A quick glance to the alarm clock on my roommate’s desk in our dorm shows that I am running behind schedule. I start jamming anything I see into a red duffle bag and dial a taxi at the same time. I’m always running late and it shows. I will end up in Florida with no toothbrush and thirty pairs of panties for a five day trip. The night before I’d been working nonstop on my final papers that I was confident I would be able to pack everything I need in the hour lag time between economics and when I need to be at the airport.
It wasn’t. I am screwed in so many more ways than one.
***
My mouth is full of cotton from being exposed to the dry air of the airport. It also doesn’t help that it has been gaped wide open for at least ten minutes. My eyes toggle from the snow flurries outside and the departure screen that announces all flights out of John F. Kennedy Airport are cancelled.
Cancelled.
Not delayed, not hold on, not we will get you on the next flight sometime or somehow. Nope. Nothing to help us figure out what the hell to do. They are all just cancelled. I can’t wrap my mind around spending the indefinite future at this airport with thousands of other irritated people, waiting to take off for the holiday. This has never happened to me before and well, what do people do? Do they just stand here like idiots? I look out the windows and back to the monitors.
“But it isn’t even snowing!” I scream at the monitors. “You all are a bunch of pussies! This is what you’re trained for!”
I hear a low chuckle behind me. I whip around to find a tall blond guy in what appears to be in a pilot uniform.
“Please. Tell me what you really think,” he bemuses, crossing his arms over his chest.
He is hot, yes. The whole pilot thing is really doing it for him, but fuck – this is the last person I want to find attractive right now.
“Why?” I whine.
“Why were they cancelled?” he asks, flicking his eyes up to the screens.
I nod, giving him a “duh” look. “Yes, why they all are cancelled. You’re the expert.” Okay, I feel a little brazen and maybe a bit petulant.
“Well, New York may not be in storm trouble right now, but there are two very large storms coming this way, one heading up from the south, the other heading from the west. Any flight that goes out today won’t be able to stop unless they are headed south of Costa Rica. It’s actually the worst weather I have seen in years.” His facial expression turns grim as he appears to think about something.
“What? Sad you won’t be making your paycheck tonight? Some of us have families to get to, cities to flee from. Gah! This is so fucking ridiculous,” I yell out into the crowds of people who look like they want to scream an Amen of agreement.
I am beyond confused. No one has an answer. No one knows what to do. I am stuck. I am stuck in New York with no one.
“You know what would make you feel a whole lot better about this?” the hot pilot asks me under his breath. Did he just read my fucking mind? Did I just say that out loud?
I lift my chin up to look him in the eyes. At the same time, his eyes travel up and down my body, which causes my eyes to widen in shock. Sure, I am a blond haired, skinny Floridian. I have a constant tan and big enough tits for three girls. But hell, this guy is too obvious.
“Not interested?” he asks, his eyebrows lift and his thick, wet tongue slowly moves out to lick his lips in the most seductive manner.
I nearly choke on my saliva that is pooling on my own tongue.
“How…how often do you proposition young, distressed women in need?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. He murmurs something about my “lucky arms” as he watches them move across my breasts.
“Nope,” he answers with a wicked grin on his face. “You just look like you haven’t – haven’t been pleasured in a while. It would make you feel a lot better. I could make you forget where you are for a solid two hours if you let me.”
“Confident much? You must be ten years older than me,” I acknowledge. Not that my curiosity isn’t sparked. No one has ever come on so strong or so confidently in my life. It is different and I like it. There aren’t any foreplay games. There aren’t any commitments to worry about. It is what it is and it is sexy.
Not to mention, but I will anyway that it has been a while and my own hand has become more mechanical than pleasurable. I haven’t felt this uncomfortable ache between my legs since my high school boyfriend. That boy was seriously sexy when he was shirtless and sweaty.
“Age is just a number; it’s the moments that count,” he replies with the most serious expression across his face.
I stare at him for long moments, gauging his expectations and his determination. I am the only woman he sees in this mess of angry and irritated people. He sees sex and fun where everyone else sees boredom and insanity. I choose his way of thinking.
Yes, I think, nodding once to him. His pleased expression is fucking beautiful and I feel ten times lighter now, knowing I am not going to be alone. No, I am going to be with a pilot. Oh, hell yes.
I follow my pilot up an escalator and through many unmarked doors to a lounge area where pilots, stewardesses, and other airline personnel are congregating. Most of them are glued to the television with the obvious hopes that the weather will suddenly evaporate into outer space. Others talk and laugh loudly by a high countered mahogany bar. They don’t seem one bit phased by the weather. Again, I choose that crowd. There is nothing anyone can really do.
No one notices us as we sit in two comfortable plush chairs that are facing each other next to the one sided window out to the terminal down below.
“What would you like to drink…um, shit, what’s your name?” he asks, his voice rising in surprise. I am a bit taken back too. We never exchanged our names between his pickup line and his follow through. Does that make me a slut? A hooker? A freak?
I never have random hook ups. This is not me. I suddenly feel the need to keep my real self out of the equation. I smile and answer anyway.
“I would love a chocolate martini and my name is Lucia,” I answer in a purr like manner, outstretching my hand to shake his.
Instead of shaking my hand, my pilot turns it over, and his wet, full lips find the back of it. He watches me as his tongue slips out to give my hand a full on open mouthed kiss. The ache increases and I am on board. I am doing this.
“Lucia is such a beautiful name. I’m Camden.” His voice is sandpaper and silk together in a beautiful combination of lust.
I blush at his open public display of affection, no matter how small it is, and nod in acknowledgment of his name and the kiss. Camden, the pilot, is a sweet distraction from my controlling nature of well… nature. Fuck the snow. I officially hate New York and I will demand a transfer to any college south of Atlanta by next summer. I am sick of the troubles it brings to me. Full scholarship to NYU be damned. I will study harder in the spring so I can get out of New York with an even better scholarship to a school in the south.
I watch Camden as he saunters up to the bar – the bar that I am not legally allowed to be served at. I look around and wonder why I haven’t felt nervous especially when I first walked in here. Something inside me knows that no matter where I go with Camden, I will be welcomed – respected. I smile at him with a grateful look of reprieve and add a little bit of wanting desire into my expression, so that he will remain interested in me. He speaks softly with the female bartender, quickly throws down some money, and walks back to me. My martini, which I’ve never ordered before today, is in one hand and a bottle of beer claims the other. His eyes don’t leave mine as he walks back to sit with me.