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The sense of satisfaction Greg felt lasted only as long as it took to get to the galley and start his preflight check and was replaced with chagrin. He’d liked Holden. He’d liked him enough to say yes when Holden asked—he’d asked!—if they could kiss, and he’d been disappointed when Holden said he was leaving in the morning and couldn’t do dinner. Well, that had turned out to be a lie, and Greg wondered how long it had taken Holden to find a more willing hookup for the night after he left Neon.
Serves me right for thinking a guy at a club would be looking for anything but ass, Greg thought as he brought out the safety spiel props. Sandy, the lead crew member, had picked up a sore throat on their flight into LAX and asked him to do the talk while she held up the seat belt and oxygen mask and demonstrated the flotation device.
As they pushed away from the gate, Greg got on the PA to welcome everyone aboard.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. On behalf of our flight crew, Captain Stinson, and myself, we’d like to welcome you aboard.”
All except the asshole in 4C, that is.
Greg forced a smile onto his face, knowing that would help him sound friendlier and more welcoming.
“We’re flying to Denver, so if that wasn’t in your plans, I’m sorry to say it is now.” Greg heard a few laughs from the people seated near the galley, which helped as he continued with the usual script about how to operate the buckle on the seat belt, what to do if there was a loss of cabin pressure, location of the emergency exits, and how to respond in the event of an emergency landing. As he spoke, he glanced up the aisle and noticed Holden had shifted in his seat. His profile and so-sexy-salt-and-pepper hair were visible, and he was clearly listening as Greg spoke. Greg doubted he was actually listening for the safety information.
“In the event of a water landing…” Greg said into the microphone, continuing with the script while his brain added,boot the guy in 4C out the door first and use him as a flotation device. Greg shook his head to get rid of the image even though it amused him. It would be too easy to flub up and embarrass himself, so he forced his gaze away from Holden and focused on the people closest to him.
He got through the rest of the script without incident and repacked the props, by which time the pilot was telling the flight attendants to prepare for takeoff. Greg strapped himself into the jump seat next to the galley. While he loved everything about his job, takeoffs were stressful for him. The shaking and turbulence sometimes made him sick to his stomach, so he massaged a pressure point on his right wrist and tried to think of anything but the movement of the plane as it picked up speed.
Of course, his mind went right back to Holden.
After they’d parted ways at Neon, Greg had had every intention of texting him once he got his phone fixed. The likelihood they’d ever see each other again was next to nil, but there was always a chance. Greg hoped if he got to know Holden by texting, the connection he’d felt at the club could grow into something. Or he’d find out the guy wasn’t worth it and save himself the familiar heartbreak of investing time and energy into someone who disappeared as soon as they realized Greg wasn’t going to be the quick fuck they were looking for.
Unfortunately, the universe had had other plans. His final day off before the flight out to Hawaii had been spent running errands. His annual CD4 count was due, and Greg had put it off as long as possible. The trip to the clinic was a yearly reminder of one of the worst mistakes he’d ever made, a catastrophic error in judgment memorialized by a lifetime of blood draws and medication because of an asshole Greg had trusted. An asshole who’d then stealthed him after Greg agreed to bottom for him, then disappeared like he’d never existed.
If he’d trusted himself more, gotten to know the guy more, kept penetrative sex off the table a little bit longer until he was absolutely sure, refused to bottom… Those were roads he’d been down before and didn’t need to go down again. It was what it was, and he needed to take care of himself, so no matter how much it was a yearly reminder of Wes, he’d gone to the clinic for his blood test, gotten his monthly antiretroviral injection, and then moved on to the iPhone screen repair shop on Sunset. It was a few blocks down from Neon, and Greg was thinking about the kiss he’d shared with Holden and finally being able to text his silver fox when the guy at the store handed the phone back to him and told him it was a total goner. Apparently, the booted bear who’d stepped on it had damaged more than the screen.
“You’re going to be lucky to get anything off it that isn’t saved to the cloud, man, I’m sorry.”
“It worked last night,” Greg told him, and the guy shrugged.
“Don’t know what to tell you, but it’s totally bricked now.”
Greg had stared at his phone for nearly a minute before accepting the reality that he needed to get a new one and that the silver fox was going to remain a fantasy in the land of what-if unless Holden contacted him.
A week later, when he and the flight crew jogged down the jetway, Greg was no longer hoping for a text from the man he’d kissed at Neon, no matter how often thoughts of Holden still crossed his mind. He had two weeks’ vacation to spend with his family, and the prospect of having his mom pamper him a bit couldn’t have come at a better time. His fellow attendants were teasing him about it when they’d stepped over the threshold of the plane, and Greg nearly tripped as his gaze zeroed right in on Holden sitting in the last row in first class. What. The. Fucking. Fuck?
Regardless of the asshole in 4C, Greg had a job to do, so he focused on doing it. Announcements. Check. Takeoff. Check. Setting up the beverage service. Check. He was crouched down to retrieve some bottles of Bloody Mary mix when someone stopped in the entrance to the galley. Greg would have thought it was a passenger coming to use the lavatory after the captain turned off the seat belt sign, but he knew better. For one thing, he could smell that oh-so-delicious cologne that Holden had worn at Neon.
Greg stole a quick glance upward. Fortunately, the beverage cart blocked most of his view, or else Greg would have been at eye level with Holden’s dick. He could only really see Holden from the waist up, and, well, yes, the man was still silver-fox sexy. Maybe even more so now that Greg could actually see him in daylight.
Without Neon’s flashing lights casting shadows, Holden had a beautifully weathered complexion, like he spent a lot of time out of doors. Greg remembered thinking he looked like he hiked or went rock climbing when they met at the club. Instead of slacks and a white button-up, Holden wore a navy business suit with a light blue shirt, but it looked tailored to fit his broad shoulders and trim waist perfectly. He’d paired it with a silver tie and pocket square, obviously dressed for business. Whatever Holden did for a living, he was clearly successful at it.
Greg slowly rose from his crouched position until he was at eye level with Holden. They stared at each other for a moment, and Greg fully expected Holden to say something. When he didn’t, Greg turned away and fiddled with the cart, adding some more bags of chips, even though the basket was already full.
When Holden still didn’t say anything, Greg took matters into his own hands. “Can I help you with something, sir?” he asked.
“You told me you’d text.”
He fumbled a couple of bags, and they fell to the galley’s small counter, their plastic wrappers crinkling as they landed.
Embarrassed as well as pissed, Greg turned his head and looked over his shoulder. “And you told me you’d be in Virginia.” He turned back to the chips, gathering the fallen bags and sorting them back into their storage bin. “If there’s nothing I can do for you, sir, I suggest you return to your seat.”
“Need a hand with anything?” Paul asked as he slid around Holden and into the galley.
Greg breathed out a sigh of relief that there was now a buffer between him and Holden and silently thanked Paul for looking out for him.
“Nope. I’ve got it,” Greg told him.
“Can I get you anything?” the attendant asked Holden, and Greg smiled slightly at the very clear fuck-off-now look on Paul’s face. They all ran interference for each other when passengers seemed to be pushing boundaries they shouldn’t, and Paul was a thirty-year veteran who had seen enough shit that he was always looking out for the younger crew members.
