Page 87 of Red Line

Red could be in character, too.

She raised on her toes, and, with his face between her hands, she kissed him.

It was not the kiss she wanted to give him but a see-you-soon wifey kiss.

But still, it made her lips buzz awake.

And it was harder than anticipated to turn and walk away.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Nomad

Nomad was one of the very last ones on the plane. Good thing he didn’t have a carry-on. There would be no space for it. He had learned a long time ago that he needed every inch of space around him, and he couldn’t share it with a bag shoved under the seat in front of him. Not if he wanted someplace to put his size fifteen feet.

When he saw the seat row and number, he knew it would be a tight fit for him.

But he had no idea he would be jealous of a sardine packed in its tin.

Nomad ducked his head and sidestepped his way to the back.

The very back.

The two people already in his row had to stand up and squish themselves to the side to let him in. He could see they were calculating and didn’t know how this would work.

Nomad didn’t either.

But the plane was packed. There were no other options. He’d hoped perhaps the person on the aisle would take pity and switch seats with him or even let him pay. But the woman’s right leg was broken. She had to stick it out in the aisle.

This was fine. He’d been in worse circumstances.

When Nomad had wedged himself into the seat and had his belt in place, the other two gave him a minute to figure out his legs. This seat had his shoulder to the side of the plane. Where a window should be was an indentation in the plastic. Honestly, that seemed like a taunt rather than a design choice.With the lavatory wall directly behind him, his seat didn’t lean back.

He’d be upright for the duration.

With his toes on the floor to allow a tighter bend in his knees. He got his shins up along the back of the seat in front of him. There was no way he’d be able to lower his tray.

Once Nomad had settled, his row mates found their seats again, and they all pressed together. Being this intimate with a stranger was socially awkward, and Nomad understood why the women coped by flirting with him. Nomad wanted to be polite but also to shut it down.

It went on through the flight instructions and the takeoff.

It went on through the “You're free to move about the cabin” announcement.

Nomad wanted to think about Red. Wanted to relive their parting kiss. Wanted to get some sleep if possible. But, most certainly, he didn’t want to flirt with these women all the way from Amsterdam to Casablanca. So he pulled out his old standby. “Ladies, I’m sorry. I’m narcoleptic and need to close my eyes. Please don’t take offense.”

The funny thing was that neither seemed to know the word.

Nomad lolled his head against the wall and pretended to sleep.

“What was that?” One whisper asked the other. “Did he say narcoleptic?”

“He did.”

“Isn’t that when you want to have sex with dead bodies?” Middle seat whispered

“Now that you say that, I think it is.”

From under his lashes, Nomad could see both of them peering at him.

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