Mister Weston

Blushing, she suddenly sat up and pulled the sheets over herself. “I thought you’d left.”

“I’m about to.” I pulled a shirt over my head and double checked my pocket for the room key.

Grabbing my phone off the the TV stand, I checked the time. Four o’clock.

We fucked for four hours?

“What’s your line for the rest of this month?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. You think I know that by heart?”

“I know mine by heart.”

She furrowed her brow, but she didn’t argue further. Still holding the sheets around herself, she leaned over and grabbed her phone. She tapped the screen a few times and my phone vibrated seconds later with a series of text messages.

GILLIAN: HNL-JFK. JFK-MIA. MIA-PHX. PHX-ATL. ATL-SFO. SFO-LGA.

Gillian: [image]

Gillian: [image]

I LOOKED AT THE DATES attached to each trip and noticed we’d both be in New York City for the last four days of next month, but I didn’t mention it. This needed to be pure and simple sex with a dash of her required “cordial” conversations and that was it.

“I’ll see you in Phoenix on the fifteenth,” I said. “I’ll let you know where to meet me in the airport.

“That’s five days from now.”

“I’m aware. Is that a problem?”

“No.” She shrugged. “It’s just that...You don’t strike me as the type that’s capable of holding off from sex for that long. Actually, someone I dated once told me that’s too long for a guy to go without sex.”

“Then you need to date better people.” I rolled my eyes. “With the exception of today, I haven’t fucked anyone since that day I was with you at The Madison.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” I watched her sheet slowly shift, exposing her hardened nipples.

“So, you’ve been thinking about me all this time, too?”

“I’ve been thinking about fucking you all this time,” I said. “I don’t and won’t know you, remember?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” She smiled. “I didn’t mention this before, but I won’t be able to meet you anywhere the last Saturday of next month. Familial obligation.”

“That’s fine. I’ll never be able to meet you on the third weekend of any month. Personal reasons.”

“Would you like to talk about it? I can make coffee.”

I blinked.

She really is the ‘after a boyfriend’ type...

“Is that a yes to the coffee?” she asked, standing up from the bed—sweat from our sex still glistening against her skin. “Caffeine or decaf?”

I didn’t answer. I took one last look at her and left before the sight of her body would make me want to have her all over again.

I took the elevator to my room, took a cold shower, and lay back on my bed. Unable to sleep, I checked my email—seeing a new email from Elite at the top of my inbox.

SUBJECT: ANNUAL ELITE Airways Gala. Last Chance to RSVP.

Mr. Weston,

We know you’ve received variations of this message multiple times this month, but we felt the need to send it again.

Attached you will find a formal invitation to our airline’s annual gala. This year, we’re unveiling a new design and celebrating our latest milestone. We’ll also be honoring the lives lost on the only tragedy at our airline, the victims of Flight 1872. Whether you’re able to attend this year’s event or not, we’d appreciate your response.

Employee Affairs Department

Elite Air

I STARTED AT THE PHRASE regarding Flight 1872, shocked and surprised that the truth could finally come to the light. I thought that maybe, just maybe, it would be the first step to not hating this criminal airline, and maybe another step toward sleeping well for more than a few nights at a time.

Against my better judgment, I opened the invite and selected “Yes.” Then I rolled back over and tried to sleep Gillian and her pussy away.

I made it five minutes before my phone buzzed with a text message.

GILLIAN: What’s **your** room number?

GATE B13

GILLIAN

Phoenix (PHX)

MY FINGERS TREMBLED as I sent an “I’m here” text message to Jake, as I stood in an unconstructed bathroom in Phoenix’s airport waiting for him. I’d somehow managed to lie to Miss Connors with a straight face when we landed, telling her that I would have to check into the hotel later since a “college friend” had just messaged me on Facebook saying he was nearby.

I wasn’t sure if the expression on her face was annoyance or relief, but she’d pulled out her clipboard and written me up for “failure to comply with protocol” before heading to the hotel herself.

As the sound of passengers and rolling luggage sounded outside the bathroom’s doors, I considered leaving—letting Jake know that I wasn’t cut out for this after all. I pulled up my text messages, starting to type, but he suddenly walked into the restroom.

“Hi...” I said. “Are we going to your hotel now? It’s not the same Marriott, is it?”

He looked confused, setting his carryon against the wall before walking over to me. “Who said anything about a hotel?”