Turbulence
Page 30
My cheeks warmed as he closed the gap between us, as he trailed his fingers against my silver flight pin.
“How long have you really been flying?” he asked.
“A year, maybe two. And yourself?”
“Twenty.”
“What?” I swallowed, silently doing the math in my head. He didn’t look any older than thirty, and even that was pushing it. “So, you’re in your early fifties? Late forties?”
Another smile. “Late thirties. Where are you headed?”
I didn’t answer. He’d stopped touching my flight pin and was looking at me with the same intensity he did when we first met.
“Do you need to look at your schedule, Gillian?” He leaned forward, whispering into my ear. “I asked where you’re heading.”
“Overseas.”
“Surely you can be more specific than that. What city?”
“London. Where are you headed?”
“London.”
The tram rounded the curve as it approached my stop and I checked his blazer for where a tell-tale Elite pin should’ve been if he flew for the same airline, but there wasn’t one. I let out a small sigh of relief.
“Well,” I said, clearing my throat. “My stop is up next. It was interesting seeing you again, Jake.”
“Only interesting?”
“Yes. Only interesting.”
He didn’t say anything else, he simply continued staring at me, making me wet without any effort at all.
“Now stopping at Terminal D. Gates 1-22.” The speaker system announced. “Please watch your step.”
Jake walked past me and suddenly stopped, looking over his shoulder. “There’s only one Elite flight heading to London this morning. This is where we need to get off for it, correct?”
My jaw dropped. I couldn’t think or get a single word to fall out of my mouth. I just stared at him as his signature, sexy smile crossed his lips, as he looked at me in the same way he did when he pushed me against his bookcase.
“Since you’re not getting off right now,” he said, stepping off and looking amused. “I’ll see you aboard.”
GATE B9
GILLIAN
In flight—> London (HTW) “Mimosa on the rocks for 3B, mineral water for 4B, and an orange juice for 4A...” I muttered under my breath as I opened an ice drawer.
I was standing in the galley closest to the cockpit, mixing pre-take-off drinks for the first class passengers. I was trying to pretend that Jake was not the pilot on this flight, that he hadn’t purposely brushed his hand against my waist when we boarded and winked at me, setting my nerves on fire all over again.
This is not happening. This is not happening...
To make matters even worse, when I ventured into the cockpit to ask him and the first officer what they wanted for lunch, I was pretty sure he said, “Is your pussy on the menu?” before coughing and asking for steak and a Coke.
“Miss Taylor?” The sound of The Hawk’s voice made me drop a stack of napkins. I turned around to face her and she frowned, motioning for me to fix my hair.
“Yes, Miss Connors?” I asked.
“Would you like to explain why the passenger in 12C has a glass of Sprite in his hand before takeoff?”
She says this like I have a choice...
“Feel free to answer me any time between now and right now, Miss Taylor.”
“He told me he was having stomach pains after eating something spicy,” I said. “I was simply going above and beyond and handling things The Elite Way.”
“No, you were not.” She glanced down the aisle and then narrowed her eyes at me. “Because in The Elite Way, there’s no way in hell that someone in economy has a glass before takeoff.”
I gave her a blank stare.
“Glasses are for first class and they’re not given until we’re in the air. Always. Passengers in economy get a bottled mini water, a smile, and a vomit bag if they’re having ‘stomach problems’ before takeoff. During flights, when we do offer them beverages, they receive plastic cups. Surely you learned this in flight attendant training and you’ve shockingly never made this mistake before, so do I really need to go into the numerous safety reasons behind glass and plastic cups during pre-take-off?”
“No, Miss Connors.”
“Good.” She snapped her fingers and pointed down the aisle. “Go get my first-class glass back. Now.”
I rolled my eyes and headed down the aisle. With her on this flight, maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t have too much time to think about Jake at all.
I kindly asked for the glass of Sprite from 12C, replaced it with a plastic cup and finished serving the remaining drinks for first class.
I double checked the manifest for the passengers’ dinner requests, made sure the overhead bins were locked shut, and watched the other two flight attendants take their time doing their jobs.
They were supposed to be assisting the last boarding passengers in business and economy, but they kept finding random reasons to come to the front of the plane to step into the cockpit. To ask Jake meaningless questions or “make sure” it was a Coke he wanted to have for a lunch beverage.
“You’ve flown with him before?” The blonde, a woman who’d introduced herself to me as Elizabeth, whispered.
“I wish.” The redhead, Janet, stared straight ahead. “I would definitely remember him. Trust me.”
“Is he wearing a wedding ring?”
“No. First thing I noticed.”
“No tan line where one should be either, just in case?”
Before she could answer, Miss Connors appeared and loudly cleared her throat. “When the two of you get done playing Cockpit Connie, would you kindly return to doing the job you get paid to do?”
The two of them blushed and quickly walked away.
I glanced toward the cockpit as Jake and the first officer looked over their weather reports and vowed not to look anymore once the door was locked.
The second boarding was complete, I completed my checklist and strapped myself into a jump-seat, grateful that this was one of the newer, more luxurious planes. There was no need for all of the flight attendants to stand in the aisle and demonstrate the safety procedures, since every headrest held its own television that played a prerecorded clip.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking...” Jake’s deep, sexy voice came over the speakers as we pushed back from the gate and rolled toward the runway. “On behalf of the flight crew, let me welcome you aboard Elite Flight 1505 to Heathrow-London. Our estimated flight time is eight hours and fifty-five minutes, and we expect this to be a very smooth flight,” he said. “If there’s anything you need during our trip, the flight attendants aboard are here to make you as comfortable as possible. Please sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight.”
I waited to hear him say the remainder of the Elite Airways spiel, especially the mandatory “I love flying for Elite and I hope you’ll love it as much as I do,” but it never came. The only sounds that came next were a beep and the sudden silence that always came before the plane ascended toward the sky.
Shutting my eyes, I tapped my fingers against my dress as the plane flew higher, as the sound of air pressure hitting the metal rushed against my ears. No matter how many times I flew, takeoff was always the most nerve-wracking part for me.
“How long have you really been flying?” he asked.
“A year, maybe two. And yourself?”
“Twenty.”
“What?” I swallowed, silently doing the math in my head. He didn’t look any older than thirty, and even that was pushing it. “So, you’re in your early fifties? Late forties?”
Another smile. “Late thirties. Where are you headed?”
I didn’t answer. He’d stopped touching my flight pin and was looking at me with the same intensity he did when we first met.
“Do you need to look at your schedule, Gillian?” He leaned forward, whispering into my ear. “I asked where you’re heading.”
“Overseas.”
“Surely you can be more specific than that. What city?”
“London. Where are you headed?”
“London.”
The tram rounded the curve as it approached my stop and I checked his blazer for where a tell-tale Elite pin should’ve been if he flew for the same airline, but there wasn’t one. I let out a small sigh of relief.
“Well,” I said, clearing my throat. “My stop is up next. It was interesting seeing you again, Jake.”
“Only interesting?”
“Yes. Only interesting.”
He didn’t say anything else, he simply continued staring at me, making me wet without any effort at all.
“Now stopping at Terminal D. Gates 1-22.” The speaker system announced. “Please watch your step.”
Jake walked past me and suddenly stopped, looking over his shoulder. “There’s only one Elite flight heading to London this morning. This is where we need to get off for it, correct?”
My jaw dropped. I couldn’t think or get a single word to fall out of my mouth. I just stared at him as his signature, sexy smile crossed his lips, as he looked at me in the same way he did when he pushed me against his bookcase.
“Since you’re not getting off right now,” he said, stepping off and looking amused. “I’ll see you aboard.”
GATE B9
GILLIAN
In flight—> London (HTW) “Mimosa on the rocks for 3B, mineral water for 4B, and an orange juice for 4A...” I muttered under my breath as I opened an ice drawer.
I was standing in the galley closest to the cockpit, mixing pre-take-off drinks for the first class passengers. I was trying to pretend that Jake was not the pilot on this flight, that he hadn’t purposely brushed his hand against my waist when we boarded and winked at me, setting my nerves on fire all over again.
This is not happening. This is not happening...
To make matters even worse, when I ventured into the cockpit to ask him and the first officer what they wanted for lunch, I was pretty sure he said, “Is your pussy on the menu?” before coughing and asking for steak and a Coke.
“Miss Taylor?” The sound of The Hawk’s voice made me drop a stack of napkins. I turned around to face her and she frowned, motioning for me to fix my hair.
“Yes, Miss Connors?” I asked.
“Would you like to explain why the passenger in 12C has a glass of Sprite in his hand before takeoff?”
She says this like I have a choice...
“Feel free to answer me any time between now and right now, Miss Taylor.”
“He told me he was having stomach pains after eating something spicy,” I said. “I was simply going above and beyond and handling things The Elite Way.”
“No, you were not.” She glanced down the aisle and then narrowed her eyes at me. “Because in The Elite Way, there’s no way in hell that someone in economy has a glass before takeoff.”
I gave her a blank stare.
“Glasses are for first class and they’re not given until we’re in the air. Always. Passengers in economy get a bottled mini water, a smile, and a vomit bag if they’re having ‘stomach problems’ before takeoff. During flights, when we do offer them beverages, they receive plastic cups. Surely you learned this in flight attendant training and you’ve shockingly never made this mistake before, so do I really need to go into the numerous safety reasons behind glass and plastic cups during pre-take-off?”
“No, Miss Connors.”
“Good.” She snapped her fingers and pointed down the aisle. “Go get my first-class glass back. Now.”
I rolled my eyes and headed down the aisle. With her on this flight, maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t have too much time to think about Jake at all.
I kindly asked for the glass of Sprite from 12C, replaced it with a plastic cup and finished serving the remaining drinks for first class.
I double checked the manifest for the passengers’ dinner requests, made sure the overhead bins were locked shut, and watched the other two flight attendants take their time doing their jobs.
They were supposed to be assisting the last boarding passengers in business and economy, but they kept finding random reasons to come to the front of the plane to step into the cockpit. To ask Jake meaningless questions or “make sure” it was a Coke he wanted to have for a lunch beverage.
“You’ve flown with him before?” The blonde, a woman who’d introduced herself to me as Elizabeth, whispered.
“I wish.” The redhead, Janet, stared straight ahead. “I would definitely remember him. Trust me.”
“Is he wearing a wedding ring?”
“No. First thing I noticed.”
“No tan line where one should be either, just in case?”
Before she could answer, Miss Connors appeared and loudly cleared her throat. “When the two of you get done playing Cockpit Connie, would you kindly return to doing the job you get paid to do?”
The two of them blushed and quickly walked away.
I glanced toward the cockpit as Jake and the first officer looked over their weather reports and vowed not to look anymore once the door was locked.
The second boarding was complete, I completed my checklist and strapped myself into a jump-seat, grateful that this was one of the newer, more luxurious planes. There was no need for all of the flight attendants to stand in the aisle and demonstrate the safety procedures, since every headrest held its own television that played a prerecorded clip.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking...” Jake’s deep, sexy voice came over the speakers as we pushed back from the gate and rolled toward the runway. “On behalf of the flight crew, let me welcome you aboard Elite Flight 1505 to Heathrow-London. Our estimated flight time is eight hours and fifty-five minutes, and we expect this to be a very smooth flight,” he said. “If there’s anything you need during our trip, the flight attendants aboard are here to make you as comfortable as possible. Please sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight.”
I waited to hear him say the remainder of the Elite Airways spiel, especially the mandatory “I love flying for Elite and I hope you’ll love it as much as I do,” but it never came. The only sounds that came next were a beep and the sudden silence that always came before the plane ascended toward the sky.
Shutting my eyes, I tapped my fingers against my dress as the plane flew higher, as the sound of air pressure hitting the metal rushed against my ears. No matter how many times I flew, takeoff was always the most nerve-wracking part for me.
