Shit...

I sped out of the garage and toward her Brooklyn apartment, risking the ire of her neighbors by temporarily parking my car in the middle of the street. I rushed up the outside steps, not bothering to knock on the cheap door, and stormed up four flights.

The “Two Broke Girls” sign was no longer hanging on her door, but I knocked anyway.

No answer.

I heard a female’s voice inside so I knocked even harder, refusing to let Gillian ignore me.

The door swung open and it wasn’t Gillian or her roommate. It was an older woman holding her cat.

“Well, yes?” She smiled at me. “What can I help you with today?”

“I’m looking for Gillian Taylor.”

“Who?”

“The woman who used to live here. Black hair, green eyes, beautiful. Where is she?”

“Oh! The girl with the crazy roommate. They moved out over a month ago.

A month ago? “Where did they move to?”

“I’m not sure.” She tapped her lip. “But wherever it was, it was probably someplace really nice. The crazy girl’s dad picked them up in a limo. A limo...”

“Thank you.” I walked away and headed down the steps, returning to my car. I couldn’t believe this shit, couldn’t believe I’d let this much happen within so much time without even noticing it.

I turned my key in the ignition and felt my phone vibrating in my pocket. It was a text message.

Gillian?

I clicked on her name and read the response.

Gillian: Um...I’m not sure who you’re trying to reach, but this phone number doesn’t belong to a ‘Gillian’. I’m Clara. That said... If you’re interested in “making up” by “eating my pussy all night until I come on your face” then, no need to text back. Give me a call :-)

GATE B36

JAKE

Atlanta (ATL) —-> Paris (CDG)

A week later, I stood at Gate B4 in Atlanta’s airport and printed out the weather reports for tonight’s flights, hoping like hell whoever I flew with would be somewhat competent. The first officer I was originally due to fly out with had contracted food poisoning overnight, so scheduling was supposed to be sending a reserve pilot so we could finally get onboard.

“Mr. Weston?” A familiar, male voice said from behind. “Mr. Weston, is that you?”

I turned around and found myself face to face with Ryan. Simulator Ryan.

Get the fuck out of here...

“Looks like we’ll be flying together in the real-world now, sir.” He smiled. “Maybe you can show me that magic carpet button, right?” He laughed and waited for me to join him.

I kept him waiting.

I tore off the remainder of the weather reports and signaled to the gate agent that we were ready. And as she led us over to the door, I noticed Gillian’s supervisor, a blonde, and Gillian heading in our direction.

“You ladies on Flight 1543 with service to Paris as well?” The gate agent asked. “Let me scan your badges after the pilots step onboard, please.”

I looked back at Gillian, waiting for her eyes to meet mine, but they never did. She kept them glued to the ground, and when she did board the aircraft minutes later, I overheard her say to her supervisor, “I’ll do my best on this flight, Miss Connors, but can you please keep Captain Weston the hell away from me if he chooses to leave the cockpit?”

Miss Connors gave her an assured, “Of course,” and then she threw a scowl in my direction.

I’d planned to remain in the cockpit for the first few hours of the flight anyway—mainly because I didn’t trust Ryan alone for five seconds, and I wasn’t sure he’d been joking about that magic carpet button.

“Ladies and gentlemen this is your captain, speaking,” I said over the speakers, once boarding was complete. “On behalf of the flight crew, we’d like to welcome you aboard Elite Airways Flight 1543 to Paris. Our flight duration is around eight hours and twenty minutes and we are expecting a fairly smooth flight today. Thank you for choosing to fly with us. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight.” I ended the message and waited for our turn to take off on the runway.

“Um, sir?” Ryan tapped my shoulder.

“Yes, Ryan?”

“No disrespect or anything, but you forgot like four whole sentences of the mandatory greeting. That’s like a write-up worthy offense.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know, the greeting: I really love flying for Elite! It’s the best job and the most exciting airline in the world! And then you’re supposed to say something witty, or tell a funny joke to make all the passengers feel comfortable.”

I blinked. “Do you feel comfortable, Ryan?”

“You want an honest answer?”

“I would love an honest answer.”

“Well, I might feel more comfortable if you’d told a joke. Might have convinced me that you’re an actual human being and not a robot outside of the simulator sessions, and might’ve even made me more comfortable flying an Airbus321 for only the fourth time.”

Jesus Christ... “Elite one five four three ready for take-off.” I called to control. “Runway two-niner.”

“Copy. Cleared for takeoff. Elite one five four three, runway two niner.”

I pushed the throttle forward, propelling the plane down the runway at maximum speed. The lights on the ground glowed brightly through Atlanta’s dark blue nightfall, and the yellow signs that lined the side of the tarmac gleamed brightly as the plane’s lights shone over them.