Sure enough, after the operator unzips my case, he picks up my pile of panties and sets them off to one side. Anders is gawking at them. I bet his ex, Imogen, only had dainty little triangles of silk between her legs. I flush bright red, but I’m annoyed with myself. What is wrong with wearing what I want? I’m a real person, with stretch marks and piles and all the side-effects of pregnancy. I shouldn’t feel obliged to impress a man, especially one I’ve no intention of sleeping with. Anders wisely keeps his mouth shut and his lips still. But thank God I left the vibrator at home.
As soon as the guard is finished, having found nothing suspicious, I flip the lid closed on my case and set off for the gate. The whole point of travelling with cabin bags is to minimise dead time at the airport. Fast on, fast off.
It’s a relatively short flight so even though we aren’t travelling with the others, I booked us into economy. No point in wasting money at the moment. But as I watch Anders fold his legs intothe aisle seat – he offered me the window – I reconsider. Being a whole head shorter has few upsides but one of them is air travel.
Anders pulls out his laptop and re-starts work on a presentation he is giving. I mirror his action, checking through meeting slots. We work side by side; except I’m finding it difficult to concentrate. His legs are too long to fit knees together. They’re spread, one edging into my territory. Occasionally, when he moves, his knee touches my leg. And each time, my stupid libido surges. It’s most distracting.
When he leans forward to look closer at his screen, his thigh rubs against my knee, and my body gives a little quiver. He clearly senses it because he turns to me. “Are you cold?”
I can’t very well say, ‘No, I’m horny’, so I nod. “A little.”
He grabs hold of his sweater and pulls it over his head before holding it out to me. “Take this.”
“Won’t you be cold?” My voice is weak.
“I’m from Wisconsin. I’m good with cold.”
I’ve got nowhere to go. Politeness decrees I accept his offer. He watches as I pull his jumper over my head. It’s warm with his body heat and it smells of him too. And it makes me even more turned on. But I mustn’t shiver again. Who knows how many of his clothes I’d end up with?
I need a distraction and he’s all I’ve got. “Why did you leave Wisconsin?” I ask. “Did you hate it that much?”
“The opposite.” He relaxes back into his seat. “I love Wisconsin. But my parents are there.”
“You can’t say that!” I protest. “I’ve spoken to your mother. She’s lovely.”
“Exactly. She’s hard to resist. If I were in the same state as her…” He hesitates. “Actually, if I were on the same continent as her, she’d bring me home. I wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“And would that matter? There are plenty of game studios in America. The talent pool in Wisconsin might not be huge, butChicago isn’t that far away. Would it have made much difference if you had set up there?”
“You don’t get it. If I were anywhere within reach of my mother, I wouldn’t be running a games studio; I’d be running a dairy farm. It’s been in our family for over a hundred years and I’m the next in line. That’s a lot of family pressure to resist.”
“Who’s running it at the moment?”
“My dad. I was raised to take it over. Multiple generations of my family have looked after the land and maintained the buildings, all so they can pass the farm to the next son. I’m my parents’ biggest disappointment. They’ve worked all their lives to leave everything to me. And I don’t want it. Every time I call, they ask me when I’m coming home. They keep hoping I’ll grow up and come to my senses.”
“What do you say?”
“Not in the foreseeable future. I know I shouldn’t give them hope but I can’t bring myself to say never. No-one can predict the future.”
“Why can’t someone else run the farm and you still run your studio?”
“I don’t know how much money you think farmers make but there isn’t enough to pay a manager. The farm makes a family income, no more. It works because Mom and Dad both do their bit.”
“What about your sister?” I know he has one, although I’ve never spoken to her. Unlike his mother, she doesn’t call during work hours.
“She legged it before me. She’s married to a dentist in Eau Claire. But they don’t mind that. Farms are men’s work.”
I raise my eyebrows at that but I don’t comment because I know nothing about farming. Still, I’m sure the heavy work is done by tractors, not manpower. “Well, maybe a cousin or someone?”
“Farms take a lot of effort. You invest that effort, you kind of want to own it at the end. But say you built something, a thriving business, an empire, would you want to leave everything you’ve made to your niece? Or would you rather it went to your daughter?”
“Effie doesn’t have any cousins. But I take your point. So, what are you going to do when your parents pass on?” It’s an intrusive question and normally I wouldn’t dare to venture it, but he’s already alluded to inheritance.
“Probably sell the farm. They’ll be dead. They won’t know. But let’s hope they live long and healthy lives. And I get to build fun and exciting games instead of milking, breeding, and feeding cows.”
And that’s all it takes. Anders is suddenly standing in a hay barn; bales stacked against one wall. He’s shirtless, his jeans riding low on his hips. The sun has a golden quality, glinting off the paler threads in his dishevelled hair and highlighting the faint sheen of his sweat. He bends to grasp a strap in each hand, and with one smooth motion, swings the bale up and into place. When he spots me, he stands, legs apart, hands on hips, as he says, “Hi there, pretty lady.” His accent is thicker than usual, and ‘pretty’ sounds more like ‘purdy’.
I’m already in a heightened state. I feel myself heating further at the thought, a pool of warmth building in the girdle of my hips. I can sense my knickers getting damp and I’m terrified it will show if I do nothing. Anders is oblivious beside me, innocently warbling on about the farm dog while I’ve slotted him into my own little soft porn reel.
