I did as I was told. I held my breath, and I waited. In another couple of seconds, I saw that he was right. The storm that had seemed hell bent on driving us and all of those on board into the ground just an eyeblink ago was gone. Just like that, we were back to smooth sailing, and when I looked at Drew, he was smiling a wide, arrogant grin.
"Hey there, pilot, don't get too cocky now. You may have won the bet, but you made one big mistake."
“Did I?” he asked as he raised one eyebrow, making him look like some kind of rogue James Bond and setting my heart to pounding all over again. “And what might that have been?”
“You didn’t set any parameters for what would happen if I lost.”
"You're right, I didn't. Rookie mistake."
"Don't beat yourself up,” I said. “I have a younger sister, so I'm pretty accustomed to the intricate ins and outs of these sorts of things."
He laughed loudly, probably riding his own adrenaline high, and without thinking about it first, I leaned forward and put my hand over his again. There was a crackle of electricity when the two of us touched, the kind of shock you got after rubbing a carpet for too long, but I let my hand stay where it was. I had something to say, and I was going to say it, even if I had to give myself a freaking heart attack in order to do it.
“You were pretty amazing just now, you know?”
“Aw shucks, me?” he said, joking.
“No, seriously, you were. I’ve seen plenty of pilots, and not all of them would have kept their head as well as you did. I would say most of them wouldn’t have. The way you handled that was pretty fantastic. You’re very skilled.”
“Don’t give me too much credit, Jess. You don’t know me yet.”
"I don't have to,” I said. “Not to know I'm right about this. That took skill, and it took guts. I appreciate those things. If all of those passengers out there understood how well you just handled that storm, they would say the exact same thing."
“Have dinner with me,” he said.
“Wait, what? Did you—?”
"Did I just ask you out? Is that what you were going to say? Because if it is, then the answer is yes. I know you weren't coming onto me just now. I'm not an idiot, but I don't care. When we land, have dinner with me. If you think you might be interested, that is."
All of the reminders I'd given myself earlier about the fact that I didn't date pilots went flying back through my head. All of those self-delivered warnings were not only still true, but something told me that Drew Larson came with a whole other unique set of warning bells of his own. He was too good looking, for one thing, and I had a pretty good idea that the same thing that had allowed him to maneuver that storm meant that he was reckless in other parts of his life. These were all things I knew, all things I understood very well, and yet when I gave him my answer it went against all of these sound judgm
ents.
“All right,” I said.
“All right? That’s a yes?”
“It’s a yes.”
“Don’t look so excited,” he said, grinning and squeezing the hand I was still half holding. “I promise I’ll try to keep it from being too miserable a time.”
A knock on the cabin door put a stop to any further flirtation that might have taken place between the two of us. Both Drew and I looked up at the video screen at the same time and saw the elusive pilot, Fred Stevens, standing there, one hand clamped firmly down on his forehead.
“What the fuck?” Drew muttered, his frown returning instantaneously. “What, he thought it might be time to rejoin us now that all the danger is over?”
"I'll let him in,” I said. “Hopefully, the second half of the flight isn't quite so eventful as the first half."
There was a pang of regret at having to leave the cabin and Drew, but I shook it off as best as I could. This was my job, after all, not a dating service, and it was probably a very good thing for me to get away from Drew and clear my head some. I pulled the cabin door open and then held both of my hands up, staving off the full weight of Stevens as he lurched forward and almost knocked me completely over.
"Woah there,” he said. “Sorry about that, honey. I had a little mishap, and I'm feeling a little woozy. Might have to let the boy here take over the rest of the flight, if he thinks he can handle it."
"He can handle it," I answered quickly, watching Fred Stevens with a wary eye. "Are you sure you're going to be all right? It looks like you took a nasty hit to the head."
“I did indeed, my girl. Fortunately, one of your lovely colleagues took it upon herself to repair me. Nothing that a little bit of time won’t fix, right? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to take my seat back.”
I hurried back to where my designated seat was. The storm appeared to be over, but that didn't necessarily mean it was. Being belted in seemed like the smartest move while it was still an option. That was part of it. The other part was that I was feeling sort of woozy myself, but for a reason unrelated to what I'd just experienced.
My head was spinning because of what I'd noticed as I'd passed by Fred Stevens. Or, to be more specific, what I had smelled. It was always possible that it was my imagination, but when the two of us had passed by each other, I was almost positive I had smelled liquor on his breath.