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Josh
After escaping the plane,I had to wait to be admitted back into the States before heading to the ticket counters.
There I inquired about first-class seats available to LAX on my next flight.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Benson,” I was told.
“I’m sorry, sir,” said the next airline ticket agent, followed by the same answer from the third.
Getting back through security to the gates was a uniquely unpleasant experience. I had to take my shoes and belt off, got yelled at for not taking my tablet out of my bag, was electronically frisked, and then chosen for a random pat-down. How did people put up with this shit every time they flew?
Dad would occasionally wonder if his corporate plane was worth all we paid to keep it and the crew. Today, my answer was an unqualifiedyes.
Nearly three hours later, the last few passengers were having their boarding passes scanned when I revisited the counter.
“Sorry, Mr. Benson,” the gate agent said.
I got in line behind the last person and readied my boarding pass: seat 34A. At least it wasn’t a middle seat.
The lady in front of me turned to hand over her sheet of paper. It was Cheetos Granny from my last flight.
At the bottom of the jetway, I pulled a sweatshirt from my carry-on and handed the bag to the agent to check. I knew now that as the last one to board, I had no hope of finding overhead space for it. I kept my small backpack and my plastic bag of dinner.
No wonder airlines had a greater proportion of unhappy customers than any other business. When dentists beat you out for the bottom of the list, you’re definitely doing things wrong.
When I reached row 29, I figured out the bad news. With five more rows to go, I realized I’d been assigned the very last one on the airplane.
Granny also reached the last row and put her purse down on the aisle seat on my side of the plane. “Hello, dear,” she said.
The girl in the middle seat rose. “Are you in here?”
My heart sped up. It was my almost-dessert date from last night—the green-eyed beauty—Nicole.
Chapter 4
Nicole
“No,dear, I’m on the aisle,” the gray-haired lady said.
“I’m the window seat,” the man behind her said. His lips tipped up in a smile as our eyes met. It was my rescuer from last night, Mr. Studious.
The older lady moved to allow me out so Studious could slide in.
I followed him, and my hand brushed his as we both searched for our seatbelts. The gentle shock was like a spark of static electricity.
“I think that one’s mine,” he said, looking at the two buckle ends in my hands.
The spark of his touch had short-circuited my brain. “Oh, yeah, sorry.” I traded the buckle for the tab end he held.
When my eyes rose to meet his, he smiled again. “Recover okay from your swim?”
Heat rose in my cheeks. “Yes…and thank you. That was embarrassing.”
He offered his hand. “Josh. Josh Benson.” His pale blue eyes held me captive.
I shook with him. “Nicole Rossi, but you already know that.”
