Page 28 of Come Fly with Me

It doesn’t matter what I accomplish in my career or how many flights I’ve made as a captain. It all comes back to how many guys I’ve slept with. That’s my claim to fame. Like it’s something I should be ashamed of too.

Within seconds of sitting down at the far end of the bar and ordering a whiskey on the rocks, I have an overly friendly man standing in my personal space. I can smell the beer on his breath, hot and bitter in my face, and I cringe, my nose turning up as I swallow hard.

He’s a decent enough guy, and it’s not like I don’t know him. He works for Crescent Airways, and our paths have crossed in and out of the bedroom, but he’s obviously drunk, and nothing good can come of that.

“Taylor,” he grumbles, my name thick on his tongue, a garbled mess really driving home how much alcohol he’s consumed.

“Theo,” I say, nodding my head at him as I signal for the bartender, calling out for a glass of water.

“Where’ve you been? I’m in the mood for a good time.”

I almost puke at his feet, his hand running up my thigh and I push it away gently, but he’s not taking the hint. His body is now pressed against mine, the feeling of his already hard dick brushing my thigh.

“What’d ya say?” he asks, the beer in his hand now sloshing out and splashing onto my shirt. “My room?” He dangles the keycard to his room in front of me, a suggestive, smarmy smile on his face.

“I’m going to have to say no,” I reply politely, but my patience is growing very thin, and I look around for some small bit of salvation. The bartender is busy talking to a group of young, perky flight attendants, and anyone else within an earshot is obviously drunk or lonely and drowning their sorrows.

“No?” The appalled tone in his voice radiates through my body, sending a shiver down my spine. “Since when the fuck do you say no?” He lifts his chin in my direction, his shoulders squared, and I think he’s going to step away from me.

He’s hovering over me, his muscled frame and height being thrown around to make me feel small and weak as he grips my thigh with his oversized hand.

“Since now.” I shrug my shoulders and turn away from him.

He lets out a low, condescending laugh and pushes closer to me. Everything about this interaction is disgusting. “I’m pretty sure you don’t get that option after all the shit we’ve done together.”

I suck in a hard breath and shove away from the bar. Standing in front of him I’m prepared to have this out. “Excuse me?” My question comes out loud, and he knows there’s not a chance I’ve missed what he’s said.

“You heard me. Don’t give me this shit. Just fucking put out, Taylor. That’s what you do. You’re the slutty captain.” He smirks at me, slimy and glib, like he’s just won this argument and I’ll willingly go up to his room.

Oh no, he called me a slut. It must be true, so I should just do what he says.

My eyes grow wide at his response and for a second, I’m taken aback by his boldness, suddenly questioning everything I’ve ever done in my past. If I gave my body to someone it now means it no longer belongs to me, and with that thought, something in me explodes.

He has no idea what he’s just ignited inside me.

“You!” I shout, poking him in the chest with a red manicured fingernail. “You are what is wrong with men. You’re the reason women get raped, and no one believes them. Be obedient. Be quiet. Be available. Fuck you!”

He steps back now, but I’m not even close to being finished and now it’s me who’s in his face. He wants me, and this is the Taylor he gets now.

“Call me a slut. Tell me I stepped out of my lane. That neat little lane that men like you put women in, and when you stray from it, it’s a hell of a time getting back in. But you know what? I don’t want back in. I want to be all over the fucking place, making a scene. I. Owe. You. Nothing.” Each word comes out harsh and stabbing, but oddly enough, Theo continues to stand his ground, not fazed in the least by my words. If anything, it just adds to his need to throw around his power.

“Take it easy,” he says, his patronizing attempt at placating me. “You sound a little crazy right now.”

Now it’s me laughing, an offended chuckle falling from my lips. Of course, he’d call me crazy because women can’t control their emotions, and any woman who stands up to a man must be crazy. It’s manipulation at its best.

“Crazy? Oh yeah, that’s exactly what it is. Or maybe I’m just sick of your bullshit, your expectations. I don’t get to live my life the way I want because I fucked you before, and now the expectation is that it will always happen.”

“Fuck, seriously, settle down. A simple no thanks would’ve done the job,” he says, and again he’s back with his manipulation, trying to throw this whole thing back onto me. He’s completely ignoring the fact that he unwelcomely put his hands on me, let his hard-on press against my body, and came into my personal space.

“I did say no, remember? And that’s where the problem lies. This shame is not mine. It’s yours, and I want you to remember this conversation because someday you’ll have a daughter, and it will ring loud and booming in your ears.”

I storm away without saying another word. I know everyone in the bar is watching, gossiping about what just happened and I couldn’t care less. I can’t be the only woman who feels this way, but I’m the only one who wants to be the fighter.

When I’m in the elevator, my heart racing, my mind swirling with everything that just happened, I choke back the feeling of tears that burn hot and angry at the back of my throat.

I will not cry.

Taylor Patterson doesn’t cry.

---