Vanessa Booke: Bound to You

The fasten seatbelt sign lights up as I spot the stewardesses coming down the rows checking each seat. I push up my tray, down what’s left of spilled glass, and grab ahold of my purse. I need to calm my nerves and my stomach. My imagination starts to drift and I can feel the cold sliver of anxiety creep into my chest. I need to get off. This is the last way I want to die. God, if it wasn’t for Miles, I wouldn’t even be on this stupid plane, flying in this disastrous weather. I’ve never hated him as much as I do right now! I fight my every desire to run down the aisle like a raving mad woman. We hit another air pocket and my body goes flying up, along with my purse. My bag flips over, sliding into first class, along with my wallet and motion sickness pills inside. Shit. I should just leave it there until the storm settles. I’ll be fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine . The plane jostles us again. Oh, god, I’m not fine . I start to hyperventilate in my seat. I need a bag. I pull out the brown paper bag wedged between the seat pockets in front of me.

Everything I’ve seen on TV tells me that this will help, but as soon as I slip the brown bag over my nose and mouth, I feel worse. I need my pills. I need to take some more. I click off my seatbelt and scramble down the row, running into seats as the airplane sways. A shrill voice of a flight attendant stops me as I make it to the curtain dividing first class from economy. I know I don’t have much time to run and grab my purse.

“Ma’am! Please get back to your seat immediately.”

I turn slightly, my body shaking from anxiety and dread. I don’t wait for her to stop me from entering first class. The first thing I notice is the stark contrast between the seat spacing. In economy, you’re cramped with little-to-no legroom. For the past two hours, I’ve been fighting with the gentleman next to me over the armrest. I can’t help but frown at the disparity between first class and economy. Each row has enough space to recline back and fall asleep. The lights are dimmed throughout the section, and the general atmosphere seems a lot more relaxed. In fact, many of the passengers seem to be sleeping – all but one, a beautiful blonde stranger staring at the bright screen of his tablet. The luminous light gives his face an almost angelic appearance with the exception of his brows, which seem shrouded in deep thought. The plane sways to the side, tossing me against the chair of a nearby female passenger. She stirs and looks up at me with a mixture of annoyance and sleep.

“Sorry,” I whisper.

The beautiful stranger a few rows ahead seems undisturbed by my presence. The leather seat chairs to his right and left are completely empty, and it takes me a moment to realize that he probably purchased all of them. I can only imagine how much it is to buy one first class seat, not to mention six. I know Carol spent way too much money on my ticket and I’m not even up here.

I scan the floor for my belongings and notice my purse clinging for life only a few feet away from the stranger’s seat. Before I have a chance to move, I notice the prissy flight attendant staring me down from the opening of the curtain divider. Geez, lady.

“Ma’am, please return to your seat. Coach passengers are not allowed up here.” Despite her calmness, I sense a thread of disdain in her voice. Perhaps this isn’t the first time a passenger made their way up here. She probably thinks I’m trying to switch my seat. As much as I would love not to be stuck in a seat with barely any legroom, I’m more worried about puking everywhere. I need my purse . A wave of nausea flows over me. I can feel beads of sweat breaking out on my neck and forehead.

“I’m just getting my purse...” I manage to squeak.

“Ma’am, the fasten seatbelt sign is still on,” she says, pointing to the drawing of two hands buckling a seatbelt. “We cannot have anyone walking around at this time.”

I shrug off her awkward stare and scramble over to my purse. The blonde stranger doesn’t notice me at first as I kneel to search beneath his seat. It isn’t until I pull the strap of my purse that he senses my presence. I yank hard to release my purse, but my wallet goes flying, along with my pills. Fuck. A sigh of frustration escapes me as I grab for them. A flash of light cascades over me as a warm hand encloses around my wrist, stopping me midway.

“Excuse me, miss, what are you doing down there?” I’m immediately taken aback by the closeness of his face. Two blue eyes stare at me impassively. They somehow perfectly match his nose and striking cheekbones. If it weren’t for the slight smirk on his lips, you’d think he’s angry. But it’s worse. He’s laughing at me. He must find this all so very amusing. A streak of anger rushes to my cheeks, setting them on fire.

“Are you laughing at me?” I ask, clenching back my irritation.

He eyes me with curiosity as he slowly studies me. He’s a playboy, I’m sure. Handsome men like him are trouble. I’m sure he’s used to women throwing themselves at his feet. I silently admire the light beard he sports. It makes him look like a bit of a rogue in his grey tailored suit. His facial hair reminds me of the way Miles used to wear his. He used to run his chin across my bare skin in the morning. It was his way of waking me up. I loved the way it felt on me when we made love. The way it used to feel before he went and smashed my whole world into tiny little pieces.

My eyes stray to his hand and a mixture of lustful emotions cling to me, warming my insides. I’m strangely relieved to see no ring on his finger. That doesn’t mean he’s not married. He totally could be. I find myself unknowingly leaning into him and his alluring scent of spicy cinnamon and fresh mint leaves. It reminds me of my favorite homemade tea back in Cali.

“Can I help you find something?” he asks, grazing over my comment.

“I dropped my purse.” His hand never leaves my wrist as he gently helps me up. My legs are unstable. I wobble to a stand.

“Let me help,” he says with another smile.

“It’s caught on your chair,” I say.

The stewardess lingering in the back clears her throat, directing our attention back toward her. She waits in front of our aisle looking extremely nervous. “I apologize, sir, would you like me to escort this young lady back to her seat?” I turn, glancing from him to her. I’ve never seen anyone so worried. Who is this guy? Maybe he’s some rich hot shot. It doesn’t matter. I should mind my own business and get back to my seat.

“Melissa, it’s fine. She isn’t bothering me,” he says without looking up. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone address a stewardess by their first name, not unless they were purposely trying to be snarky, but reading his tone, it’s more irritation than anything else. He seems like someone who’s used to bossing people around. Or maybe he just flies this airline often.

“I apologize, Mr. St –“

“That will be all, thank you.” He waves her off like an annoying fly. She scurries off back to the back of the plane without looking back. Part of me feels sorry for her. She was just doing her job even if she was kind of bitchy. I’m sure I would’ve done the same thing.

“Is this it?” he says, handing me my purse and wallet. Somehow even my gigantic bag seems so small in his hands. His hand grazes mine, sending a tingling vibration up my arm. I try my best not to stare at his fingers, but I can’t stop myself. I have a thing for hands and his are the type you don’t mind wrapping around you or inside of you.

I blush instantly as he clears his throat, indicating that I’ve lingered in his presence for much too long. Ironically, my motion sickness pills are still under his chair, but I don’t even bother mentioning it. I need to get out of here. The same out-of-breath feeling I felt a moment ago in my seat has returned. I don’t need to be embarrassed more than once this week.