by Lacey Black
The young girl at the counter seems completely unfazed by my wide selection of products on the counter and slowly starts to scan. This is also the time when I hear our flight announce the pre-board process is about to begin over the intercom. I grab two bottles of water from the cooler beside the counter, ignore the astronomical dollar amount on the small cash register screen, and swipe my card. The girl throws my products in a bag and I take off, almost leaving our luggage behind.
I juggle my way quickly to the bathroom where I left Samuel and wait. They announce the boarding of our flight, beginning with first-class passengers. No way in Hell’s half acre could I ever afford a first-class ticket. No, I’m stuck in coach. In the back. The way back.
Watching our gate, they start to call the next series of passengers to board. I’m getting a little nervous we’ll miss our flight when Samuel finally appears. He’s gray and sweating a bit, but he’s alive. I’d feel really bad if I killed my best friend’s hot older brother the day before her wedding. “You okay, champ?”
Samuel doesn’t say anything but reaches into the bag for one of the bottles of water. He chugs it swiftly, almost draining the entire bottle in one long gulp. Just as he goes to reply, a little boy comes running out of the bathroom, his dad hot on his heels. “Mommy! The baffroom smells willy bad!”
I watch as Samuel’s face turns beet red. He reaches for his carry-on bag, which is wrapped up in my arms, and starts to head away from our gate. “Hey, where are you going? Our flight is boarding.”
“I’m going home. I can’t fly like this.”
“You can’t go home, Sammy.”
“My name is Samuel,” he grounds out through clenched teeth. I fight the smile, because, well at least he’s well enough to give me shit for calling him by his nickname.
“Sorry, Samuel,” I say, drawing out the word like it has fourteen syllables. “You can’t go home. Your sister needs you.”
That makes him pause and slowly turn my way. “My stomach is a mess, Freedom. I’m not fit to fly.”
Reaching for the white bag, I start to pull out some of the over the counter products I purchased for him. “I have stuff. Lots of stuff. Surely something in here will help your stomach calm down. Oh, here! This one!” I yell, pulling the package of DiaResQ and waving it in his face. “This one says it addresses the issue of diarrhea, not just the symptoms.” I ignore the fact it just cost me almost twelve dollars for this one-dose package.
Someone snickers as they walk past.
“Final boarding call for American Airlines flight 4382, nonstop service to Las Vegas. Please make your way to gate twenty-three at this time for takeoff.”
“Shitballs, Sammy, let’s go,” I holler, grabbing his hand and all of our stuff and dragging him behind me toward our gate. Fortunately, it’s just down the corridor, so we’re there within a minute.
At the gate, I hand him the box of medicine and the last bottle of water. Then, I dig in my purse for my boarding pass and his travel bag for his. He grumbles as I move all of his stuff around, probably because he knows I’m wrinkling the extra set of underwear he no doubt carries in his bag, in case his luggage gets lost.
“Found it!” I holler as I pull his paper from the side of his bag. “Let’s get on this plane and get your tummy settled. I found crackers,” I state, pulling out a sleeve of wheat saltines from my bag.
The woman scans our passes, trying to hide her smile, while Samuel mumbles something about jumping from the plane without a parachute. “Enjoy your flight,” she adds before grabbing the door, clearly ready to secure the walkway once we step inside.
“Thanks, love!” I chirp, heading down the chute toward the awaiting jet. I know he’s behind me. I can sense his presence. That and smell his cologne. It’s like an aphrodisiac. I actually went on a date with a guy months back because he wore the same stuff. He was nothing like Samuel, though.
Samuel isn’t married.
The plane is already packed to the gills when we make our way to the small aisle. “Jeez,” he mutters behind me, his body very close to my backside that I can feel his heat. I have our bags in front as I push my way through the aisle. Everyone is already seated, their carry-ons stowed in the overhead bins, and noses stuck in their electronic devices.
Finally, I spy my seat in the very back of the plane. It’s not a coincidence the final remaining seats are right next to each other. “We’re here, Sammy,” I state, trying to shove both of our bags in the very tiny space left in the overhead bin. It doesn’t work.
“I’ll just put my bag under my seat,” he says, reaching around me and taking the bag from my hand.
“Get buckled in. The crew is preparing for takeoff,” the flight attendant says politely, closing the bin without my bag inside. She hands it back to me to put under my seat.
I glance at the gentleman sitting in the aisle seat, waiting for him to get up. He’s a tad on the larger side, and there’s no way I can slip past him without crawling all over him like a jungle cat. I’m totally prepared to do it, but I can’t envision Samuel following suit. The man finally sighs and unbuckles his seat belt.
“Thank you, kind sir.” Then I glance over my shoulder and ask, “Window or middle?”
Samuel has gone pale again. “What?”
“Window or middle? You have to choose before that flight attendant comes back and makes us sit in the aisle.” His jaw unhinges and panic starts to set in. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.”
“I can’t sit by the window,” he whispers, pulling at his necktie. It’s a deep red with satiny stripes of the same color and does weird things to my lady parts.
“Middle it is,” I state, sliding into the row and taking the window seat. I shove my bag under the seat in front of me and clasp my buckle.
Samuel moves in, plopping down in the seat beside me. He’s clenching his carry-on to his chest like a life preserver, his body taut with tension. When the man in the aisle seat joins us, I can see the discomfort instantly on Samuel’s face. The man is spilling into his seat, taking the armrest with his big, meaty forearm. My travel companion looks about as comfortable as a prostitute in church.
When the flight attendants start their pre-flight instructions, I try to pry the bag from Samuel’s hands. The death grip he’s got is fierce, but I have something extra special in my arsenal. Gently, I place my palm on his thigh, fingers spread wide, and slowly run it up his leg. I can feel his entire body tense, the corded muscles on his thigh tighten, and his wide eyes turn my way. I move my hand until I’m a millimeter away from touching something I know I shouldn’t, yet can’t seem to not want. My gaze remains gentle, even as the hormonal storm starts to twirl in my gut. With my other hand, I tug on the bag. It pops free from his arms easily, and I can’t help but smile victoriously.
“Thank you,” I coo, tossing it on the floor at his feet and reaching for his seat belt. Giving it a tug to lengthen the strap, I slip the two pieces together and clasp the safety device in place. Then, to be extra ornery—or because I just can’t seem to help myself—I reach down and grab the extra belt, pulling it nice and tight. When I do, my hand brushes against…oh, you know exactly what it brushes against, and I’m not at all ashamed that it happened.
I grab the bag from the market in the airport and toss it on his lap. There’s still a little water left in the second bottle, so I hand it to him. He definitely will need his fluids after what happened in that bathroom, and it probably wouldn’t hurt him to see what else he can take for the flight. He glances in the bag, pulling out all sorts of small packages. Things for headache, motion sickness (which he pops in his mouth), antacids, even cough drops.
It’s when he pulls the last box from the bag that has me pause…
And think about sex.
“Condoms? Really?” he asks, annoyed as all get out.
“What? You never know when they’ll come in handy,” I reason.
Samuel tosses them back in the bag, seeming to hide them beneath the plethora of othe
r medical goodies I have in there. “I highly doubt I’ll be needing them, Freedom.”
“Well, you know what they say, sex every day keeps the doctor away.”
He stops and stares at me, those yummy eyes shining under the horrible airplane lighting. “Seriously? Who says that?”
I shrug, reaching into the bag for the small box of condoms. “Dunno. A doctor?”
Samuel snorts, making a grab for them when he realizes what I have. “Put those away.”
“What, these?” I ask, holding them up and waving them around. “Oh, look! These are lubricated and ribbed!”
“Jesus, Freedom, would you keep it down?” he harshly whispers, making a quick grab for the box of protection.
Ignoring him completely, I continue, “It’s a three-pack. That’s three days’ worth of doctor-recommended sex on a five-hour flight.”
“Put them away, Freedom. I mean it.”
I stop and look him straight in the eyes before I say (quite loudly, I might add), “No, I will not have sex with you in the bathroom. There are children on this flight, Samuel Grayson.”
He freezes, his eyes wide with horror. His mouth opens, but no words come out. It’s one of my many talents to be able to render Samuel speechless, and something I take great joy in accomplishing. “You’re horrible,” he whispers, throwing the bag of medicine back onto my lap.
“You love me,” I coo, tossing the condoms back where they came from.
The plane starts to move, pulling away from the gate and taxiing toward our runway, and I sit back to enjoy. I love this part of flying, though admittedly, I don’t fly often. In fact, I’ve only flown on two other occasions, but both times, I loved the takeoff. The speed, the incline, the altitude. The fact we’re relying solely on a machine to keep us suspended in the sky, moving us from point A to point B. The thrill of the adventure that awaits.
“Christ,” Samuel mumbles beside me.
While I’m completely relaxed and gazing eagerly out the small window, my neighbor is pale as a ghost and gripping onto the single armrest like it’s the only thing keeping him from certain death. His eyes are pinched shut so tightly it must hurt, and we’ve barely begun the journey. I realize real quick this isn’t just about the whole coconut thing from earlier. Samuel’s afraid of flying.
“Sit back and enjoy your flight,” the flight attendant says over the speaker, as they all make their way to their seats and strap in.
With Samuel on the verge of a panic attack, this flight is going to be the longest of my life. He needs to relax or he’s going to make himself miserable, or worse, divert the plane for an emergency landing.
We slow as the reach the runway. I slip my hand against his, the whites of his knuckles clear as he grips the plastic. I’m fearful he’ll actually shatter the armrest if he doesn’t let up, but fortunately, that doesn’t happen. Instead, he lets go and takes my hand in his. His palm is warm, a little sweaty, and his grip fierce, but he doesn’t strangle my hand with his.
Just as we start to move, his eyes open, a combination of fear and panic laced in those blue-green orbs, so I do the only thing I can think of to redirect his focus. I kiss him.
At first, he stills, completely shocked by the fact we’re lip-locked as we scream down the runway. But then, something else happens. He relaxes. And kisses me back, taking complete control. His lips are urgent, his tongue insistent as it sides against my lips, begging for entrance. A gasp slips from my lips, giving him complete access to my mouth. His tongue dives in, tasting and teasing me in the best way possible. My hand moves to his chest, gripping the smooth, silky tie, as he takes my mouth for the ride of its life.
A throat clears behind Samuel, breaking the fan-tabulous sex-fueled fantasy I find myself starring in. My lip-tango partner rips his lips from my own, his breathing labored as he tries to suck sweet oxygen into his lungs. “What the hell?” he whispers, his eyes glassy and unfocused as he glances around to catch his bearings.
“Damn, Sammy, if I’d have known you kiss like that, I’d have taken you flying way before now,” I gasp, my voice not quite sounding like my own.
He turns and sits like a statue in his seat, his discarded bag and the takeoff all forgotten. Instead, he looks completely shocked, a little beside himself, and definitely a lot kissable, his lips all swollen and wet. Just then, the flight attendants start their drink service, stopping at our row. I watch as we soar above the clouds, mere hours away from landing in Las Vegas. All the while, my mind races with the knowledge I kissed Samuel.
And like it.
A lot.
“Drinks?” the smiling attendant asks.
“Alcohol,” he answers. “Give me all the alcohol.”
***
“You’re here!” my best friend hollers as Samuel and I enter the hotel lobby. Harper is all smiles as she throws her arms around my neck and squeezes me tightly. Latham is behind her, his hand extended toward the man who will become his brother-in-law tomorrow evening.
“We’re here,” I tell her, returning the smile on her face.
“And you survived?” she asks her older brother, giving him a quick hug.
“Barely,” he mumbles, kissing her on the cheek.
“After a bad bout with the squirts and a few mid-flight shots of cheap vodka, we got ol’ Sammy here, safe and sound,” I add, loving how the tips of his ears turn fire engine red and his cheeks pink with mortification.
Harper and Latham seem to both choke. “Did you say…squirts?” she asks, her wide eyes full of humor and so many questions.
“Let’s pretend this entire conversation didn’t happen,” Samuel says, walking toward the desk to check in.
Harper places her arm over my shoulder as she guides me to follow behind her brother. “What the hell happened?” she whispers.
“Apparently, he has an issue with coconut.”
Harper’s eyes widen. “Shit, yes, he does. It makes him…ill.”
“Ill as in giving him the screaming shits about five minutes after it hits his gut.”
“No thanks to Freedom,” Samuel mumbles, handing his credit card over to the front desk.
“I didn’t know!” I reassure him. There’s no way I’d intentionally poison his belly with sweet coconut. The next line opens up and I move to the counter. I drop a bag on the floor as I try to juggle my big purse to retrieve my wallet.
“I’ll help,” Latham says, crouching down at my feet to pick up the dropped items.
I glance down just as he holds up the small box of condoms. “Planning on getting lucky in Vegas, Free?” he asks with a big grin on his face.
“Not me. Those are Sammy’s,” I announce in the middle of the hotel lobby.
Both Harper and Latham turn to look at the man beside me. He stutters and stumbles, and finally spits out, “Those aren’t mine!”
Before anyone can say anything further, Mary Ann comes into the lobby, her phone pressed to her ear. “There you are! I have the ticket agent on the phone. Who’s in for the David Copperfield show tonight? They have open tickets.”
“Definitely!” Harper exclaims without even consulting with Latham. But the smile on his face lets me know he doesn’t care. He’d go anywhere, as long as it’s with her.
“Me too,” I state, slipping my wallet back into my bag.
“I’m out. Magic is nothing more than a fake mind illusion anyway,” Samuel grumbles.
“What? No!” Harper exclaims, drawing more attention to our small group.
“Samuel, it’ll be fun. I insist you go with the rest of the family,” Mary Ann says, laying the guilt on thick. I love that woman. He grumbles a little, but doesn’t argue with his mom.
Mary Ann finishes ordering the tickets to the show, and we all agree to meet in the lobby in an hour. She heads up to tell the rest of the group the plan, while we slowly make our way to the elevators with our luggage. “What floors are you guys on?” Harper asks as we step onto the elevator.
“Fourteen,” Samuel and I both sa
y at the exact same time. I flash him a wide grin, while the look he gives me is more of annoyance.
“We’re on thirty-five. Do you need help with anything?” Harper says as the doors open on our floor.
“No, I can manage,” I tell her, pulling my wheeled suitcase behind me off the elevator.
“We’ll see you guys in an hour,” Latham says. I turn to see him shove the small box of rubbers into Samuel’s suit jacket while his hands are occupied. He shrugs at his future brother-in-law and says, “Just wanted to make sure you’re prepared.” Then the door closes, cutting off Latham’s laughter and leaving us in the hallway alone.
I turn and start to head down the hall, glancing occasionally at the numbers on the doors. It would figure I’d be as far away from the elevator as possible. When I reach the end of the corridor, I turn to the left, only to realize Samuel is still behind me. “Following me?” I tease, glancing up at the numbers once more and realizing I’m finally getting close.
“Just looking for my room.”
I finally stop when I hit 1447. Glancing over my shoulder, I see he does the same. He looks at the number on his door, then back down at the card in his hand, and finally over to me. “Seriously?” he whispers, as he swipes his card over the sensor to the room right beside mine. The light flashes red, much like the tips of his ears.
He does it four more times before I finally take pity on his poor, uptight soul. Dropping my bags on the floor, I walk over and grab his card. He huffs and puffs a little, but doesn’t say a word as I slowly move the keycard over the sensor, the light immediately flashing green. “There ya go, Sammy. All set.”
I hand him back his card, his finger brushing against mine slightly. My entire body erupts with awareness. His scent, his touch, the little noises of annoyance he makes without realizing it. I’m suddenly hyperaware of the fact we’re standing very close, his finger grazing against mine. It’s not meant to be sexual, but that doesn’t stop my brain from conjuring up every dirty fantasy I’ve ever had, starring the man right in front of me.