Big Roomie

by Penny Wylder

  Big Roomie

  Penny Wylder

  Contents

  More Must Reads by Penny Wylder

  1. Channa

  2. Kain

  3. Channa

  4. Kain

  5. Channa

  6. Channa

  7. Channa

  8. Kain

  9. Kain

  10. Channa

  11. Channa

  Copyright © 2021 Penny Wylder

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or businesses, organizations, or locales, is completely coincidental.

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  1

  Channa

  I can’t tell anymore if my churning stomach is due to the excitement of flying to London or the fear of falling from the sky. It’s my first time ever on an airplane, and as I look over to the window, I shake my head, clearing it from thoughts of aerodynamics and catastrophic engine failure. Deep breath, Channa. Deep breath. If it weren’t for the comfort of my best friends, I would have chickened out the moment I got to the airport.

  I sit in the middle seat. Lillian is on my right. She’s zoned out, staring at her iPad with her headphones on. She’s wearing a sweatshirt and pajama bottoms, her long blond hair pulled up into a messy bun, looking more comfortable than I’ve ever seen her. If only I felt as comfortable.

  Deb is to the left of me, staring out the window, her grinning face framed by her curly ginger locks. I can tell by the look on her face she’s deep into a daydream. She always gets that distant look of contentment when she’s imagining her upcoming wedding with her long-time boyfriend. This is the first time she’s been away from him in a year, so I know it will be hard for her. Of all of my friends, she’s the one I envy the most. She’s so in love and happy, and I’ve always wanted that for myself.

  Lillian and Deb wanted me to take the window seat so I could experience the flight in all its glory, but I don’t want any part of that. I’d rather keep my nose glued to my book, lost in a great romance story until we land. Reading is the only way to keep my mind off all the things that can possibly go wrong in a giant piece of metal rocketing through the air. And it works, for the most part.

  This book is about a woman who goes off on an adventure and meets a mysterious man and she falls madly in love with him. I’m obsessed with romance stories. Probably because I have so little experience in romance. Afterall, I’m still a virgin. I’ve never met a guy who’s come close to sweeping me off my feet. Rather than feeling butterflies flitting around my tummy on dates, I usually feel spiders crawling over my skin. The men I’ve met have typically been creeps. Lillian thinks it’s crazy that I’m twenty-five and still a virgin. She blames it on the books I read, saying romance novels aren’t real, and I’m just setting myself up for disappointment because real life could never compare to the bodice rippers I devour, often three or four a week. But I don’t care if I’m fifty-five and still haven’t been with anyone. I’m waiting for it to feel right. It’s not like I’m waiting until marriage or anything. I’ve just set a high bar, and until I meet someone worth my time, then I’m not interested. I’d rather be alone. I’ve lived without sex this long, so I know it won’t kill me to wait longer.

  I know Deb understands me. She’s told me privately that she wishes she had waited so James, her fiancé, would have been her first. James didn’t mind or anything, but it still bothered Deb, and she longed for the romance of losing her virginity to her true love. I don’t need to lose my virginity to my soul mate, I just want my first time to be with someone who isn’t trying to lie, cheat, or manipulate their way into my pants. I’m starting to believe maybe there isn’t such a thing. Sometimes I think Lillian isn’t so cynical and that she’s onto something. But then I see people like Deb and her fiancé, and I believe in true love again. It’s all so confusing. Perhaps I should just stick to reading about romance rather than fumble through my own.

  I don’t want to stop reading, but the words are starting to blur and my eyes are getting heavy. We’ve been in the air for hours and I haven’t put down my book once. I’ve barely even blinked out of fear that my mind would start thinking about aerodynamics and fluke engine failures and bird strikes. We’ll be landing soon. I know I better pee before this plane starts to descend, because who knows how terrifying that whole landing ordeal will be. If it’s anything like taking off, I’ll probably need another Xanax.

  “Scooch,” I tell Lillian as I stand. The seats are so close together I’m practically sitting in her lap. They barely recline, so we’ve been upright for hours, our knees practically crushed into the seats in front of us. We would have spent extra to fly first class but that would mean less shopping once we got to London so … no. Discomfort it is.

  Without looking at me or even looking away from her iPad, Lillian moves her knees to let me into the center aisle. I notice that most people are asleep as I head toward the bathrooms, their headphones on, travel pillows around their neck, eye masks blocking out the light. It’s been a horrendously long flight. For the most part, it’s been smooth, but just recently we’ve hit a patch of mild turbulence that’s caused my tummy to drop and my heart to pound.

  As soon as the memory of those jolts and drops enters my mind, the plane lurches and I lurch forward. My feet leave the safety of the aisle. Suddenly I’m in the air. I brace myself for a painful impact, but instead of hitting something or landing on my face, I’m caught before I fall. A pair of strong, yet gentle arms engulf me in their safety. I open my eyes to see man who seems to have come out of nowhere. I didn’t see him in the aisle on my way to the bathroom, but then again, I wasn’t really looking. I was paying attention to all the sleeping people who are definitely not sleeping anymore. There are sounds of concern from the weary travelers. A baby starts to cry. The flight attendant assures people everything is okay and that we’re just going through a bit of turbulence. This only seems to comfort a handful of people. The rest still look around warily.

  My heart races as I look up at the man who saved me from a humiliating face-plant. The first thing I notice is how big he is. Like, pro hockey player big. Muscles ripple through the sleeves of his shirt and he’s tall enough to dunk a basketball. I’m not tiny at five feet eight inches, yet he towers over me. His huge hands wrapped around my arms make me feel stable and secure even though he’s a complete stranger and I should feel just the opposite in this situation.

  I look up at his face to say thank you, but my lips won’t move. My mouth is hanging open but I can’t seem to take that extra step needed to form words. My voice refuses to produce a sound. Hovering above my head is the most handsome face I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I’m not even exaggerating. He looks like a young Johnny Depp, all chiseled cheeks, square jaw, and mysterious deep-set eyes—but with the body of Jason Momoa. Dead serious. Everything about him renders me speechless.

  “Are you okay?” he asks. His voice is deep with a little rasp to it, kind and concerned.

  My voice still refuses to work so I nod my head instead.

  The plane bucks again and this time we both tumble into the aisle. The overhead bins open, spilling bags onto the floors and passenger seats. There are shouts and complaints.

  Fear gives way to mortification when I open my eyes and realize I’m lying on top of this stranger. My face is buried in the crook of h
is neck, and when I prop myself up on my elbow, I’m nose to nose with him. Lips hovering above lips as if we’re about to kiss. His eyes are looking at me, his lips curve up in an amused grin. My own go wide when I notice that in my frenzy to grab onto anything to hold onto as I went down, I grabbed onto his leg. Except his leg isn’t the only thing I’m hanging onto. I can feel the (rather large) shape of his dick beneath his jeans.

  “I have to say, this is the first time I’ve ever been groped by a complete stranger on a plane,” he says playfully. “Can’t say I hate it.” He lets out a low chuckle that vibrates through my chest.

  My face burns with humiliation. I scramble to get off of him, my embarrassment deepening when I’m forced to straddle him in order to get my legs beneath me in the narrow aisle. His smile grows and so does the heat in my cheeks.

  “I’m so, so sorry,” I say when my voice finally comes back to me. When I stand up, I realize the impressive cock I was accidentally palming seconds before is now hard, creating a clear outline in his jeans. I blush, and he subtly tries to hide it with his hands. When I look into his eyes, he stares back, and something ignites inside of me. I swallow hard and run back toward my friends without another word as the captain instructs us to take our seats and the seatbelt light comes on.

  Deb is laughing nervously. “That was a wild ride.”

  “Tell me about it,” I mumble.

  “Why is your face so red?” Lillian asks me. For the first time in hours, her headphones are off.

  I shake my head. “It’s nothing.”

  “Don’t be afraid. Turbulence happens all the time. We’ll be on the ground soon,” Deb assures me.

  Except, right now, turbulence is the last thing on my mind. In fact, I’m not even afraid, which is a total shocker. All I can think about is the humiliation of grabbing a strange man’s cock in the middle of a plane aisle. God, I hope I never see that man again. I think the embarrassment would kill me faster than a plane crash.

  The plane finally lands in London soon after the bout of turbulence passes. Safe and sound. The landing is an easy one, thankfully. Far better than I thought. I probably wouldn’t have even noticed if the landing were rough, though. I was far too distracted by the embarrassment of falling on top of that sexy stranger. A couple of times I chanced a glance back to see if I could spot him, though I wasn’t sure exactly where he was seated. I thought it would be simple to find him. A man that stunning should be hard to miss. But I scanned over the dozens of tired and washed out faces in the plane, and I never spotted him. It’s for the best, I tell myself. Part of me believes that. A little.

  My knees are only slightly shaking when we get off the plane. I practically kiss the ground once we we’re in the airport. I follow my friends in a daze through the maze of the airport until we arrive at the baggage carousel. I look around as the suitcases spin in lazy circles on the conveyer belt. People jostle for space, lugging huge bags away. I quickly find my smaller valise with all my toiletries and odds and ends. I pull it from the belt with ease and then stand back, waiting for my other bag.

  As I wait, my eyes automatically scan around the airport, seeking out a head that towers above the rest, wide shoulders, and a face that women would literally cage fight over. No sign of the mystery man I groped on the plane. Again, I tell myself that’s a good thing and if I saw him again it would just ruin this vacation. The mortification would wash over me afresh if I looked him in the eyes. I mean, just the thought of what happened in the aisle makes me cringe with embarrassment. And yet, a part of me kind of wants to see him again—but more like behind a two-way mirror. I want to see him, but I don’t want him to see me. You don’t see faces like his very often, and I wouldn’t mind being able to study it for a while without being noticed.

  I shake my head, still unable to believe I groped him like that. Thank goodness it was on a transatlantic flight and not my daily commute to work. Having to come face to face with him again would be the worst possible scenario. God, if my friends found out, they would never let me live it down. I would be utterly humiliated. The chances of seeing him again are slim to none.

  Lillian and Deb stand a few feet from me with their bags, and I notice they’re looking at the belt with growing concern. That’s when I realize the conveyor belt is now empty. Shit.

  “Have you guys seen my purple suitcase?” I ask, although there’s little hope in my voice. The bag is hard to miss; bright purple with pink polka dots, a gift from my mother for the trip. She’s travelled the world and knows a thing or two. She said it’s always best to have busy, one of a kind luggage so no one accidentally walks off with it. And if someone tries to steal it, the bags would be easy to spot by security.

  Deb and Lillian both shake their heads. I close my eyes and sigh. This can’t be happening. Why is my luck such shit? Of all the bags to lose, that’s the one that is the most important. It’s the one with all my clothes in it. I could easily replace everything in the bag slung over my shoulder, but it would take a lot of time and money to buy an entirely wardrobe for this trip.

  Everything in me wants to freak out, but I’m not about to ruin this trip for my best friends. Instead, I go to the counter at baggage claim and make the report of my missing bag. They give me a tag and tell me they’ll call or deliver it to our rented flat when it’s found. I speak very sweetly and calmly the entire time, despite the pounding headache that’s brewing behind my eyes. I will not let this bring me down. I’m in England!

  I meet up with girls outside and give them my cheeriest smile. “They said it usually takes 24 hours to locate baggage, so I’ll bet I have it in the morning.” I’m not sure my optimistic forecast is believable or realistic, but the girls go along like true friends, and we hop in a cab to our vacation rental.

  I must doze off on the drive, because I wake up when I sense the cab has slowed down. We’ve arrived in Odiham, a small village in the county of Hampshire, outside of London. The village looks like something out of a fairytale. All of the buildings are centuries old and have historical markers in front for the tourists who visit this quaint town. The town is small, with just a single café, a doctor’s office, some pubs, and a grocery store about the size of a gas station on the high street. The little town also has a gothic church constructed in the 13th century and an old graveyard tourists like to meander through. Odiham is just an hour drive from London, but it feels like you’re stepping back in time.

  The cab pulls into the driveway of an adorable two-story brick house. This house also has a plaque on it, but it’s so old the engraving has been worn away by weather and time. The house is so cute and quaint, better than the pictures. It’s been owned by the same family for generations, and the current owner rents out rooms on a vacation rental website. There are four bedrooms, so each of us has our own private space, and the host told us it’s very unlikely the fourth bedroom would be rented out to another girl. It’s not a big deal if it is, though. We’re a friendly bunch.

  We’ve been planning this trip for two yearsI’ve never done anything like it and the thought seems exciting—very European. Seeing the home makes me excited. I refuse to let a few setbacks ruin this trip for me. I’ll get new clothes; I brought plenty of money. I’ve been saving up for two years for this experience and I plan to embrace all of it.

  We walk inside and I take in every detail of the house. The first room is the sitting room. There are two small couches in front of a fireplace. Behind the sitting room is a sweet little kitchen, with a large dining table and a lovely window seat looking out onto the garden. Instantly I imagine myself getting lost in a book, sitting by the window.

  I walk up the narrow staircase and hear Deb and Lillian opening doors to bedrooms, claiming their beds already. The second floor is decorated with floral wallpaper, and at the end of the long hallway is tall window. I look out over Odiham and I can see the spire of the church in the distance. We’ve been planning this trip for two years and it’s hard to believe I’m finally here. I’ve never be
en anywhere before.

  I walk back downstairs to find the other bedrooms. The sitting room is so cozy it practically calls to me to sit down, put my feet up, and fall asleep for the rest of the day. As inviting as that is, I know from my research that if I sit down now, I’ll just make this jet lag worse and I’ll be awake all night. I don’t want that. My body feels dirty and stiff, so I yell upstairs to the girls that I’m going to shower.

  I open a door beyond the kitchen, and I find another bedroom. I toss my lonely bag on the bed and open the connecting door to the bathroom. There’s a pile of fluffy towels aside the shower and fresh robes hanging behind the bathroom door. When I turn on the hot water in the shower, I spy several bottles of fancy shampoo and bodywash. When the bathroom is filled with steam, I step onto the cold tiles and let the warm water flow over me. The bathroom fills up with the rich scents of the gardenia body wash, and I feel every muscle in my body loosening. All the tension from the flight and anxiety about traveling so far for the very first time in my life melts away. If this bathroom is any indication of the attention to detail we’ll find in this house, it’s going to be an awesome visit.

  I stay too long in the shower, practically falling asleep and also dreading trying to figure out whatever I’ll wear, but finally the lure of a hot cup of tea forces me to turn off the shower and slip into the bathrobe. No need to worry about clothes just yet, since it’s just me and girls.

  When I step into the bedroom, I realize that the house is freezing. The robe I’m wearing barely keeps me warm, and these old homes don’t have the best insulation. The glass in the single paned windows look as brittle as pulled sugar, and the gaps in the old windows carry a steady draught through the room. At least my room has its own fireplace and a small stash of wood. I’m looking forward to that. Obviously I’m not going to spend a lot of time in my bedroom, but I can’t help but fantasize about reading my book next to the fire before bed with a hot mug of cocoa. And the bed is so luxuriously made, with a thick white duvet that looks like heaven.