It was a comparison I had never thought to make, or maybe never dared to make. Now that Emma had put it out there, though, it was something I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about. Emma didn’t remember a whole lot about her Dad. She had told me so on more than one occasion, and although it broke my heart a little, it wasn’t exactly a surprise.
She had only been five when the cancer had taken Matt, and that was very young to hold onto memories. Because I knew that about her, I knew she couldn’t understand that she’d hit on a very legitimate point. Matt had been a serious kind of man, far more serious than any of the men I had dated before or after him. Maybe that was where my fear with Drew was really coming from. Maybe it wasn’t the fact that he was a pilot, or that I still didn’t know him all that well.
Maybe the fear wasn’t that he would not be worth my time, but instead, that he was.
Chapter 10: Drew
“So, what do you say, Mr. Larson? Are you coming?”
“Yeah, are you coming with us?”
The two flight attendants looked at me with faux innocence and then dissolved into a fit of giggles. I knew they thought they were being flirtatious, but it wasn’t working on me. I wondered to myself what they would think if they knew I couldn’t even remember their names and thought better of telling them.
They were silly, stereotypical women, and they were annoying the shit out of me. But that didn’t mean I had to be an outright dick to them. It wasn’t like they were even blips on my radar, anyway. Just another set of flight attendants on another anonymous flight.
“No, I think I’m going to pass,” I said. “Thank you for the invitation, though.”
“Boo,” flight attendant number one said with a pouty lip poked out like a little kid. “That is not the answer we were hoping for.”
“Oh, Not the answer we were hoping for at all,” flight attendant number two chimed in, her expression just as sulky as the one her friend was wearing.
"I'm sorry to disappoint, but I'm not up for it tonight. I've been flying too much lately to keep my head on straight, and I need some sleep. Believe me. I wouldn't be any fun. And I'm sure there are plenty of other pilots in the lounge who would love to take my place with two girls who look like you. Honestly, you should go and check it out. I'm sure some poor bastard in there would be over the moon about it."
Although it was clear that both girls were disappointed by my rejection, I thought I had done enough ego stroking to have them heading out for the night feeling okay about things. That was good. I had no desire for drama, and at the moment, no desire for any sexy flight attendants. I already had one of those, and she was more than enough for me.
“All right, suit yourself,” flight attendant number one called over her shoulder as they made their way off the plane. “But whoever she is, she’s one lucky bitch.”
The two women dissolved into laughter again and were gone, leaving me the last person on the plane. Grinning to myself, I collected my things and left as well. I wasn't interested in the flight attendants, but on second thought, I might be interested in a drink in the lounge as well.
This had been a good flight. The plane's captain had been efficient, professional, and best of all, sober. I had been feeling good for the duration of the flight, and the mention of the "lucky bitch" I was seeing only helped to improve my mood. I wouldn't have ever even thought about calling her a bitch, and as far as I was concerned, I was the lucky one, but still.
Jess and I hadn't had a flight with each other since the one to Dallas, and that had made things hard. Even when two people had the same flight schedules, dating in the air could be difficult. It was a strange schedule to keep, and sometimes, the constant access to strange rooms and the strange people who filled them could make fidelity and honesty in a relationship brutal.
I had never been one for either of those things at the best of times, but somehow, for some reason, I had been making it work with Jess. We'd only been dating for about a month, which wasn't that long according to most people's standards, but for me, it might as well have been a fucking century. Three or four dates in, I was still hooked on Jess, and th
at felt like some kind of miracle. Thinking about her made me smile, and I pulled out my cell, tempted to call her, despite the fact that it was already late enough for her to be asleep. Jess had texted me.
“Hey, mister. Emma and I are off to bed. Hope you had the best flight and can’t wait till we get to see each other again.”
I sighed, feeling love-struck and wishing I could hear her voice as I returned my phone to my pocket. Lately, I’d been thinking that maybe it was time to try and do something about how different our schedules were.
There was plenty of uncertainty involved with air crew scheduling, and that was no secret. Anyone who took a job on a crew knew to expect that. That being said, it didn't mean we were completely helpless. It wasn't a guarantee that we could do something about our different schedules, but there was precedent for changing things up.
We were allowed to put in requests for our schedules, and there had been plenty of people to put those requests in so that they could fly as a couple. I had been thinking about that a lot lately, and there was only one thing that was stopping me. In our world, the world of the air crew, putting in a request like that was the same as announcing yourself as a couple on fucking social media.
I could ask Jess what she thought about the requests, and I had a pretty good feeling she would be down for it, but I wasn't sure that I was. I wasn't sure that I was ready for that kind of a step. The minute we talked to somebody about having our schedules matched up, our casual dating would be a thing of the past. Instead, it would become a bona fide relationship. It would take things to the next level, and that was something I had sworn I would never do again, after losing Alice.
“Hey, motherfucker!” a voice called out.
My head jerked to the right, but before I had time to speak, somebody was grabbing my arm and yanking me into one of the little airport alcoves I had to pass by to get to the Lounge. I spun around, fist up, ready to punch the lights out of whoever was trying to mess with me. When I saw who the would-be assailant was, though, I let my fist fall. I wasn't sure what I had been expecting, but it wasn't this.
"What do you want, Fred? Don't you know this isn't an appropriate thing to do? Because it isn't, in case, you were on the fence about things."
Fred Stevens stood before me, a defiant look on his face. One might have thought that a man doing something as weird as this would have the decency to look a little embarrassed, but I didn't see a trace of that on Stevens. That wasn't the only thing I noticed about him, either. It was pretty hard not to be caught off guard by how terrible he looked.
He looked like total shit. His face had gone unshaven for at least a week, and his hair looked greasy and unwashed. His clothes were rumpled and unkempt, giving me the impression that they hadn't been washed or changed for several days at the very least. On top of all of that, he positively stank of alcohol.
It clung to him like an invisible cloak, reminding me of that Peanuts character who was always surrounded by a cloud of dirt. This was the perfect picture of a man who had tried very hard to obliterate himself completely with drinking, and when he hadn't been able to manage it, he'd come looking for me.