Page 18 of Inflame

How long does it take to snap a picture of two complying adults? Apparently twenty-eight seconds. I counted.

“Maybe we should get one of the four of us,” Angie suggests.

I groan as she flags down the attendant assigned to our section, who seems thrilled to be asked this favor. Luckily it takes her only seventeen seconds to finish the task. We are not even in the air yet, and I already feel like I’m crashing and burning.

I look over at Claire when the sound of her breathing changes rhythm. Her eyes are shut and she is gripping the armrests with white knuckles. She stays this way during the taxiing and the entire safety protocol presentation.

I order her a ginger ale on ice when the attendant is walking back to the prep area.

“Here,” I say, making her eyes flutter open. She relaxes when she sees the fizzy beverage. I open the can and pour it over the ice. “This should help settle your stomach.”

“Thank you.”

Normally beverage consumption needs to wait until we reach altitude; however, the perk of sitting where we are is that we have better holders for securing our belongings—drinks included.

I can tell she is confused by my behavior. I like keeping her on her toes. I close up my tray and put my laptop in the pouch behind the seat in front of me. The pilot warns of takeoff as he steers the plane down the runway. Claire clutches the can and cup so hard that she gives them little dents on the side.

I take them from her after she has a sip and place them inside the special drink holders. She goes back to gripping the armrests and closing her eyes. I can hear her soft “don’t be sick” chant she says to herself on repeat.

I place my hand over hers, and she opens one eye at me to see my expression. I smile down at her and tell myself that the little bumps in her breathing have nothing to do with me—and is just her mildly hyperventilating.

“How do you not get sick on every car trip?” I ask.

“Because I’m usually in the driver’s seat.” She takes a few deep breaths. “Or I have the luxury of blasting myself with cool air.”

I turn the vents toward her. Little wisps of hair blow astray from the sides of her head. A few tickle me, they are so long.

“Is that better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

It isn’t until we reach max altitude that she opens her eyes fully and searches for her drink. I release her hand and watch as her throat bulges from the gulps she takes of the ginger ale. It is tantalizing to stare at her neck. I can’t look away. Images flash through my mind of what it would look like if she were to swallow something much larger. Could she handle it? I can be a good teacher.

“Care for some complimentary champagne?” the attendant asks.

We all nod and accept our flutes of bubbly that are passed to us from a wheeled cart. She also passes us each a sealed bag of a variety of snacks.

The sun is still visible and the glow from it setting is spectacular. I look out the window and admire the colors on the clouds.

“Cheers to your end of singleness!” Claire expresses, clinking glasses with me, almost making me dump mine from the suddenness.

She stretches over me to tap her glass to Graham and Angie’s glasses. If she leans over any more, I may be able to tell what color of strapless bra she has on—if she even has one on.

“How are you feeling?” Angie asks from the other side of Graham. She has to lean forward to even see us.

“Much better. I think my medicine finally kicked in,” Claire says, her voice full of relief. “But it makes me so drowsy.”

“You sure it’s okay to drink with that stuff?” I ask. “Maybe you should eat something.”

She glances down at the snack labels and examines the contents. If I wasn’t already stalking her with my eyes, I may have missed the slight scrunch of her face.

“I got these too,” I say, standing up and grabbing the snacks I purchased at the smoothie shop from the overhead compartment. “Help yourself to whatever you want.”

Claire looks down at my selections and then back at me. I can tell I have her intrigued as to why I bought some organic vegan granola bars that are preservative-free and made with non-GMO ingredients. I have never tried them before, but based on her developing excitement, I must have struck gold.

“Thank you,” she says, watching me sit back down and snap my seatbelt back into place. “Oh, I need to get my hand sanitizer.” She gets up from her seat and watches as I move my hands to undo my belt. “No, I have room. Just stay put.”

She shimmies sideways in front of me. I get a perfect view of her sculpted ass, and it takes everything in me not to push her down onto me, so she can feel how fucking hot I am for her. Does she have even an ounce of a clue as to what she is doing to me? She is dressed like a flipping go-go dancer. How would I not be affected?

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