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“How are we going to do that? The flight goes to San Francisco, but you’re going home to Alaska, and I’m going to Chicago.”
He tilts his head and leans forward until his breath is on my forehead. “No, Calvert. I’m going to Chicago with you.”
“What? How?”
“On a plane, of course.”
“Don’t you have to be back soon to run your business?”
“I told you I spend a lot of time in Chicago. It’s the hub for the central United States as far as seafood. That and Smith and Wollensky treats me very well when I visit. Do you ever eat there?”
“It’s a little out of my normal dinner spending range.”
He pulls out his phone. “Well, I’m making a reservation for us. Saturday at eight?”
Before I can answer, he opens the door and looks both ways for the flight crew, only to come face to face with an older woman with cropped gray hair. “Excuse me, ma’am,” Maddox says, walking out of the bathroom and exposing me to the woman. Even worse, he zips his pants and readjusts his belt right in front of her. My face must show the embarrassment and horror of being caught in the bathroom with a man, and heat creeps up my back as I smooth my skirt.
“Why are you both in the restroom?” the woman asks in an Australian accent, not putting two and two together.
“We were fucking,” Maddox deadpans, and my mouth drops open. “Mile high club, you know? Good times. You ever do that when you were younger?”
The woman clutches her chest, and I stumble forward to catch her if she falls. Is she going to have a heart attack?
Maddox puts his arms out and stops me before I can check on the woman, and it’s a good thing he does. She grits her teeth and shakes her finger at us, her nails close to my face. “That’s unacceptable and disgusting.”
Maddox straightens. “Actually, it was quite lovely as far as getting laid in a toilet goes. I know I said we were fucking, but it was really more along the lines of love making. See, I quite adore this woman here, and I can’t keep my hands off her. I intend to spend a lot of time with her in bathrooms, sleeping bags, or any place she’ll have me. Incidentally, I didn’t see you in first class. This is the first-class restroom,” he says, patting the door frame. “Shall I call for the crew to guide you to your restroom, or would you like to use this one now that it’s vacant? I’d watch where you sit, though. I can get a bit messy.”
The woman backs away and grits her teeth as Maddox, ever the calm billionaire, leans against the wall. I stick my head out the door and watch the woman stomp down the aisle back to coach, exhaling a sigh of relief. “You know, I was in coach and visiting the first-class bathroom. Are you going to have the crew escort me back?”
He reaches for my hand. “No, Calvert. Your seat isn’t in coach.”
“I’m pretty sure I had a coach ticket.”
“You did, but I bought two first-class tickets when I saw you were on my flight. Conveniently, the seat next to me was open. Care for a glass of champagne and some cross-ocean canoodling?”
“Canoodling?”
“Do the cool kids still say that?”
“I don’t think the cool kids ever said that,” I say, walking behind Maddox and stopping at two seats with soft blankets and video game consoles. “I’ve never been in first class before.”
“It’s nice,” he says, guiding me into the window seat. “I mean, it’s not as nice as private charter, but they bring us ice cream around the time everyone wakes up.”
I settle into the seat and recline it back to a reasonable sleeping position as Maddox pulls the blanket over me and kisses me on the forehead. “See, Calvert, this is better than a sleeping bag, and nobody will bother us if we want to sneak in a raunchy hand job.”
I giggle and snuggle into him as he positions himself next to me, takes a drink from a bottle of water, and pulls me to his chest. His heart pounds loudly under my cheek, and he clears his throat just as my eyes start to close from sexual exhaustion, early jet lag, relief, or some combination of all three. Maybe it’s the exhaustion of knowing I’ll have to change the story yet again for Mr. Gosnell on my flight back to Chicago.
I’m going to write the story as it happened, not leaving anything or anyone out this time. Well, maybe I’ll leave out the hot bathroom sex.
“I do intend to have dinner with you Saturday, Calvert,” Maddox murmurs against my ear. “And pretty much every weekend after that until I can figure out how to make things a little more permanent if we get along. You good with that?”
“For now,” I mumble into his shirt that’s still wet with my spit.
Epilogue
Six months later…
Peytonreallyshouldn’tsmokejoints before important events.
