Laid Over

by S. E. Hall

  Chance encounters are what keep us going.

  Haruki Murakami

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About S.E. Hall

  Unstable – Sneak Peek

  Tap Out – Sneak Peek

  In a very uncharacteristic attempt at a little revenge, a little vindication, Lily splurges on a first-class plane ticket… using her soon-to-be-ex-husband’s credit card. If he insists that she travel to him, when he’s the one who gave up, the one who cheated, then the least he can do is pay for her to fly in comfort.

  But Lily soon learns, the bigger seats and ample leg room aren’t the only things that are better beyond that classing curtain. The company’s more than worth every extra cent.

  ****

  Trevor Kinkade always flies first-class… on his private jet. But the one time he finds himself aboard a commercial flight, he also finds Lily.

  Not that he had to look very hard; she’s sitting right beside him.

  ****

  They’re nothing alike, from two very different worlds, except for one huge, perhaps serendipitous, similarity — they’re in the same place, where neither have ever been before, at the same time — because of two, perfectly aligned off-chances.

  Or, could it be the chance for both of them to find what they’ve always wanted?

  **** Originally featured, in part, in Pick Your Pleasure, this is Laid Over- Lily and Trevor’s story- in its entirety, with refurbished scenes, new scenes, and of course… its HEA.****

  Warning: Not your typical S.E. Hall book, but I loved writing it, and I hope you love losing yourself in this “what if,” almost-insta, romance.

  Clowns sometimes cry, heavy metal bands put out ballads… and S.E. Hall likes to break the mold too!

  Relax and Enjoy!

  “You’re late,” a shriveled-faced flight attendant sneers the obvious at me as I fumble my way onto the plane. “Boarding pass?” She thrusts out an impatient hand, the other on her hip, and foot a-tapping while I dig around for the inconveniently elusive slip of paper.

  “Do, uh, you usually ask for those? Because the man inside the airport, who probably would’ve blocked my path should I have tried to sneak my way this far, said-”

  “I’m asking now. Do you have one or not?”

  Okay, tuck in the dry sarcasm, Lily… kill her with kindness.

  “I’m so, so sorry… but, uh” — frantically, I give myself ten-times the “pat down” as the one served up by Old Man Pervy Hands at security check, which I would’ve thought impossible — “I can’t seem to find it. It’s been that kind of day.” I strive to lighten things up, unsuccessfully — confirmed by her steadfast, unresting bitch face. “I’m in First Class; Lily Reyn—, um, Myers. Lily Myers.”

  Well that went swimmingly. Couldn’t have made a bigger, bumbling jackass of myself had I been trying.

  Which I wasn’t.

  Much like I didn’t try, or succeed at, juking my way past security to board a plane for which I didn’t have a pass to do so.

  But… “If at first you don’t succeed” and all…

  “Could I maybe sit down, get situated, then look for it again? I promise, it’s here somewhere. They wouldn’t have let me this far if not, right? I just… I need a second to put my bag up and regroup.”

  “Fiinnee, go ahead. Preferably sometime today.” Denise, as told to me by her nametag (I highly suspect they simply spelled She-Devil wrong), puts the utmost effort into rolling her eyes. “I won’t allow you to continue inconveniencing all the other passengers.”

  Yeahhh… she might have a valid point there. Which is why, albeit a bit strained, I cordially respond, “Thank you,” before quickly maneuvering my way around, and away from, her.

  “You look like you could use a drink.” A voice of rough satin tickles my ear as I flop down, with all the ungracefulness one would expect from the flustered mess that is me, into my seat.

  “I’m not sure adding alcohol’s a real gr…” My words get lost the milli-instant I glance at my neighbor. And, just to make absolutely certain I pack a lifetime’s worth of utter humiliation into this one day, I simply stare. For wayyy too long. Too long to be classified as staring. I have definitely crossed over into gawking territory.

  But, the damage is already done, so as a fire-alarm blush scorches my cheeks and I remain stuck in a temporarily-speechless-state-of-awestruck, I go ahead and gawkity-gawk the hell out of it; like I may never get the chance to gawk again — memorizing every detail of his striking good looks. “A…a good idea.” I finally stammer out the belated ending.

  The single man; he’s not wearing a ring anyway, and there’s no telling blanched-out circle around his finger (telling me it’s hidden in his pocket), confirmed with a quick sneak peek at his left hand, sitting beside me is, bar none, the most handsome human being I’ve ever seen in my life… or dreams.

  Well, suuure. I mean, why wouldn’t he be drop-dead gorgeous… seeing as how I’m on such a roll today? I’ll bet he’s rich too, and just dying to sweep me off my lil’ ol’ “reeking of subservient desperation” feet. Because that’s exactly how things happen in real life. Every. Single. Day. Right?

  Wrong.

  Not on any day is that how things happen!

  Except right now, of course. Now… when I’m frazzled, inside and out — an uncoordinatedly walking, nonsensically talking, one-woman shitshow — who also just so happens to currently be reppin’ “the flag” of my favorite tribe of Bushwomen down south.

  Yes, that down south.

  Oh, and I haven’t shaved my legs in at least three days. And since I’m making a list, might as well throw the fact that I’m a little bit “gamey” in the armpit regions from all the running as to not miss my flight on there. End of list, game over… because I refuse to even think about my breath, or my no doubt mismatched, maybe even inside out, raggedy-ass bra and underwear.

  No perfect chance encounter, no phenomenon, rivaling tales woven since the beginning of time — where I’m the fair maiden, ready in wait — to be had here.

  My tale is a satire, filled with irony; always has been. Which is exactly why my fairy godmother — who, I might add, has a sick sense of humor and I wish like hell I could fire — has placed this glorious man of fables and the big screen beside me.

  The universe’s way of making sure I never forget just how much “living with my head in the clouds” has cost me.

  Sheesh, I get it already; no need to slap me across the damn face with it!

  Distracted by all this thinking, I guess I forgot to stop with the gawking, because Mister Seemingly Single and Damn Sure Sexy gives a short, humble chuckle before offering me his hand. “Trevor Kincade. And you are?”

  “Lily. Myers. Nice to meet you.” My cheeks reheat to unhelpfully accentuate the breathiness in my response. “Sorry about my late, and, um, theatrical entrance. I’m a bit out of sorts today.”

  He cocks his head and grins, raising handsome to a whole new, heart-stopping level. “And why is that?” he asks, his perfectly straight, white teeth beaming, the modest laugh lines around his aquamarine eyes only complementing their brilliance.

  “Why is what?” Nice. I’m about as savvy at casual flirting as I am at boarding a plane.

  “Why are you ‘out of sorts,’ beautiful Lily?”

  Because life screws with me at every turn, and you, dropped directly in my muddled path, are just another suave, gorgeous, twisted reminder of that fact?

  The deep, depressing thought’s probably a
bit much for a three-hour flight, so I just shake my head, softly sigh, and craft my response. “If…” I stand, thinking it best to finally get around to stowing my bag before Denise checks in and ejects me off the flight, “…we’re going to make conversation, Trevor Kincade, let’s make it about happy, interesting things. Shall we?”

  With effortless fluidity, he rises and moves beside me, taking the bag from my hand. “Please, allow me,” he murmurs. “And yes, we shall, Lily. Very interesting things, things already making me quite happy.”

  Who knew things were so fancy in first class? Certainly not me. I didn’t pay for the ticket — my last attempt at some sort of consolation was springing for the upgrade on Ethan’s credit card — that the fool had yet to deactivate. So, as I sip on my second flute of champagne — yes, I’d caved — I’m feeling a little buzzed and a little better…but not enough of either to miss the fact that this plane, the one I’d supposedly held up, still hasn’t left the ground.

  “Excuse me, Denise?” I wave my hand in the air, Trevor’s chuckle under his breath not missing my ears.

  “Oh, Denise.” My second attempt’s a bubbly-influenced melody.

  Here she comes, sashaying down the aisle with a contemptuous glare for me; short-lived though, so she can shoot a sugary smile at Trevor. “What can I help you with?” she asks me, civilly at best, while eyeing Trevor, PG-rated at best.

  I dip, duck, and twist like a smartass pretzel, inserting myself into her line of vision, the alcohol bolstering my sass. “Yes, hi, hello, me again. I know you’re a very busy lady and I’ve caused you quite the headache today, but I couldn’t help wondering… why haven’t we taken off yet? Are we waiting on more rogue, dragging-ass passengers such as myself?”

  Oh, if sucked-a-lemon looks could kill… Denise would’ve just put my ass six feet under. And here I was, under the misconception my super-duper friendliness had no choice but to be contagious.

  “I believe what she’s trying to ask is,” Trevor interjects in a voice of reason, and rich promise, made for bedrooms and balconies, while leaning in to ease the flute-too-many out of my hand, “is something wrong? Any reason you can give us as to the delay, or an idea of when we might be departing?”

  Denise’s entire aura immediately shifts, into invitation mode, and she pushes her ample chest forward as she purrs, “Let me go check on that for you, Mister Kincade. I’ll be right back; I won’t keep you waiting.”

  Her equally ample ass, clad in a tight skirt, has barely made two full-range swings back down the aisle when my loud scoff escapes.

  “What?” he asks.

  Thus far, our chit-chat has been fairly idle — the weather, my lack of versus his vast experience in airline travel, him offering, then ordering, our drinks — but when I look over at him this time and roll my eyes, I decide to let some “real talk” roll right off my tongue. “Why do men do that?”

  “Do what?” He grins… all lopsided and sexy, his eyes dancing in time to his charade.

  “Act like they don’t know when a woman is coming on to them? And then play coy, like they don’t know what a woman is asking?”

  “Ah.” He shifts in his seat, turning into me and loosening the light blue tie that mirrors the shade of his eyes. “I see we’ve conquered the initial hurdles and reached the point of real conversation, for which I’m glad. I’m not a patient man.”

  “But you make up for it with subtlety?” I smile to soften my sarcasm.

  “No, Lily, I don’t. One needn’t make up for something they don’t consider to be a shortcoming. I pride myself on not only my direct approach, but my ability to ascertain what I want, when I want it. You mistook my question before. I wasn’t asking what you found humorous; I, too, was well aware of the attendant’s advance. I was asking what about it you found humorous.”

  Something in his rueful stare and the smug curl to his lip has me squirming in my seat and swallowing heavily. “I… uh… I was just…”

  “Mocking, in an attempt at self-preservation, as though disgusted with her behavior, rather than the more accurate disappointment in your own lack thereof?”

  My jaw literally drops open and I blink rapidly, almost uncontrollably, while searching for a big, strongly worded, philosophical comeback… coming up with only, “I beg your pardon? How dare you speak to me like that. You don’t even know me!”

  Even more arrogantly invasive, he slips a finger under my chin to close my jaw for me, then bends his head to fan his next warm words across my lips. “I plan to remedy that very soon, Lily… and you forgot to lie and say I was wrong.”

  With one eye on my phone, I arrange our accommodations for the night. From the corner of the other… I watch her internal debate and cute, corresponding expressions as she mulls over every possible meaning and motive behind my words.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” a crew member comes over the speaker — as I knew they would, thus, the arrangements I just confirmed — “we apologize for the delay and any inconvenience, but for your safety, we’re going to have to ask that you all exit the aircraft in an orderly fashion while we see to a mechanical issue.”

  Lily’s head snaps my direction, her stunning jade eyes wide and packed with fright. “M-mechanical issue? That can’t be good.”

  I shouldn’t laugh; she’s a novice flier and her fear is unmistakably sincere, but it’s already escaped. “Good? No, probably not. As bad as you’re imagining? Also a no.” I rise, cupping her elbow in prompt for her to do the same. “Come with me, Lily. Everything’s going to be fine. I’ll see to both it, and your well-being, personally.”

  Eyes in skeptic slants, she conducts a hurried scan, an assessment, before standing to move into the aisle, leaving room for me to join her. Confident I’ve “passed inspection,” I retrieve both our bags from the overhead then motion for her to lead us toward the exit… In an orderly fashion, of course.

  “I’m so sorry for the trouble, Mister Kincade. Your wait shouldn’t be long, and rest assured, I’ll be right here to help with anything you need once we’re cleared to welcome you back on board.” The flight attendant, of whom Lily is less than fond, rightly so, gushes as we pass.

  “Th-”

  “Are you insane?” Lily whirls around, seemingly unaffected by my stopped-short bump into her back — that I don’t correct, savoring the feel of her small, firm frame against mine — and shrieks. “Back on board? This same plane? Surely there’s some regulation, or fifty, against that!”

  “I’ll check.” My subdued tone belies my amusement, and fails to come anywhere close to balancing out Lily’s hysterics. “I’ll check on all fifty, just as soon as we get settled.”

  “No need to check anything,” she grumbles. “There’s no way in hell I’m setting so much as a pinky toe back on a plane they just announced is having mechanical issues. You must be outside of your damn mind.”

  “All right, then. Since we’re clearly not getting back on this plane, perhaps we should hurry… to book a ticket on one that we are?” Again, it takes enormous will to speak without laughter.

  “You can do whatever you want. Don’t worry about me.” She heaves, yet doesn’t skirt away from my touch, my hand fanned across the tiny dip in her back… just above her round, perky ass, as we walk up the tunnel. “Call me crazy, but don’t you think they should be a tad more specific as to what, exactly, ‘a mechanical issue’ entails?”

  Not foolish enough to interrupt a woman on a tear, I let go my grin… but hold my tongue, maintaining the gentle pressure that’s steering her forward.

  “There’s no such thing as too much information, you know, when in reference to large aircraft! A bike? No biggie. Worst-case scenario is what, a flat tire? Broken handlebar? A chain-coming-loose brush with death? But an airplane? Are we talkin’ the bulb for one of the warning lights burned out? One of the freakin’ wings may or may not have a screw loose and could fall off? Or is the grave technicality the fact that the seatbelt in Row B, seat four is stuck? Jesus!” She shakes
her head while catching up to her breath, having worked herself up into an adorably sexy tizzy — all the while, still connected to the guide of my hand.

  Once we’re back inside the airport, I escort her over to an empty seat in the waiting area and, perhaps too high-handedly, help her sit down. “Do you mind watching our bags while I see to a few things?”

  “What? Yes, I mind! Believe it or not, I have a few things of my own to see to. I’ve got to be on the very next flight or I’ll miss my di—, uh, appointment.” She starts to get up, stopped by my hands on her shoulders.

  “Lily, there won’t be any more flights heading out tonight. Not on TransWorld, anyway; I checked. The flight crew that’s here hits allowed hours worked in about—” I check my watch— “forty-five minutes. There’s no way they’ll be able to get a fresh, full crew here before morning. I’m afraid, my impatient little bird, your wings have been clipped until tomorrow. Now, stay here with our things while I get the rest of our evening sorted.”

  “But, wait, wh—” she’s sputtering as I walk away.

  “Finally! Where the heck have you been? Outside, trying to fix the plane yourself?” She pops up onto her feet, ready to scurry off… stopped short of her plans once more. “Let go.” Her angry purr is joined by a glare aimed at her hand, which is trapped in mine. “Seriously, Trevor. I’ve got to try and book a flight, or at least get on the stand-by list.”

  “There is no stand-by list, and the first flight tomorrow is already booked. For both of us.”

  “How’d you book a flight for me? Why’d you book a flight for me? No, never mind, doesn’t matter. I can’t wait until tomorrow.” Ripping her hand from mine, she bolts for the counter… while I take a seat, lean back, and prepare to enjoy the show. “Ma’am?” I hear her politely whine, once she’s flitted her way around the long line of people… that she’s too frazzled to even realize are standing there.

  As I watch, I replay every word she’s spoken since meeting her in my head, and come to my own realization. Her actions, most of them crowded by nerves, and the multiple, sudden shifts in her tone, mood… aren’t those of impatience, annoyance or cantankerousness. No, there’s something much bigger at play… eating at her… overshadowing the real Lily.