by Max Monroe
“Hello, my name is Casey,” he announced over the speakers, his voice about two-hundred percent cheerier than it had been while addressing my seatmate, Luke. “I’d like to be the first 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.” He chuckled into the intercom as Catharine moved out of the galley and to the center of the aisle and turned to face the entire plane, ducking her head as she turned back to glance at him. Her long, dark, smoothly curled hair covered her face like a curtain.
“With the help of lovely Catharine, we’d like to tell you now about some important safety features of this aircraft,” he continued. Catharine smiled at us, her professional persona in place.
I had a moment of hysteria where I imagined she was smiling only for me, from the center of my bed.
Holy Christ, I said with a mental slap as I started to undress her in my mind. You better get your shit together, Quinn. Stop being a pervert.
Quickly, my daydream followed orders, pulling her shirt closed and doing up the buttons. But my mind was a rebel, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get it to refasten the last button.
Poor Catharine would forever be sporting a hint of cleavage in my mind.
Goddamn, I’m an asshole.
Really, though, fantasizing about random women was a reality thrust upon the male gender by biology. The Quinn in my pants was always ready to rut—a genius plan by our creator to ensure the survival of the race.
But male-female interaction wasn’t always that simple, and P didn’t always stand for penetration.
“The most important safety feature we have aboard this plane is…the flight attendants. Treat them well, and you have a much better chance of getting out of this flight alive. Please move your attention to the pretty one in the front of the aircraft now.”
Catharine smiled toward us, a hint of blush covering the mocha hues of her cheeks at the mention of being pretty.
Catharine.
Jesus Christ. I was thinking about her like I actually knew her. Don’t get attached to the flight attendant you don’t plan on ever seeing again.
“There are five exits aboard this plane, two at the front, two over the wings, and one out the plane’s rear end,” Casey continued while the female flight attendant—I rolled my eyes at myself… Good try, Quinn, but just because you don’t use her name in your thoughts doesn’t mean you’re good to go—used two finger motions with both hands to gracefully point out the exits. “Please take a moment to look around and find the nearest exit. In the event that the need arises to find one, trust me, you’ll be glad you did, even if it’s the one in the rear.”
This was their stand-up routine, a thing they did on a regular basis to liven up the mundane. I smirked to myself.
My pregame routine was legend among my teammates, gossiped about on tabloid sites, and a staple of the unorthodox way I went about life.
Kindred personalities, Catharine and I.
Oh my God, Quinn, stop. This is not a dating show.
“We have pretty blinking lights on the floor that will blink in the direction of the exits. White ones along the normal rows, and sparkly red ones at the exit rows.” Casey’s voice pulled me from my delusion.
Catharine giggled and offered a smirk toward her coworker as she pointed toward the lights, before grabbing a prop oxygen mask from an empty seat and holding it up for everyone to see.
I choked on my own saliva. Good God, that laugh. It was so perfectly awkward.
“In the event of a loss of cabin pressure, the baggy thing that Cat is holding will drop down over your head. You stick it over your nose and mouth like she is doing now. The bag won’t inflate, but there’s oxygen there, I promise.” He grinned. “If you are sitting next to a small child…” He moved his gaze very pointedly to me and emphasized, “or someone who is acting like a small child, please do us all a favor and put your mask on first.”
I chuckled and nudged Luke with an elbow. “I’ll get yours right after I do my own, okay, buddy?”
His eyebrows shot together. “Do I know you?”
The question wasn’t completely out of the blue. As a professional quarterback for the New York Mavericks, I got recognized all the time. But this guy looked like he knew as much about football as I did about knitting—not fucking much.
“I doubt it.”
Catharine smirked discreetly, the corners of her lips curling up in such perfect synchronization with my own that I nearly felt it, and tucked her head down to put her prop away.
“If you are traveling with two or more children, please take a moment now to decide which one is your favorite. Help that one first, and then work your way down,” Casey added as Cat switched out the oxygen mask for a safety pamphlet.
She held it in front of her body and then started to teasingly use it as a fan, smirking as she did.
“In the seat pocket in front of you is a pamphlet about the safety features of this aircraft. I usually use it as a fan when I’m having my own personal summer, just like Cat is demonstrating for you,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Please take it out and play with it now.”
“There is no smoking in the cabin on this flight or in the lavatories. If we see smoke coming from the bathroom, we will assume you are on fire and then put you out. Don’t worry, this is a free service we provide, and we’re experts at keeping the spray of the fire extinguisher off of ourselves,” he joked, and Catharine nodded toward us with big, amused eyes.
“In a moment, we will be turning off the cabin lights, and it’s going to get really dark. If you’re afraid of the dark, now would be a good time to reach up and press the yellow button. The yellow button turns on your reading light. Please don’t press the orange button unless you absolutely have to. The orange button is your seat ejection button.”
I glanced up to see the orange button was, in fact, the flight attendant call button.
A soft chuckle left my lips. I guess I’d been wrong. This flight was different. These two were a nice change of pace from the usual dull flights I’d become accustomed to.
“I can say on behalf of myself, Cat, and the rest of our crew, we’re glad to have you on board. Thank you for choosing RoyalAir and giving us your business…and your money.” He grinned. “If there’s anything we can do to make you more comfortable, please don’t hesitate to ask,” he finished, smirked, and then winked toward us as he added one last sentiment, “but ask Cat first.”
Every passenger on the plane laughed, and then, surprisingly, gave the dynamic duo a round of applause.
Shit. Even I was laughing and clapping. It was rare to keep a plane full of New Yorkers happy, much less get them to actually listen to the safety instructions.
I watched as Cat and Casey did their final checks before strapping themselves into their jump seats at the front of the plane, and then I grabbed my phone to send my brother a final text.
There was one from him already waiting for me from our earlier exchange. Somehow, I’d missed it. I blamed the douchebag sitting next to me, but my mind said otherwise, whispering, you were too distracted by the pretty flight attendant.
Denver: That’s because you can see my charming smile in person. It takes some of the edge off.
Me: I guess it’s good that I’ll see you in person soon, then. You can remind me why I like you. About to take off. Should be there in about 2.5 hours.
“Good evening, this is your captain speaking. Thank you for choosing to fly with RoyalAir tonight. We are pleased to have some of the best and most professional flight attendants in the industry, but as you can see, none of them are on this flight…”
Cat smirked and Casey rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the hint of a smile on his lips.
“We’ll be taxiing for the runway for another two minutes,” the pilot added, “and then our takeoff toward Birmingham will begin. Please sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight.”
>
After one last look at Catharine, I decided to do just that. Closing my eyes and settling into my seat, I shut out the world and let myself look forward to heading home—even if just for a little while.
“I’ll take another vodka and cranberry, babe,” Luke, the overzealous dickhead in first class, requested with a cursory raise of his empty glass as I stepped by his seat.
His condescending tone made a slight headache pulsate above my brow.
God, I’ll be glad when this flight is over…
Babe. If tossing out demeaning nicknames and demanding booze was this guy’s way of schmoozing women, he needed a reality check. Not to mention, how many drinks did he really need? We’d been in the air for ninety minutes, and already, this man had consumed no fewer than three drinks.
There was one certainty in this situation: any sign of slurred words or disruptive behavior, and I’d cut off his alcohol supply quicker than a doctor cuts an umbilical cord.
It was times like these, when dealing with assholes like Luke in 2B, that I started to question my decision to be a flight attendant. It’ll be so much fun, I’d naïvely thought. I’ll get to travel the world, meet new people, and have daily adventures.
I’d forgotten to take into account the whole serving other people thing. Or the times when things like puke occurred outside of the lavatory.
Honestly, I did love my new job, but I was only human. I had good days, as well as days when I had to deal with douchebags.
I nodded and plastered on my very best “I’ll get right on that” smile, but once I stepped into the first-class galley, I rolled my eyes and let Casey know his favorite passenger on the plane needed another drink.
“Babe would like another vodka cranberry.”
Lucky for me, my best guy friend was also my fellow flight attendant—who also happened to be very gay and extremely protective. He was my biggest buffer for asshole male passengers who came on too strong.
Case and I flew together on a weekly basis, and because he always had my back, I was more than thankful our flight schedules were generally in sync.
He snorted in response. “Considering we’re taking a detour to Atlanta because of the weather, Mr. First Class Dickhead can live without another drink.” Casey punctuated his statement by holding his middle finger up in the air, high and proud, but sadly, behind the safe constraints of the galley wall.
I’d say I wasn’t the only one tired of Babe’s bullshit.
“Although…” Casey cleared his throat and waggled his brows. “I haven’t minded looking at Babe’s seatmate every time I’ve dropped off his vodka and cranberry.”
“Seatmate?” I feigned confusion—as though I didn’t fucking remember who he’d meant.
I knew damn well who he was referring to—the tall drink of water in seat 2A.
Deep blue eyes, big and broad shoulders, a svelte, muscular frame, and full lips to boot, the mystery man in 2A was a looker, that was for fucking sure. Not to mention the perfectly mussed light brown hair that framed his face and the soft Southern drawl that accompanied his words. Those locks and that accent would make any woman’s mind wander toward thoughts of beds and sleep and sex.
I’d spent the majority of this flight sneaking glances in his direction, wondering, What does a guy like that look like underneath his clothes?
My brain screamed, Strong and big and thick in all of the right places.
Thankfully, since the freakishly long moment he’d met and held my eyes before takeoff, 2A had spent most of the flight with his eyes closed, head resting on the seat back, and his headphones covering his ears. Otherwise, he might’ve caught me mid-ogle.
Although, if I was being honest with myself, I wasn’t sure if it was a good thing he hadn’t realized that my gaze had taken notice of him or not. I felt torn between wanting him not to see me looking at him and wanting him to know I was looking at him.
Attraction is a weird phenomenon.
“Oh, don’t play coy with me,” Casey outright refuted with a hand to his hip. “I know you know who I’m talking about. Just two hours ago, you listened while I pledged my virginity to him and him alone if he would take me as his he-wife. He’s so freaking fine, I’m honestly curious if he is the sole reason Tropical Storm Rita decided to switch up her path.”
“Pretty sure, no matter how good-looking the man is, he doesn’t have the power to change weather patterns. And God will smite me if I don’t, again, laugh in your face at your inference that you’re still a virgin.”
“Aha!” He wiggled a knowing finger in my direction. “So, you do remember him, you little harlot!”
I just laughed it off and used my best tactic of defense before he started tossing out ideas of how to get 2A’s phone number. “Do you think we’ll be able to finish up inflight service?” I questioned and quickly busied myself with emptying out the coffee machine.
Casey looked up from his new current task: refilling the drink cart with coveted boxes of orange juice. It was a true wonder of the modern world why airplanes urged cravings of sugared-up oranges in liquid form, but the proof was in the pudding, or should I say, the constant passenger requests for OJ.
“Doubtful, but we’ll try to make the best of it,” he answered with a little shrug of his shoulders. “Captain Billy should be making the final announcement to land in the next few minutes, and with the way the turbulence has been the whole way, I have a feeling he’ll demand we keep our asses in our jump seats.”
He had a point. We’d been fighting a bumpy ride ever since we’d reached altitude out of JFK. Word on the street was that a tropical storm from the Atlantic had taken an abrupt turn and fucked up our expected weather pattern. Hence the need for an early landing in Atlanta, which was only about an hour flight from our intended destination of Birmingham—one of those trips where you basically only had time to go up and come right back down.
“Oh no, honey,” Casey muttered, and I moved my eyes away from the coffee machine to look at him. I followed the path of his gaze until I realized he’d spotted a giant run in my panty hose.
“Son of a bitch.” I followed the nylon wreckage with my index finger. From the top of my kneecap to just slightly above my ankle, I had somehow ruined yet another pair of panty hose.
“Those hoes ain’t loyal,” Casey teased, and I couldn’t not laugh.
“I swear to God, how many pairs of panty hose do I need to bury before RoyalAir changes their uniform requirements?”
He grinned. “Like that’ll ever happen.”
“Don’t squash my dreams.”
“Honey, RoyalAir prides themselves on their uniforms,” he said with a wink. “And trust me, I didn’t sign on with them just because of the benefits and travel opportunities. They are literally the only airline with actual fashion taste.”
I put a free hand to my hip and pointed a box of coffee filters toward him. “When you have to wear panty hose underneath your perfectly fitted suit, then maybe your constant need to defend the dress code can be taken seriously. But until that day comes, I’m not hearing it.”
“Uh oh.” Casey chuckled. “Someone’s feisty…”
“Hell yeah, I’m feisty, Mr. ‘I get two days off in a row after this flight,’” I complained and put—more like tossed—all of the coffee supplies away into the overhead cabinet. “I’m the one who has to figure out how in the hell I’m going to sweet talk the RoyalAir agents in Atlanta to help me get to Birmingham by six in the morning or get me off that flight altogether.”
“Yeah. Okay. Sorry, honey.” He pinched his face together in a grimace. “You have every right to be pissy right now. I can’t deny the A-T-L is like the seventh circle of hell, and that’s on a good day. And don’t even get me started on the ladies in the staffing office there. Can you say divas?”
“Pissy?” I questioned with a quirk of my brow. “I thought you said I was feisty?”
“Out of everything I just said, that was all you heard?” he questioned with a quirk of his lips. “
And yes, that’s exactly what I said. Pissy and feisty.” He blew me a kiss. “But I still love you all the same, honey.”
“Good evening, folks.” The overhead speakers crackled as Captain Billy greeted the plane. “Due to the continued occurrence of unexpected weather conditions and Tropical Storm Rita’s abrupt change in path, we will be landing in Atlanta in about ten minutes,” he announced. “Everyone, for your safety and the safety of the aircraft, please remain seated with your seat belts fastened in place.”
Tropical Storm Rita had moved over the southern states, hooking a hard right after making landfall in Texas, a lot quicker than originally predicted. The only safe choice was to take an early landing and let it pass, instead of staying in the air and getting stuck within the storm’s unpredictability.
Once the seat belt light dinged loud and clear, I stopped refilling the cart’s pretzel supplies and looked at Casey.
Immediately, he gave me his take on the current situation without uttering a single word. With a simple shrug of his shoulders, followed by pushing the cart into its final resting spot underneath the cabinet, he locked it into place. He might as well have just shouted toward the middle of the plane, “That’s a wrap, folks! No sodas or pretzels for you!”
“Well, I guess we now get to experience the joys of walking the aisles and dealing with the unhappy and disgruntled…” I mused, and a laugh bubbled up from his lips.
“Buckle your seat belt, honey. This customer service is going to get bumpy.”
While Casey finished locking up the overhead cabinets in the galley, I started my walk-thrus.
Surreptitiously, as I passed the first few rows of first class, my eyes strayed, moving across the rows and seats until they reached the spot where lucky number 2A was located. From my viewpoint, I could see the way his hand rested on his thigh, his long fingers tapping out the beat to whatever music filled his ears. I had the urge to backtrack my steps just so I could see his face and take inventory of his handsome features—his strong jaw, full lips, and warm blue eyes.
