The steady rhythm of our piston,
Smooth and lubricated,
Internally combusting in my head,
Revving me up with each mile marker…
The thought of performing road head on my neighbor came unbidden, and my eyes snapped open to dispel the visual. I hadn’t even gotten a good look at him and now my sex-starved brain was already inserting him into fantasies? Stupid brain. It’d been six months since I’d last gotten laid, but I could tell that Crotch Guy was not my type. Definitely not.
Crotch Guy turned another page, and I felt his arm shift again. I pretended to look out the window at the rain and used my peripheral vision to glance his way, just to confirm how not-my-type he was.
He was probably close to my age, but it was hard to tell. I’d been mistaken for anywhere from 20 to 35, and the same could be said about him. I was surprised at how well he was built—lean and long, with tan, muscular arms. His t-shirt hugged his chest, and I bit my lip as I studied the outline of his shapely pecs. I was definitely more of a pecs girl than an ass girl, and I could not deny the appeal of his. And underneath, there was no sign of a paunch; just the opposite.
A neatly trimmed beard darkened his chin and jaw, which he thoughtfully rubbed as he read. I peeked at the book. It was some thick fantasy or sci-fi looking book by Something or Other Liu.
Yup. No thanks.
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes again, satisfied with my findings, as the plane took off and left JFK behind.
Chapter 2
-Ian-
She’d been checking me out. I could tell because I’d been secretly checking her out. But after looking-not-looking my way, she closed her eyes and withdrew into whatever she was listening to (The Llama People, according to her phone). Guess she wasn’t impressed.
My back was still sore from the previous night’s climbing session, so I took a moment to roll my neck and shoulders, which felt amazing, but more importantly offered me the opportunity to casually glance at my aisle-seat companion. Her long, wavy black hair transitioned to a deep teal on the ends, and her thick eyeliner and cute sapphire nose stud contrasted starkly with her creamy white skin. My eyes followed the deep v-neck of her flimsy pink blouse, which revealed her modest, but still very appealing cleavage...and also revealed how cold she was. Ahem. Goosebumps peppered her forearm, which was rigid on her half of the armrest where it firmly pushed against my own.
She looked like she could use a hoodie, and luckily, there was one just sitting in my lap. Perhaps unluckily, her eyes were closed and her earphones were blaring music in the universal do not disturb sign. So I didn’t bother her—I could take a hint.
But when she shivered a moment later, visibly uncomfortable, I took action.
I lightly tapped her hand, which immediately earned me an annoyed scowl. She removed an earbud to hear me say, “Hey, I know this is kind of forward, but you look cold. Do you want to borrow this?” I held up my warm, gray, Stumpstash-branded hoodie.
Her nose twitched and she scowled even harder, as if I were offering her a live squid instead of an article of clothing. But after a moment, she ran her hands up and down her arms and answered, “Yeah, thanks. It is really cold on this stupid plane.” I nodded and handed her the hoodie, which she quickly slipped around her shoulders and zipped up to her chin. It looked good on her, better than it looked on me.
She shot me an appreciative smile. “Thank you. This is much better.”
“Sure. I hope you’ve got warmer clothes in your bag. People always think it’s warm in California, but it’s almost always chilly in SF.”
“Oh.” She frowned, then asked, “Really? Even in…ah...” Her brow furrowed in thought, “Marin County?”
“Oh yeah, definitely. It’s nice during the day sometimes, but evenings can get pretty cold. Is that where you’re headed?”
Pouting slightly, she nodded. “Yeah. For a wedding.”
“Oh...huh. Not Cassie and Michael’s, by any chance?” I asked, hopeful. How many weddings could there have been in Marin County that weekend?
Her eyes widened. “Uhhh, actually, I am.” She paused her music and took out her other earphone, giving me her full attention. “I’m Anna, nice to meet you. How do you know them?”
I snapped my book shut and shook her offered hand, which was long-fingered and creamy soft. Shame that she wasn’t a climber. “I’m Ian, I’m a colleague of Cassie’s. We both work at Stumpstash, but I’m based in the New York office and she’s in the SF office. What about you?”
“I was her college roommate.”
“Well, nice to me—wait, you’re her college roommate?” I rubbed my chin, recalling what Cassie had told me about her college roomie.
“Yeah, why?”
I chuckled, the details clicking into place. “She told me about you.”
Her eyes narrowed, clearly suspicious, but she playfully asked, “What’d she say?” When I only chuckled again, she casually flipped her hair behind her shoulder and said,”C’mon, you can’t just say that and then not tell me.”
“Well...she told me that you love music. That you write about it and create awesome playlists. That you live in New York.” I leaned towards her across the armrest, then whispered conspiratorially, “And that you don’t date Asian guys.”
She stiffened beside me, then exhaled slowly. Didn’t back away, just coolly met my eyes. “Is that so? And why was she telling you that about me?”
I hoped that I hadn’t just gotten Cassie in trouble. Cassie and I’d been a couple of beers in when she’d started telling me about Anna, and her filters usually disintegrated after just one.
Leaning
