He waltzed up to his airline’s ticketing counter without ado. After years of traveling, he’d learned when the slow times began for most airports. Right now, the 1 p.m. rush had lulled, which meant he got up to the counter within minutes. A quick glance down toward security yielded more good news: the lines were deserted.
The ticket lady smiled as he approached. “Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you?”
“I need my boarding pass, thanks.” He handed over his ID.
The woman glanced at it. “Thank you for flying with us, Micah.”
“It’s Mika. Mee-kuh. Not Micah.” One of these days, someone was going to get his name right the first time, and Mika was going to keel over and die of shock. Or marry the person.
The lady squinted at his ID as if the letters might have changed. “Are you sure? It looks like it’d be pronounced My-kuh.”
“Yes, I know how my own name is pronounced. Thank you for your concern.” Man, he was tired of hearing that. Odd-name problems. Maybe next she’d ask him if his mom was on drugs when she’d named him. Mika would never understand how people thought that was an acceptable thing to ask, and yet he heard it once a week.
Luckily for them both, the ticketing lady didn’t comment. She plugged his information into the computer, and her face fell a moment later. “Sir, this flight was set to leave at three.”
Mika pushed his sunglasses back onto his head and eyed the vacant security line. It had a single X-ray machine manned by an elderly security guard who looked like Father Time himself. Mika glanced back at the lady and raised an eyebrow. “Think I won’t make it?”
She sighed, hit a few keys on the touchscreen, and printed out a boarding pass. “Please note that the airline recommends passengers arrive two hours before boarding.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet they do.” So we have time to mill around your overpriced gift shops and eat your crappy food. I know the drill. Mika took his pass and his ID, shoving both into his back pocket. “Thanks.”
He left before she could say anything else, moseyed his way through security—he had to insist his name was Mee-kuh twice more—and was on the other side in five minutes flat. Once there, he followed the blue signs to gate three and found it with two whole minutes to spare.
Admittedly, had this been JFK, he would have been screwed, but there was a reason why Mika always picked this airport. MacArthur was so small, half the gates were spitting distance from the drop-off area.
It consisted of two wings on opposite ends of the building: departures and arrivals. They were identical, except the people who were departing looked crabby, whereas the new arrivals seemed excited, or happy to be home. Little shops were interspersed around the gates, along with rows of seats, big windows that gave views of the hangars outside, and a bar in the center of it all.
When Mika approached gate three, he expected to see a line of people waiting to board—chumps who’d been there for two hours when they could have breezed right up like him—but it wasn’t there. Everyone was sitting in the columns of connected metal chairs with familiar bored looks on their faces.
Mika glanced at an electronic board marked Departures and groaned. Their flight had been delayed until four. “Damn. If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have rushed all the way here.”
Fuck me. Now what?
He loved getting to travel for his job—see the world, and all that—but airports had become one of his least-favorite places on Earth. Like the DMV or hospital waiting rooms. They had identical shitty shops and identical shitty souvenirs and identical shitty people who managed to make Mika’s bad attitude look downright pleasant.
It didn’t help that all the traveling gave him little time to spend with his family, and he didn’t want to think about his love life.
Don’t kid yourself. There’s nothing to think about.
Derailing that depressing train of thought, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. It was at fifteen percent. Damn. He should have charged it at the hotel, but he’d thought he was going to have to turn it off on the plane regardless. He had a wall charger in his bag, but of course, all the nearby outlets were being used by the very people he’d called chumps for arriving on time.
Karma’s a bitch.
Rotating in place, he scouted the area until he spotted a complimentary charging station one gate over. God bless technology. Naturally, all the cords were currently being used. Mika wandered over and hovered nearby, jiggling his leg.
No one so much as glanced at him, but standing to his left was a guy who looked about his age. Only he was blond, tan, and tall. Pretty much Mika’s opposite.
Mika briefly considered asking if he was waiting for a charger, but it wasn’t as if there was a line. Plus, Mika knew himself. He was just looking for an excuse to talk to the guy because he was hot, in a Colgate commercial sort of way. There were zero benefits to meeting people in airports. Mika had learned that a long time ago.
Besides, the walking toothpaste ad was staring off to the right, out the windows. He might not be waiting at all, and if he really wanted it, he’d pay attention.
When a woman got up and drifted away, Mika only hesitated for a second before he took her seat. He had his phone out and jacked in before anyone else had even looked up from their various devices. Except for the Colgate guy.
“Excuse me.” Colgate flashed a smile befitting the moniker Mika had assigned to him. “I’m so sorry, but I was waiting in line.”
Mika reached for his bag and pulled out a big pair of red noise-canceling headphones. “Oh, were you? I didn’t see a line. Sorry about that.” He meant it, though that was the extent of his contrition.
“It was a short line. I was the only person in it.” When Mika made no move to get up, the guy’s brilliant smile vanished beneath a full, bitable pout. It almost made Mika reconsider brushing him off. Almost.
“Whoops. Sorry again.” Mika placed the headphones around his neck and started digging through his pockets. “I don’t know what to tell you.” His hand closed around his MP3 player.
Colgate looked incredulous. “So . . . you’re not going to let me use the charger?”
“Sure I am.” Mika plugged in his headphones. “Soon as I’m finished. Won’t be more than thirty minutes.”
“But my phone’s nearly dead. I’ve been waiting here for hours, and my flight got delayed.”
Are we on the same flight? Mika discarded that question. It didn’t matter.
“Seriously? I got here a couple of minutes ago. Pro tip: only suckers show up hours in advance. Now you know for next time.” Mika slid his headphones onto his ears and cranked up the music. Colgate said something else, but Mika cupped a hand around his ears and shrugged. Sorry, bro. Can’t hear you.
The shocked look on Colgate’s face was something else. If he was that surprised by someone being rude to him, this must’ve been his first trip to New York. Eventually, he gave up and took a seat, though he glared at Mika nonstop. Mika gave him a cheerful wave before flicking his sunglasses back over his eyes.
A voice in his head nagged him. If you’re rude to every hot guy you see, you’re gonna be single forever. Mika leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. Four more hours, and he’d be home. If he didn’t die of boredom.
Nothing good ever happened in airports.
James was tempted to check his back to see if the universe had painted some sort of cosmic target on it. It was like he was living out a demonstration of Murphy’s Law: Airport Edition.
He’d arrived early for his flight as planned. Unfortunately, he’d arrived so early, he’d hit the afternoon rush at its peak. It’d taken him an hour to get through security—partially because an entire family had cut him in line when he’d paused to dig out his ID—and he’d been selected for a random search.
Several minutes’ worth of invasive prodding later, he’d been spat out on the other side. But the fun hadn’t ended there! A sea of disgruntled travelers had awaited him, all of whom were cranky and rude. When James had t
ried to ask a man for directions to his gate, he’d gotten ignored. When he’d tried again with a woman who’d reminded him of his mom, she’d shrugged and brushed past him.
He was beginning to think people from New York weren’t the most helpful.
If I can make it onto the plane, James had thought, everything will be fine.
Which had been, of course, the exact moment when he found out his flight had been delayed. By a full hour. They weren’t boarding until four now, which meant he wouldn’t get home until around seven. Perfect.
James didn’t travel much, but even he could tell these weren’t the typical sundry inconveniences of public transportation. Today just wasn’t his day.
To top it all off, some asshole had snaked the last charger at the charging station. James could have forgiven the guy if it’d been an emergency, but no. Judging by the way he’d reclined in his chair—relaxed and carefree with his arms folded behind his head—he wasn’t in any particular rush. Jerk.
James spent the next fifteen minutes standing in line to use the men’s room. Naturally, when he got out, the crowds had dispersed, and people were breezing through security like it was nothing.
It was official. No matter how anxious it made him, he was never arriving early for a flight again.
Of course, the one time that you don’t arrive early, a mental voice in his head chimed in, you’ll be sure to miss your plane.
At this point, he believed it. Luck clearly wasn’t on his side.
It took some doing, but he managed to snag a seat by his gate. As he settled in, he considered pulling out his laptop and working on one of his assignments. There was no telling if this would be the only delay. He might as well make good use of this opportunity.
Every time he started to reach for his bag, however, his thoughts drifted back to the slew of bad luck and bad manners he’d encountered. He might actually be too irritated to work. Accounting took attention to detail. One misplaced decimal point, and he could throw off a whole set of figures.
What else could he do, though? Sit here and stew for the next hour? His eyes moved of their own accord to the man who’d cut him in line at the charging station. James had taken to calling him Rude Headphones Guy in his head. Just looking at him again got James hot and bothered.
Although, there was more than one reason for that. Rude Headphones Guy was annoyingly attractive, with his thick, dark hair, hazel eyes that could probably be seen from space, and angular face. He wasn’t as tall as James, but he was way more toned. He might actually hit a gym every now and then. James, on the other hand, always went the week after New Year’s and then never again. If it weren’t for the guy’s bad attitude, James might consider taking his sister’s advice and—
In his head, James heard screeching brakes. No way. He was not going to hit on Rude Headphones Guy. The last thing he needed was another jerk in his life. Especially one who’d swatted him away like a fly.
As if cued by James’s thoughts, Rude Guy glanced up, met James’s gaze, and smirked.
Asshole. Now he’s gloating.
Before James could look away, Rude Guy winked at him. James froze. It was hard to tell if the wink was flirtatious or taunting. As James struggled to figure it out, Rude Guy’s smirk widened. Then his gaze drifted from James’s face to his body before trailing off into space, as if he were thinking. Heat surged into James’s cheeks.
Did Rude Guy check me out? I dunno if I’m pissed off or turned on.
Maybe it was an opposites-attract sort of thing. Rude Guy was abrasive and self-involved, but he also radiated confidence. James had to admire that, considering he’d once apologized to a waiter who’d dropped a pitcher of ice water into his lap.
James’s dying phone beeped at him, and any inkling he’d had that Rude Guy was admirable evaporated.
Before James could work himself into a froth, a lady plunked down into the seat next to him. He wouldn’t have paid her any mind, except her oversized purse knocked his arm, and she was holding a plate of something that smelled amazing.
He attempted to eye it without being obvious. It was some sort of pressed sandwich and what looked like fries, but weird ones. The savory smell of cumin and tarragon made him guess it was a Spanish dish, or maybe South American. Were they yuca fries? Whatever the case, James’s stomach growled from the smell alone. He’d intended to get some lunch when he’d first arrived, but between the long lines and the various hurdles he’d encountered, he’d forgotten.
Pivoting in his seat, he checked out the nearby shops. There was a coffee place, a tourist trap with dozens of the proverbial I Heart New York shirts, and some places selling overpriced jewelry. No Spanish restaurant in sight.
James weighed his hunger against his social anxiety before turning to the woman. “Excuse me. I’m so sorry to bother you.”
The woman glanced at him but didn’t stop shoveling fries into her mouth. “Hm?”
Now here’s a person who has their priorities in order. “I was wondering if you could tell me where you got that? It smells incredible.”
She pointed down their branch of the airport and, around a mouthful of food, mumbled directions. He thanked her and stood up, cranking his neck in the direction she’d indicated. Apparently, it was just down the hall and to the right. Their plane wasn’t going anywhere. He had plenty of time to get there and back.
If there’s any justice in the world, Rude Guy will disappear while I’m gone.
James glanced at the subject of his thoughts and did a double take. Rude Guy was staring at him. Blatantly. James debated if he should say something or ignore him. It would serve the jerk right.
Before he could decide, Rude Guy slid his headphones onto his neck and leaned forward. “Did she say where she got that?”
“Huh?” James had heard him fine; his response was due to surprise.
Rude Guy pointed at the woman’s heavenly looking pork sandwich. “That.”
James stomach rumbled again. “Yeah, she did.”
“Where?”
James glared at him. “You know, it’s rude to eavesdrop.”
“If I’d eavesdropped, I wouldn’t need to ask you where she got that.”
Damn. That was a good point. But that didn’t mean James was going to tell him. Rude Guy had been nothing but . . . well, rude to him. It would be well within James’s right to tell him to ask her himself. Or better yet, to fuck off.
But James was still James, and the idea of getting into a confrontation made his guts twist. He hesitated for a second longer before he cracked. He nodded toward the hall. “She said there’s this Cuban restaurant down that way, on the right. You can’t miss it.”
Rude Guy flashed a winning smile. “Thank you.”
James was momentarily stunned. He couldn’t tell if it was from the unexpected politeness or how handsome Rude Guy looked when he wasn’t being nasty. James cleared his throat, mumbled something along the lines of “Don’t mention it,” and bent down to retrieve his belongings.
Is there a chance I misjudged Headphones Guy? Maybe he was in a bad mood earlier, or he really needed to charge his phone. It makes sense, in a way. I can’t believe anyone would be rude to another person for no reason. I shouldn’t have been so quick to judge.
Laptop bag in hand, James straightened up and stole another peek at Headphones Guy. Or rather, he tried to. The seat Headphones Guy had occupied a moment ago was now vacant. James spun around, searching the area. He spotted Headphones Guy already heading down the hall in the direction James had indicated. He was moving fast too.
“Why that son of a—” James snarled. Was he trying to beat James there so he’d get his food first? That did it. James might not be the most assertive person, but between this and the charging-station thing, Rude Guy had gone too far.
Shouldering his bag, James sprinted after him, dodging slow people and large groups as he went. A few people stared at him, but they must have assumed he was running to catch a flight, because no one, including a pas
sing security guard, got in his way.
The restaurant was much closer than James had thought. It was more or less around the corner from their gate. He smelled it long before it came into view. He caught up with Rude Guy in front of it, but he was too late. Rude Guy was already in line.
James fumed behind him, debating what he should do. For once in his life, he was the right combination of motivated and pissed off. He might actually say something. But what? And should he begin with Rude Guy’s first offense or stick with this latest one?
Now that he thought about it, James couldn’t prove any real infractions had been committed. Unless he wanted to get mad at Rude Guy for being faster than him. Both times, James had hesitated, which had led to him missing out. Basically, the story of his life. It didn’t seem possible that Rude Guy, a man whose name James didn’t even know, was purposefully trying to fuck up his day.
Do I believe that, or am I making excuses for a complete asshole because I don’t want to get into a public argument?
For once, he knew the answer to that question. Still, he didn’t have to sink to Rude Guy’s level. If everyone did that, the world would be full of jerks. Jerks who stole chargers and cut in line and smirked and had nice smiles and pretty eyes and— James lost track of where he’d been going with this.
The line moved forward, and he moved with it, no closer than he’d been before to deciding what to do. His call with Melissa drifted into his head. She was always telling him to stand up for himself, to stop being such a doormat. Maybe now was his chance.
Even as he thought that, new doubts popped up in his head like sprouts in spring. What if Rude Guy gets mad and causes a scene? In the middle of an airport? In New York City? It’s one spot in line. Suck it up.
As he debated with himself, Rude Guy unwittingly made the decision for him. He glanced behind him, and upon spotting James, he smirked before turning his back.
New Heights Page 2