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“Sure, laugh at me. Next time you’re not so hot to do something, I’m going to cackle like an old man.”
“Sir, do you need something?” asks the flight attendant. Her tight smile is about as successful at hiding her annoyance as Charlotte is about hiding her perverse pleasure in my anxiety.
“Scotch, please.” I tack on the courtesy so I don’t go over the line from irritating to insufferable.
“We have don’t have any actual Scotch, but we do have an assortment of whiskeys.”
“What kind?”
“Dewar’s, Canadian, and Jack Daniels,” she recites.
They all sound bad. Charlotte flicks her eyes in warning, which I translate to mean don’t get difficult about the poor ass selection of liquor offerings on this plane.
“Jack, neat.” I sigh and take my seat.
“Anything for you, miss?” she asks Charlotte.
“I’ll have a mimosa, thank you.” As the flight attendant leaves to prepare our drinks, Charlotte turns to me. “For all your Spartan living, you certainly have not forsaken all your expensive tastes. I saw that bottle of aged bourbon in your cabinet. Do your teammates know what they’re drinking?”
I stretch out my arms and legs, not to loosen my limbs but to take a measurement of the interior space. It’s cramped, even up here. I concentrate on taking measured, even breaths. “No. They only know I serve the best booze on the team. Most of these guys wouldn’t know the difference between whiskey and bourbon. What matters to them is that it tastes good and goes down smooth. That the burn is something to savor rather than endure.” As I inhale, a faint floral scent fills my lungs. I lean over and murmur into her pink shell ear. “Kind of like when I’m taking you.”
She flushes lightly and licks her lips, knowing exactly what I’m talking about. The past few nights we’ve enjoyed marathon love-making sessions. About the third round, she’s tender and swollen and, despite my having jacked into her multiple times, very tight. I have to work my way into her cunt. Thinking about her slick, snug walls takes my mind off this tin can and its unknown pilot.
“I know something that would distract me,” I say huskily. I slip a hand behind her neck, and with slow and deliberate pressure, I compel her toward me. Her eyelids begin to fall as if the sexual intent in my eyes is too much for her to look at. Our mouths are a scant inch apart when a discreet cough from the aisle causes Charlotte to jerk back.
“Here’s your drink, ma’am.” The stewardess stretches across me to hand Charlotte a champagne flute and then takes the shorter glass off her tray for me.
“Thank you,” I mumble. The ice cubes clink against the side of the glass. Did I ask for ice cubes? I hadn’t meant to. I swallow the entire contents down and suck one ice cube into my mouth. The interruption irritates me. Just another reason why we should be flying in a private plane. I could have Charlotte in my lap, my fingers in her jeans and my tongue in her mouth without any coughing flight attendants.
“Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not going to happen,” Charlotte says and starts thumbing through the magazine again.
“The bathrooms are too damn small anyway,” I grumpily respond as the doors close. The sense of suffocation hits me again, and I dig my fingers into the metal ends of our seats. I need about four more drinks. Maybe she should just bring me the bottle.
“You do dangerous things all of the time. Your job is literally risking your life on a daily basis. You jump out of airplanes and helicopters. You swim across the ocean. You go into situations where people are shooting at you, but you’re a nervous flier?” Charlotte asks incredulously.
“The people who fly me are highly trained professionals. I have no idea about the people flying this plane. They could be former Air Force people, or they could be guys who learned to fly on puddle jumpers.”
She coughs into her hand, makes a strangled noise, and then bursts out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I snap.
“You! Big bad Nathan Jackson is afraid of flying. You’re so invincible. It’s nice to see you have vulnerabilities.”
“Thanks,” I say sourly. I can feel my own cheeks heat up.
Still laughing, she reaches over the wide console and places her soft hand on my cheek. With a light tug on my T-shirt, she pulls me down to place a warm kiss against my lips.
And she doesn’t stop.
Since she doesn’t care what anyone else around us thinks, neither do I. With her lips on mine, it really doesn’t matter who’s flying the plane. It could be a monkey. The rest of the flight goes by fine after she orders me another drink and forces Dramamine down my throat.
* * *
