“What exactly would you call it then?”
“I don’t know, the female gaze.”
“Poetic.” He looked unimpressed.
“Thank you.”
“You could just say you were looking at my dick.”
I rolled my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. Was there a way to retract inside one's own asshole?
“It’s fine,” he assured me. “I did it too.”
“You looked at my dick?”
Frankie coughed out a laugh and looked around as a man shimmied behind him and further down the aisle. “I’m more of an ass man, to be honest.”
“Poetic,” I mimicked.
“It must be my male gaze acting up again.”
I snorted, hiding a smile by staring at my lap.
The intercom crackled to life and a flight attendant introduced himself, asking everyone to be seated and buckled before the aircraft made its way to the runway. Another woman squeezed her way behind Frankie and gave him a less-than-impressed side-eye.
“Are you planning on standing for the duration of the flight? Are you one of those rule-breaking flyers that get up and use the bathroom when the seatbelt signs are on?”
“Oh yeah, it’s just… You’re sitting in my seat actually, so…”
I looked down and saw my ass was indeed incorrectly placed in the middle chair of the row, and it clicked to me that he did, in fact, put all of his belongings in the overhead right above the seats.
“Well, it’s not likely a third person is coming to sit with us, so you don’t have to sit here. You can take the aisle.”
“Actually, as an avid rule-following flier, I’ll have to stick with the assigned seat printed right here”—he pulled his ticket out of his back pocket and showed it to me—“on this ticket.”
He was screwing with me. Bastard. I tried to call his bluff by staying put, but Frankie just raised an expectant eyebrow at me with a grin.
“Well played,” I humored him as I scooted across the divide back to the window seat. He slid in next to me, stretching his back against the leather and pushing his legs out as far as he could in front of him. And goddamnit, he was huge. His left knee tipped across the invisible line between our two spaces with how wide he was spread.
“I should let you know, then, that I keep the reading light on the whole flight.”
“Perfect.” He nodded. “Because I play Candy Crush with the volume on. Helps keep me focused.”
Well fuck—it was going to be a long three-and-a-half hours.
2
The cabin lights dimmed as the plane cruised at altitude and attendants made their way slowly from front to back of the plane with refreshments. I wasn't sure how many passive aggressive elbow nudges over the shared armrest were too many before it was a lost cause, but either the man sitting next to me was enjoying getting under my skin a little too much, or he was in fact completely numb from the bicep down.
Just as I was about to surrender and stick my first earbud in, Frankie leaned over.
“You never answered my question.”
“Pardon?”
“About the military. What’s wrong with it?”
My hand stilled halfway to my ear and I shifted toward him. “No offense, but a guy in the military is kind of a walking red flag. Screams inability to commit.”
“Being on Hook（Up） doesn’t do that itself?”
“You know, you’re making an amazing case for yourself."
Frankie lifted his faded black hat off his head and ran the fingers of his other hand through tousled hair. It curled in under his ears and flared out at the nape of his neck. “You had to have seen something you liked. You did swipe right,” he added smugly.
“I have a one-photo rule on dating apps. If I don’t like the first picture you get next-ed.”
“What is this, MTV?” He snorted.
“How old were you when that aired? Forty?”
His tongue plunged into his cheek and he looked up at the ceiling. “You’ve got a smart little mouth.”
Oh.
Something about that unfortunately and unexpectedly pinched me where it shouldn’t have.
“Just saying.” I quickly recentered the conversation. “If you led with the military photo, and that was the only one I saw…” I shrugged.
“No zoom job?”
I sighed, looking away from him out the window. “I’ll never hear the end of that.”
“Nope,” he assured me. “And here I was, thinking women were looking for good humor and commitment. You just want me for my body.”
“Says the man who’s opening line is”—I unlocked my phone and made my way back to his dating profile to read it verbatim—“‘Guaranteed admittance to the Mile High Club’。 I mean, how much more forward could you be?”
“Okay, two things.” Both palms lifted in surrender. “One: that was one hundred percent my friend’s doing. He’s much more crass than I am, and under any other circumstance, I would have vetoed it.”
“And you didn’t because…？” I hung the last syllable in the air.
“Because, two: I’m a pilot, and it’s actually pretty witty when I’m in any other place besides an airport.” He cringed. “Noted.”
Damn it. That actually was funny.
“If it were up to me it would have said something more along the lines of, ‘How do I tell my roommate’s girlfriend that he and I are common law married and she’s technically the other woman?’”
“Is common law marriage even still a thing?”
“Not in Florida, but the military.” He nodded. “Don’t ask, don’t tell.”
“Jesus.” I shook my head, pinching my tongue between my teeth. “So, let me get this straight—you’re a thirty-five-year-old pilot with commitment issues, who’s lived with his roommate so long you two could jointly file your taxes?”
“Sweetheart, if I’m your dream guy just say it.” He jutted his thumb toward the back of the plane. “I think the bathroom door says vacant. We could make this thing official right now.”
As if by divine intervention, the flight attendant stopped next to our seats and leaned over the cart. “Hi folks, any snacks or drinks?”
“How’s it going?” Frankie smiled at her. “I’ll do a Coke and”—he took a second to look at all his options—“the white cheddar popcorn. Please.” Before I could tell the attendant my own choices Frankie spoke up again. “And the same for my fiancée.”
“Not his fiancée,” I quickly corrected, shooting him a glare with a playful shove to the shoulder.
“Just proposed,” he added. “Still waiting on an answer.”
Oh, game absolutely on.
“I recently found out that I’m the other, other woman,” I explained to the confused and slightly horrified stewardess. “He has me, and then a boyfriend back home, and then his boyfriend has a girlfriend—I don’t know if polyamory is for me.”
Frankie offered a fake laugh, and put his very large, tan hand over my much smaller one on the armrest in a loving gesture. I couldn’t even attempt to move my wrist; the weight of his palm kept me pinned underneath him.