Off To a Rough Start

"Deal."

We continued our walk to the designated spot, holding hands the entire time. A van picked us up after about ten minutes, and the ride took fifteen. Pam checked in at the front desk and asked them to secure my bag in storage so I wouldn't have to take it into the restaurant.

Once we'd settled into a two-top at Cain's Grille, we could finally relax. For me, it was the first time in nearly thirteen hours since my day began. It'd been only nine for Pam. It didn't matter, I was sure she was just as ready.

"Want to share a bottle of wine?" Pam asked as she perused the list of offerings.

"No, thanks. I've been craving a brew since we got stuck in the hold. I'm going for a Shocktop."

"I'm craving something else, but it doesn't come in a bottle."

I offered a subtle grin at her innuendo. Even though it was nine o'clock, it was a Friday night, and the restaurant was busy. We were able to be seated quickly because tables for two were available and most of the people waiting were larger groups. It was crowded enough that we both knew we'd need to keep our conversation polite.

After a waitress took our drink orders, I caught myself staring at Pamela. She didn't seem to mind. She sat quietly, looking at me with a sweet, relaxed smile. I let myself study her a little more, my eyes drifting downward to take in the sight of a lovely emerald pendant suspended from a silver chain in the vee of her shirt.

When I looked to her eyes, I knew she'd noticed what I was doing. Her expression suggested she understood I wasn't gawking or ogling, I was only … well … looking. Her smile notched up a little. I took another look to confirm my observation of one particular detail.

"Your necklace compliments your eyes. It's every bit as beautiful as they are."

"Thank you."

If she'd said something about my watch, I'd have instinctively looked at it. She didn't take her pendant in hand to examine it. She didn't touch it at all. She simply remained still, watching me watch her. She made my heart race. The self-confidence she exuded was extraordinarily attractive. I don't believe in predestination, but it was as if she knew, beyond any shadow of any doubt, we were exactly where we were intended to be.

The moment was disturbed when a server brought our beverages and poured them into two frosted pilsners. We both sipped. She licked the foam from her upper lip, then reached across the table for my hand.

"Congratulations again, Mack. Your accomplishment is really something to be proud of."

"Not really," I said. "Eligibility is based on seniority, not merit or performance. You know that."

"Yes, eligibility is seniority-based, but your promotability is all about performance. There are plenty of pilots with more years than you who are still first officers, and … well, I guess I'm saying I'm proud of you. Please take it as the compliment it's intended to be."

I had to smile. I drew her hand toward me and kissed her fingers.

"It's strange, isn't it?" she asked.

"What is?"

"I've known you for … well, I guess I've known you for about six weeks, but I've only interacted with you for maybe twenty-four hours in total, and …"

Her words stalled for several moments. I squeezed her hand softly.

"Yeah," I said, agreeing with her unfinished statement. I knew what she was thinking. "Let me just say you've smitten me. Completely."

"Same, and that's what's weird. I hope you don't think poorly of me after how soon I kissed you."

I laughed. "Seriously? No, or I'd be guilty, too, because I started doing mental backflips that first Friday.

"When you sat next to me in your office, I was overwhelmed by how attractive you are. I knew I was going to have a hard time sticking it with you so close. So … no. I don't think you kissed me after only the equivalent of one single day. It was four weeks. That's an eon in my books. Spread those twenty-four hours across average two- or three-hour dates, and it would be … well, yeah. I've never once gone on eight dates before getting a first kiss." I paused, waggled my palm, and said, "Maaaybe six."

She guffawed, apparently agreeing six dates would be an unusually long wait.

"I like the way you think," she said, softly brushing the pads of her fingertips over the back of my hand.

I answered her only with a smile. She gently continued the strokes to the sensitive webs and sides of my fingers. It was only contact between two adults' hands, but it felt so calming, soothing, and intimate. It slowed my ability to form coherent sentences. She was the first woman I'd ever known who addled me, and it bothered me not one single iota.

The server soon arrived with our plates. We made subtle passes at each other during the thirty minutes we spent enjoying our meals. I loved every time she brushed one of my legs with her foot, especially because she'd say, "Oops," with a wink at the obviously intentional contact. Unfortunately, I couldn't slip my shoes off and on as easily as she could her Crocs.

I offered to pay my share of the meal, but she refused, even when I suggested paying only for my two beers. I felt a little guilty about the imbalance of the tab because she had limited herself to a single Stella before switching to water. I escorted her to her room on the eighth floor.

"Would you like to come in?" she asked.

I followed her through the door. We both watched as it closed itself with a solid click.

I sat on the foot of the king-sized bed. Opening my knees, I beckoned her between them. She wordlessly accepted my invitation. Our mouths met, her vantage higher than mine for the first time. I settled my hands above the swells of her tush. She moved them lower.

Our mouths experienced incredible unity as I held her gorgeous, warm bottom. I softly caressed it, then lowered my palms to the back of her toned thighs. I could feel her muscles subtly moving as her senses maintained her balance.

"What time is your roust?" she asked in a whisper, referring to the procedure of virtually checking in via the company's app so dispatchers were sure their crews were readying to get to work on time.

"Nine o'clock," I answered hurriedly between kisses.

"Lucky you. Mine's at four thirty."

I looked at my watch and felt pangs of guilt.

"That's barely five hours from now. You should've told me."

"Why? What would you have done if you knew?"

"Well, probably decline your dinner invite for one thing. I feel awful for keeping you up."

"Come on, Mack. I'm an adult. I'm sure you're no stranger to short stopovers."

I shook my head. "I'm probably going to become reacquainted with them since my relative seniority as a captain goes back to the ground floor."

"It doesn't matter. Having a few hours with you is worth it."

I embraced her, relishing our exquisite closeness. We kissed softly for a few more minutes. I then departed so she could get some sleep.

Before I stepped through her door into the corridor, I again nuzzled her silken neck along the collar of her shirt. It brought gooseflesh to my skin. I gave the crook of her slightly exposed shoulder a gentle nibble and felt her go bumpy, too.

"Pam, you're such an incredibly beautiful woman. I hope you don't find it annoying when I tell you that every day."

She softly stroked my cheek with a tender smile. "You're very sweet, and handsome, too. Goodnight, Mack. I'll see you soon."

After the door latched, I blew a kiss toward the peephole, wondering if she saw it.

I gave my claim stub to a clerk manning the desk who retrieved my bag. I met a rideshare at the front doors. It was almost midnight when I walked into the room at my hotel.

"Niiiice ," I sarcastically muttered to myself because it was underwhelming compared to the one I'd just departed. The king bed was comfortable, so I was asleep minutes after I'd taken a cold shower.

The rest of my three-day sequence was fairly easy, other than the fact that day two was a long one which included flights from Miami back to St. Louis, an out-and-back to Kansas City which bugged me as always, then an overnight in Memphis which didn't bug me at all because … well, Memphis . Day three was shorter to compensate for the prior day's long hours, and I had a four-day break coming.

Even though it was with lower pay, I'd traded out my scheduled four-day for a short reserve, hoping I'd be able to help Pam move into her new abode that Friday.

She'd sent an iMessage that morning to tell me she was about to sit down at a title company's table to sign the documents to sell her house. The equity would be wire-transferred to another company in Dallas as the down payment for her home in the Colony.

She gave me the address so I could do a drive-by and check it out. It was a really nice 3/2/2 built in 2013. The most distinctive feature was the color of the brick facade, a very pale gray with dark mottling. When I checked it out that morning, there was a semi and a half-dozen folks scurrying about loading boxes and furniture. I shot a short video of the scene from my car and iMessaged it to Pam.

Yay! I just wrapped up here. The buyers were there, too. Weird couple. Don't care. It's done. Good to see my next one will be ready for move-in Friday. Thanks, Mack!

🙂👏🎉😘😘 I replied.

Party! You bet your cute booty I want kissie-kisses 😛 she responded.

I laughed hard.

My gamble paid off. Mostly. Despite most moving companies' reputations, her van arrived barely an hour later than scheduled as opposed to an entire day or two like the three times I'd moved. I drove twenty minutes just as the truck had been emptied into her home.

"Nothing is certain or more dreadful than death or taxes. Or moving," she said.

"What can I do to help?"

"In here first," she said, escorting me to the master bedroom.

She withdrew a set of new linens from a shopping bag, unfolded them, then tossed the opposing side of the fitted sheet in my direction. She took the flat, found its head, and offered me a corner. I laughed because she'd commandeered me into helping her make her bed. I happily tucked the tail as did she. Last came a duvet from a moving box.

"Would it be appropriate if I were to let you in on a little secret?" she asked.

I smiled. "Please do."

She pushed against my shoulders, encouraging me to recline in her newly made queen. My phone chimed the moment I did. Pam and I groaned in the kiss we were sharing because we both recognized the InterAir app's alert.

Holy freaking hell! Couldn't it have waited two hours?! I whined internally.

I pulled my phone from my back pocket and looked at the screen, dreading what the lottery had drawn for me.

SCRA DAL GATE 11 N706IA B38M /CP/ 1312 DAL-LAX(PF) 2315Z 3.2H / 9.3HR / 442 SFO(PM) – 441 LAX(PF) – 1311 DAL(PM) 7.7H ///

I was on short-call reserve, and the notification advised I needed to meet flight 1312 heading to LAX from Gate 11 at Love Field. I was to be the pilot flying a MAX 8 with tail number 706IA. I'd need to arrive by 23:15 GMT, or 6:15 PM local time. It'd earn me an estimated 3.2 hours' pay followed by a 9.3-hour rest. Flights 442, 441, and 1311 would get me back home the next day with another 7.7 hours' time.

"Called in?" Pam frustratedly asked.

"I need to meet a flight in two hours," I answered, grinning slightly because there were two specific letters between the first set of slashes.

"You seem happier than you should be," she said with an aggravated sigh.

I acknowledged receipt of the assignment then showed her my phone.

"Your first flight as captain? Nice!" she said, immediately understanding my smile.

"Yeah. I thought it wouldn't happen until next month."

"Reserve pulls don't make you wait," she said.

"Frack ! I'll have to stop by my place on the way because I didn't bring the right things in my go bag. I doubt the first officer would care, but I think some passengers might be worried if there's no four-stripe up front."

"You'd better hustle," she said, swatting my butt. "I'll be here when you get back."

"Life is so unfair sometimes," I said forlornly.

I kissed her softly, then frustratedly left a wonderful, beautiful woman behind. I hoped I'd have enough time for a cold shower.

I joined the other five members of the flight's crew just in the nick of time. We took off to the southeast, turned to the west five minutes later, and chased the setting sun. It won, finally dipping below the horizon as we passed over Phoenix.

The crew was cohesive and amiable, but I decided to skip going out for dinner with them. Instead, I bought a salad and a Snapple at LAX before hopping on the shuttle to the hotel.

I FaceTimed Pam. It was almost eleven o'clock in her time zone, and she was under the covers we'd added to her bed only six hours earlier.

"Hi," she softly said with a sweet smile.

"Hey there," I said, offering my own.

She was fiddling with the hem of the top sheet with her free hand, lowering it slightly. I noticed her shoulders were completely bare. No shirt, no straps. Nothing. The idea she might sleep naked was very alluring.

"I want to show you something," she sultrily said, taking the sheet between her thumb and forefinger, immediately accelerating my pulse.

"Please do," I said, anticipating a reveal underneath the linen.

She slowly panned the camera to her right. What I saw made me burst out laughing. She'd printed a snapshot of me and put it on the pillow beside her. My laughter unleashed hers.

"You're such a goof," I said. "You really had my heart racing."

She grinned sweetly. "Good."

We talked until our eyes began to get heavy, then said our goodbyes.

The Colony, Texas
Saturday, September 18, 2021 5:15 PM

Pam had invited me back to her house, but for dinner instead of another unpacking session. I texted her, On my way.

I shared my location with her so she could track my progress on her phone, and she was standing at her front door when I pulled into her driveway. The car's thermometer said it was ninety-seven degrees. She was definitely dressed for the weather, and holy crap, did she look cuter than hell.

A snug black tank top was tucked into the front of an equally tight pair of faded blue denim cutoff shorts. I'd not once seen her legs bared, and jeez if they weren't even nicer than I'd imagined. They were long, lean, and lightly tanned. They walked her to the driveway as I fetched my roll-aboard from the back seat of my car.

"Hey there, Captain," she said with a beaming smile. She reached up and brushed her hand over the four stripes atop my left shoulder. "These look very good on you."

I followed her, entranced by her awesome backside.

"Thanks. And if it's not too impolite to say, your shorts look very good on you. You have a gorgeous …" I deliberately paused. I knew what she was expecting, but said, "pair of legs," instead.

She laughed. "Come on inside, babe," she said, looking over her shoulder.

Babe? Nice. I hoped she saw my smile.

As she walked, I noticed a little dove tattoo just above her left inside ankle. It was small, about the size of a half-dollar coin, and artistically executed.

Pam reached for the front door of her house, fumbled it open, then shook her palm vigorously.

"Ouch! The handle is frigging hot !" she barked and laughed. We went inside. As soon as Pam closed the front door, she took my roll-aboard from my hand and set it aside.

"Whoever decided to put black hardware on a door exposed to a fireball must have never opened it in the summer," she surmised with an easy chuckle. I felt her place her hands on my hips before my world began to disappear into a fog.

My heart pounded. My knees trembled. I could smell it. It made my eyes burn and water. I ducked down, took a deep, solid breath, held it, then stood up.

It was intense and thick. I clamped my eyes closed against it. I remembered reaching by blind touch alone for the emergency fire mask near the jump-seat. I had air in my lungs, but I heard the woman coughing and retching. I decided to place it on Brandi instead of me, violating rule number one.

Always put your mask on first before helping others? Fuck that!

"Here!" I yelled, expending only enough air to elevate my voice over the cacophony.

I found Brandi's body. She was bent and wracking. I ran my left hand along her back, finding the bun of hair at her crown which I pulled down to turn her head up. With my right, I brought the mask and visor combination to her head. She instinctively grabbed it and pressed it tightly to her face as I twisted its knob fully clockwise to the "Emergency" position.

"Mack ?" I heard, far in the distance.

My lungs were trying their best to disobey my demands, to force me to inhale the toxic air, knowing my body would die without oxygen. I began to feel the fuzz of syncope, and it made my arms less willing to be controlled, too.

I was mere seconds from unconsciousness and a likely death when I found the mask near my seat and somehow managed to get it over my face and activate it as I had Brandi's. The sounds my throat emitted as I gasped the pure life-giving gas were inhuman. The smoke, having been blasted from the visor by the positive pressure, allowed my eyes to open. Brandi was still coughing, but at least she was taking in pure oxygen instead of noxious fumes and smoke.

"We have to use the fucking rope!" I yelled above the din.

"Mack! You're scaring me!"

I shook my head vigorously and cleared my throat.

"What the hell ?" Pam yelped, obviously alarmed. Her hands were squeezing my arms very tightly.

"Oh, shit," I whispered, trying to slow my breathing.

"You're frightening me, Mack. What's wrong?"

"I don't⁠—shit. I don't know. I'm sorry. Just⁠—"

"Come sit down, baby. You've gone pale," Pamela said, taking my hand and leading me to a seat in her great room.

She bolted to the refrigerator and extracted a bottle of water. She uncapped it and handed it to me. There was very little airspace in the top and water splattered out the lip because my hands were shaking. I took two greedy swallows to stop it. I was embarrassed enough as it was and getting her furniture wet wasn't helping.

"Tell me what's going on. Where were you just now?"

All I could do was nervously chuckle at the dichotomy. I'd been in an incredibly good mood one moment, then scared nearly shitless the next.

"I'm afraid to answer you."

"Don't start this game with me again," she said, softly stroking my back.

I decided I had to be honest with her, and not lie to myself, either.

"I think I just had a full-blown panic attack."

"Why does it worry you to tell me that?"

"I doubt InterAir allows pilots to have those."

"Ah," she softly answered.

Yeah. I'd informed a staffer at my airline that I'd experienced something which could prove to be medically disqualifying. I'd told someone who had the authority to ground me.

"Is it the first time it's happened?"

"No, but it's the first in like eight months."

"Flight 771."

I nodded.

"Do you know what triggered it?"

I considered her question. I hoped my chuckle would keep her from taking my answer personally.

"I think maybe you did. It was when you opened your door and said the hardware was hot. Sounds completely random, but … I don't know⁠—Wait. Oh, jesus . It was two things. You know who Merle Finch is?"