Flying First

by Lucy Bexley

  The lights flashed on and I squinted at their assault. Monroe didn’t move. She really wasn’t kidding about those pills knocking her out.

  My stomach dipped like the top of a roller coaster about to release as the plane began its descent. That couldn’t be right. Was there even anywhere to land before we passed over London?

  A crackly voice came over the speaker, nearly unintelligible over the noise of the engines.

  I poked Monroe in the shoulder but she flopped right back against me. This was shaping up to be a real weekend at Bernie’s situation.

  “Folks, ah, this is your captain speaking.”

  “Oh, yeah, Captain Obvious?” I muttered as I strained to tune into his voice.

  “—need to make—medical emergency—ground in about 20 minutes—attendants coming around—”

  The announcement was about as informative as a political ad, but at least it was brief. Shit. Was someone having a heart attack? A baby?

  An attendant in a blue skirt suit speed-walked by our row and returned a moment later clutching a stack of blue medical safety masks in her arms. She handed me two and gestured toward the sleeping Monroe. “Help your friend, hon.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Someone on board has that virus that’s been all over the news. We got word from air traffic control that we have to ground the plane.”

  I blinked. My heart accelerated in my chest, rumbling against my rib cage. As concerning as a medical emergency was, I was also annoyed that Monroe was right about me needing to carry her off of this plane.

  “So where will we land?”

  She shrugged and hurried along down the aisle, making it rain masks.

  We sat on a runway long enough that I was hopeful Monroe would start to come around. Maybe someone on the plane had smelling salts—were those still a thing?

  When we got the all-clear to deboard, my relief was reduced by the small puddle of drool Monroe was currently leaving on my new sweater. Desperation seized me. I couldn’t spend another minute on that plane. I unbuckled Monroe and draped her arm around my neck. I might not have been strong enough to throw her over my shoulder, so I improvised a three-legged race manoeuver. My half-walk, half-drag got her off the plane, and by the time we reached the jet bridge sweat was beading down my back.

  Finally, we reached the terminal.

  Only to find it in complete chaos.

  The raised voices of passengers and airport employees echoed off the cavernous walls of the terminal, bouncing the sound back until it was unrecognizable. White plastic sheeting sealed the exits. It almost looked like it was under construction, but the people buzzing around in hazmat suits quickly dispelled that notion. My arm was beginning to burn from holding up Monroe.

  Our flight was the only one in that cordoned off area of the airport, and burly men in white bodysuits quickly herded us into lines. Nothing about them screamed medical professionals. Were we about to be quarantined by a gang of mechanics? Monroe swayed against me. Oh, thank god.

  “Nice of you to join me,” I said.

  She yanked down her mask, confusion in her eyes. I quickly pulled it back up, though not before some macho spaceman looking dude rushed over and shoved a finger in her face.

  “No,” he said sharply, shaking his head. He stabbed his finger at the mask. “Leave it on.”

  His assault startled me and I released my hold on Monroe, putting myself between them. She slid down to the floor with a thump. Still getting her sea legs then.

  I raised my hand to poke him in the chest—terrifying, I know—when Monroe’s hand on my thigh stole all my attention.

  She was trying to pick herself up, but that hand on my thigh—whoa. I leaned down to help Monroe back to her feet. She pulled herself up my arm like she was climbing a rope in elementary school gym class, overzealous and uncoordinated. That should make for some interesting bruises.

  “What’s going on?” she said. Or at least that’s what I assume she said. The mask muffling her voice wasn’t helped by the yells of emergency workers echoing off the walls in a consonant-crammed language I didn’t recognize.

  I shrugged and her grip tightened on my arm, her nails digging into the flesh of my bicep. Her eyes were cartoon-wide above her mask and for a second I felt like a jerk for adding to her panic.

  “Some sort of medical emergency.” Do not say outbreak. Do not say outbreak. “A virus outbrea—” dammit. I tried again. “Someone on our flight might have that virus that’s been going around Europe, so they made us land here.”

  Her eyes got even wider. Was she—was she going to be okay? At least she seemed awake, and I could be done dragging her dead weight around. I missed it more than a little. No—couldn’t think about that.

  She leaned close to me and pressed her mask against my ear. I shivered as I felt her warm breath. “Where. Is. Here?”

  I shrugged again, but when her nails dug into my arm hard enough to draw blood through cashmere I caught her gaze. “I really don’t know. They didn’t tell us much on the plane. Somewhere in the arctic, judging from the language on the signs.”

  Our line moved slowly, but eventually we were ushered into a small room that was very recently a supply closet if the mop in the corner was any indication. We were each handed a large clear plastic bag by a woman in a white paper suit who pantomimed pulling a shirt over her head as she backed out of the closet and closed the door behind her.

  You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I was supposed to what? Strip down to my underwear? Bare-ass naked? In an airport supply closet in an undisclosed country in front of my boss? Despite the chill on my skin in this industrial space, despite a gravity strong desire to cover myself with my hands, excitement roiled in my chest, singing a vibrato in my veins and I wanted to reach out and touch her. She had no business being this hot.

  Monroe had none of my reservations. By the time I glanced at her again she was already down to her red bra and matching underwear.

  Red bra.

  Matching underwear.

  Jesus.

  She raised an eyebrow at me, and I turned my back to her more to hide the blush rising on my neck than out of modesty.

  I stripped off my new sweater and shoved it into the plastic bag. That’s why I can’t have nice things—because they end up in bags, in supply closets. In the arctic. I could feel Monroe’s eyes on my back as I lowered my jeans and I slowed my movements, inching the fabric down my hips and bending over to remove the garment completely. I felt everywhere her eyes touched me, sending a current of desire through my veins. Everything about this might be terrible but who doesn’t enjoy a little show?

  I turned back toward Monroe. This time, I didn’t try to hide my gaze trailing down her body. I was pleased to see the blush on her skin. That blush—it meant I held power over her, even though we were equally indisposed. I wanted to move toward her and run my hands over her flawless skin. Resisting was like standing at the edge of a cliff and trying not to fall. And we had yet to be provided with our own paper suits or open-back gowns or other glamorous mass-produced medical fashion we’d wear out of here.

  “Sorry about that.” A woman’s voice, speaking in richly accented English, broke into the room. I jerked back a few more steps into the room, but Monroe’s body was a wall behind me, my back pressing into her. The woman tossed two sets of scrubs into the room. “Underwear also,” she said and pulled the door closed behind her.

  I turned to give Monroe some privacy but I couldn’t make myself look away completely. I saw the curve of her breasts as she removed her red bra and placed it into the bag. When her hands went to her hips, elbows bent to lower her underwear my mouth went desert dry. I turned toward her, my breath trapped in my chest like a balloon floating ever upward but never reaching the ceiling.

  Monroe turned to face me and winked before taking a step toward me, goosebumps raised on her skin. She looked perfect, the pinch of her waist cascading down to the soft curves of her hips. My breath let out in a
n ocean rush as she reached forward and pulled one of the lavender straps from my shoulder.

  “Your turn.”

  I reached behind me to unclasp my bra struggling a bit with shaking hands. Monroe’s light touch made a blazing trail along my collarbone. My pulse was a bassline in my ears as I finally freed the clasp.

  A male voice blared outside the door. We shot back from each other as my bra slipped from my shoulders and to the floor. Even as my heart hammered in my chest I shivered—I missed the spark of Monroe’s touch immediately and desperately.

  “Time for medical exams,” the voice bellowed again, amplified beyond reason by a bullhorn.

  A brief medical exam with minimal poking and only a little prodding confirmed we were asymptomatic, and we were ushered out of the airport. Someone passed a stack of foil blankets along the line. We’d only been outside for a few minutes, but already the cold had seeped into my bones. The blanket crinkled as I wrapped it around me. Together we looked like a bunch of potatoes ready for baking.

  “Two lines! Make two lines,” yelled a man gesturing with one of those glow sticks used to direct planes to gates after landing.

  “What’s happening?”

  “Busses will arrive to take you to temporary housing.”

  “For how long?”

  He shrugged. “Make two lines,” he bellowed again.

  “Is there a difference between the lines?” I asked.

  “One will go to the hotel in Reykjavik and the other will go to local inns outside the city.” He swept his gaze up and down the line. “This is too many people for the hotel.”

  “We’re going to the hotel.” Monroe sounded firm. Who was this we? There was no way in hell I was going to be trapped in a hotel with patient zero. “Which line is that?”

  The man gestured with his glowing orange wand to the opposite line. Monroe walked over.

  I stayed put. It would have been petulant to cross my arms but damn if I wasn’t tempted. I was freezing and annoyed, so the gesture could have done double duty.

  “Chloe, you heard him. This is the line for the hotel.”

  “Exactly. I’m going to the Inn.”

  “No, we’re going to the hotel.”

  “Then I guess we’re splitting up. It’s been fun, Monroe.”

  Monroe’s eye roll was epic and it was hard not to laugh, but I wasn’t going to budge on this. I wouldn’t even be here if it weren't for her dangling this trip in front of me like a sexy carrot.

  She took a step to the side and lingered between the lines, eyes searching mine.

  “Why do you want to go to the Inn? The hotel will be way more comfortable. And the beds won’t be a million years old.”

  “It will also trap us under the same roof as most people from this flight. Some of them are definitely carriers by now. I might not like my life very much right now, but I’m still not willing to gamble it on a possibly life-threatening illness just so you can have better access to gourmet coffee and high thread count sheets.”

  “Everyone out here was cleared to leave, Chloe. Being near these people isn’t going to kill you.”

  “It might. There’s always an incubation period. We might even be carriers right now. We’d never know it.” And we’d be worse carriers if we accidentally kissed. Or more.

  The busses pulled up and I took a few steps forward. Monroe hadn’t moved at all. I felt a flash of panic at the idea of really splitting up with Monroe. Could I even afford to get back from Iceland on my own? That would be covered by FEMA or someone, right? Hell, FEMA would probably stick me on a boat back to Boston. I wavered and started to turn when I felt Monroe step beside me, her foil blanket rustling against mine. The expression on her face was all boss.

  “This is a work trip, Chloe.” God, the frigid wind was no match for that stern tone she was using as it sent a rush of heat between my legs. “I’m responsible for your well-being.” Her voice softened a bit as she said it. A rush of warmth filled the space between my ribs. “Now are you going to fight me, or are you going to get on the bus?”

  Chapter Three

  We sat on the glorified school bus for so long that I started to wonder if “a little outside the city” was aspirational, like people who live in Albany telling people they’re from New York City when traveling. The bus going to the hotel was one of the fancy charter busses and the fact that Monroe didn’t comment on it made me think she must still be out of it from her medication.

  Monroe and I sat next to each other on the bench seat, not speaking. I picked at the ripped vinyl and watched the icy landscape roll past me, endless fields of glittering snow. We were so close our bodies pressed together as the bus wove its way through the countryside. I watched the road rolling out before us and anticipated each spike of my heartbeat when I saw a curve approaching, knowing I was seconds away from feeling the delicious heat of Monroe against me again.

  “Play a game with me?”

  Monroe let out an amused sigh. “I don’t like games.”

  “But if we play one we might eventually get there.” And get out of these clothes. “Otherwise this bus ride might go on forever.”

  “Fine.” Her eyes trailed up and down my body and she brought a finger to rest against the side of her mouth. “You know, I’m pretty good at strip poker but we’re not really wearing enough for a long game.” She angled her body toward mine and rested her head against the seat as a small smile played across her lips.

  “I think we’re also missing cards.” I turned my body towards hers, mirroring her posture, and raised an eyebrow. “How about I Spy?”

  A devious smile lit up Monroe’s face. “I’ll go first,” Monroe said without looking out the window. “I spy something crimson,” she said as her eyes flickered down to my mouth.

  My breath caught and I licked my lips.

  “No,” Monroe said, her eyes still glued to my mouth, “that’s more rouge.”

  Monroe’s teeth chattered over the sounds of the bus engine, the frenetic clicking made me want to pull her into my lap and wrap my arms around her, to remove the thin layers of fabric between us until our skin kissed together and I was the only thing keeping her warm. Resisting the temptation every time she shivered felt like trying to hold back a tidal wave. I would have emptied my bank account to get my headphones back. To insulate myself from this blaring desire.

  Our luggage, even our personal items, were still on the plane, so I was trying to make peace with the aqua colored scrubs I was wearing. They were the only clothes I currently owned. I felt like a bit character on Grey’s Anatomy, but I liked the way they brought out Monroe’s eyes.

  Monroe and I were shooed off the bus at the second inn, which was a very generous term being used to describe this ramshackle house. The first inn looked a lot nicer, but it filled up before I could rush to the front of the bus. As I looked at the sagging roof I thought about walking back to see if they could squeeze just me in.

  A sturdy looking red-cheeked woman came out to greet us. Her long blonde hair was in a thick braid slung over one shoulder. She would have had no trouble carrying Monroe off of that plane.

  The wind whipped against us and, ramshackle or not, I was desperate to get inside the building. I could smell woodsmoke in the air. At least I might be able to get warm...and closer to Monroe. Maybe. Maybe.

  We waited in the entryway with a group of other passengers. The inn only had three rooms, and I felt light with anticipation of sharing with Monroe. Of being truly alone with her. I took a deep breath, not sure I wanted to let on to this feeling of unbridled teenaged lust welling up inside me.

  I leaned into Monroe and whispered, “Can’t the company pay for separate rooms?”

  “What do you want them to do? Build an addition? Actually, I think I saw a shed out back that looked abandoned.” She bit her lip, hiding a grin. Monroe, joking with me. Yes.

  “You’re hilarious. Can’t you just pay someone off with all the money you’ll be saving on coffee and dry cleaning this we
ek?”

  She shot me an amused smile and rolled her eyes at me before following after the innkeeper as she led the way to our room.

  The door closed behind us and Monroe locked it with a skeleton key. Not the most secure, but at least I had nothing worth stealing besides a phone that wasn’t working and these scrubs I’d been going commando in.

  Monroe leaned her shoulders back against the door, her hips were jutting out and my heartbeat revved. Images flooded my mind of all the times I wanted to press her against the door in her office and kiss her. If only her door wasn’t glass. And surrounded by other offices.

  But this door was wood and there was no one here but us. Dubious lock notwithstanding.

  I stayed rooted to my spot in the middle of the small room. Monroe let out a shaky breath and walked to the single bed. She sat down on it and bounced a few times, the bed springs protested loudly.

  “No way we’re sharing that,” I said.

  “Why, too small?”

  “No. Too loud.”

  She laughed. “If you don’t want to stay here I’m sure the family down the hall would be happy to welcome you, or at least their teenage son would.”

  “Gross.”

  “What?” she said widening her eyes. “I don’t know your preference.”

  “Yes, you do.” I let my gaze drift down to her mouth and held it there as I watched her teeth sink into her lower lip. I felt a warmth gathering low in my stomach, fluttering anticipation.

  Monroe stood up quickly. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  “Why do you get to go first?” I walked over to the bed. I laid back and grimaced, the metal springs felt brittle beneath the light padding.

  Monroe kept walking to the bathroom and turned on the water but she didn’t shut the door behind her. Before the steam had a chance to fill up the small room she turned to face me.

  Heat gathered between my thighs as her gaze trailed over me. She stripped off her blue top slowly, revealing her hips and then the soft plane of her stomach and finally her breasts. My breath caught in my throat as her green eyes held mine. In a smooth movement, she untied the drawstring of her pants next let them fall to the floor. I was sure there were sexier clothes out there than these professional pajamas, but right then I couldn’t think of any.