself in cookies ’n cream ever since.
I couldn’t say I blamed him.
“No.”
“Team meeting?”
“No.”
“Weight-lifting session with one of the guys?” he pushed, cycling through all of the things I filled my days with on a regular basis.
“No.”
It was only a matter of time before he figured out—
“So…a woman, then.”
And there it is.
“Denver,” I warned, feeling anxious about discussing a woman I’d just met. I didn’t want to jinx it, didn’t know what to say—I didn’t even know what I was doing, much less how to explain it to an outsider.
“Oh, come on, Quinny. You know this is the only traditional guy talk I get to have. It’s like everyone else thinks I play for the girls’ team because I’m gay. I’m not going to tattle if you tell me the reason you like her has nipples. I can do tit talk. Lay it on me.”
“Den,” I hummed through a rough chuckle, shoving a folded clump of shorts into my bag and squishing it down. “The reason I like her doesn’t have nipples, and I don’t ever do tit talk.”
“So you do like someone!”
“Denver, drop it,” I ordered, tossing the rest of my shirts into the bag and whirling the zipper around the perimeter. One thing I was certain of: Jilly would be happy as hell my mom had had the housekeeper do my laundry.
“Are you kidding me? Why? This is the best thing you’ve given me since you’ve been home. Something to focus on. Something to work with. Something to peck over.”
“Denver.”
“Quinn.”
I sighed. I knew that tone, and I knew my brother. When he got in pecking mode, I better goddamn give him a carcass, or he would turn me into one.
I sighed, shoved my bag aside, and dropped down onto my bed in the spot I’d created. “Her name is Cat.”
His eyes sparkled. “Yesssss. Cat. Meow. Love it.”
When I didn’t say anything else, the sparkle in his bright green eyes dimmed noticeably, and he sat up to slam his bowl on my nightstand. The spoon clattered loudly with his rough movements. “That’s it?” he snapped. “What are the plans, Quinn? I need to know where you’re taking her, what you’re wearing, what other fabulous people will be there.”
I rolled my eyes.
“There aren’t plans, per se,” I admitted. “She’s a flight attendant, and she’s working the 8:15 a.m. from Birmingham to JFK. And now, I’m also on that plane.”
“Stalking her at work?” he practically trilled. “Finally, this is getting good.”
“I’m not stalking her.”
Am I?
“I’m just strategically arranging my schedule to coincide with hers.”
He clasped his hands together, his face going waxy as he got excited. “Tell me she has another lover, and you’ll have to fight him for her. It’ll be all over the news and social media, and the air marshal will have to get involved. You’ll end up in—”
“Stop talking,” I instructed, shoving him back into the headboard with a splayed hand to his chest. “There’s no other guy.” Suddenly, I frowned. “I don’t think.”
“You don’t think?” Denver whispered elatedly. “You don’t know if she’s dating someone else?”
I rolled my eyes and picked at some imaginary lint on my shorts. Suddenly, I felt self-conscious. “We talked
for a night. I didn’t get around to asking her if she was dating anyone.”
“How pretty is she?” he asked, and I glared.
“Okay, so, pretty. Duh. Sorry.” He pretended to wince. “She’s definitely seeing someone, then.”
“You don’t know that,” I contradicted, feeling a tiny stab in my chest as I worked to convince myself he was wrong. “I’m not bad-looking, and I’m not seeing anyone.”
He scoffed. “You’re an Adonis, and you’re seeing several someones. Next.”
“Den—”
“I said, next!” he shouted.
“You’re going to wake up Mom and Dad,” I threatened, and he lowered his voice immediately.
“Fine. But don’t you have to wake them up? You’re not sneaking out and leaving the goodbye to me!”
“I already told them I was leaving early.”
“Wow,” he remarked, turning his head and pursing his lips in offense. “I see you’ve been planning this for a while.”
“An hour, Den. I’ve had this plan for an hour.” A tiny discomfort from his implication of manwhoring niggled at me. It wasn’t that I hadn’t partaken in my full quota of sexual activity. I had. But I hadn’t run up the number in a while. “And I’m not seeing several someones.”
He raised an eyebrow dramatically, his disbelief too pure to require a verbal statement. “I haven’t seen one single someone since before preseason.”
He smiled, finally convinced. “Well, then, this is exciting. Though the idea that you were coming up with a plan to sweep your lady friend off her feet while I was being sold to a friend with a little too much lady for my tastes is kind of depressing.” I frowned, but he pushed onward. “I wish I were coming with you. I want to see her.”
As much as I’d love to have my brother with me, I wasn’t so sure it’d make my plays any easier this early in the wooing game. “Den—”
“Relax. I’m not coming with you.” He rolled his eyes. “I have to go back up to the high school for more football. Yay.”