Page 4 of What are the Chances

Mason

I LEFT THE ANNOYING woman outside the gate as fast as I possibly could, attempting to lose myself among the crowds of passengers beginning to board our flight. She was talkative, neurotic and the exact reason why I hated flying, to begin with. Being trapped inside a small metal tube, thousands of miles in the air, surrounded by hundreds of strangers for hours on end wasn’t exactly my favorite situation. Aside from my dislike of flying, I was dreading going to Ireland. It’s not like I didn’t love the country. I grew up there, it was my home. Not to mention, my entire family still lived in the small town of Ennis, in the same house I had grown up in. So, yeah, it’s not like I didn’t want to go back home, I just despised the means it required me to get there—and the circumstances.

Now, even after I had fled my seat as soon as they began boarding, leaving her sitting beside that stupid outlet, I haven’t broken free from the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. As if the travel gods were somehow conspiring against me, the only thing separating her and me on the hours' long journey was an eighty-year-old woman doused in perfume and jewelry. I turned my body away from the two women, building an invisible wall between their seats and mine. Ready to replace my earbuds and hope to tune out any possible distractions, I stop when I hear the elderly woman beside me.

“I’m Alma. So, what are your names? If we’re going to Ireland together, we might as well get to know each other.”

The exasperatingly beautiful, neurotic woman from earlier reaches out her hand, greeting the sweet travel companion dividing us.

“I’m Charlotte, nice to meet you.”

Damn. After hearing her name, I’m no longer sure I want to be broken free of her. Maybe I could get over her quirkiness and obsessive need to be kind to everyone. Or maybe I could stick to my original plan and make it through this flight with minimal conversation.

“Oh, Charlotte is a lovely name,” Alma says, shaking her hand. Her accent is nearly as thick as mine, and I can tell she’s most likely from the same area of Ireland I am.

Alma glances over her shoulder, delivering me her sweetest smile. “It is a lovely name, isn’t it, lad?”

Charlotte’s eyebrows raise in amusement, and a small chuckle erupts from her throat. She smirks, waiting to hear my response.

I chew on the inside of my cheek, deciding on how to respond. Do I tell the truth or lie? Unwilling to give Charlotte the satisfaction I know she’s expecting, I decide to lie.

“Meh, it’s okay. Typical,” I shrug and lean back in my seat, refocusing my gaze on the window beside me. I watch as two men load the rest of the passenger’s luggage underneath the airplane. At the same time, I hear a scoff rise from Charlotte’s mouth, a small wrinkled hand gently slaps my arm.

“Now, lad, that is no way to speak to a kind girlie, such as this one. You apologize to her at once.” I turn my head, breaking my gaze away from the window. Alma arches her thin, grey eyebrows and points to Charlotte. “Go on, apologize to the woman,” she urges.

Rolling my eyes, I groan internally, feeling as if I’m being scolded by my own grandmother. I don’t know why I’m behaving this way. Maybe it’s the combination of travel and Charlotte. The only thing I do know is she’s managed to stir something inside me—my chest burns with warmth, every inch of my body somehow awakened at the sight of her. I grit my teeth and lazily turn my head. I open my mouth, ready to apologize to poor Charlotte when she interrupts.

She narrows her eyes, and I can see the fire building behind them. Her eyes are light brown with small, intricate flecks of green, and despite the anger building in them, my stomach flips. Her eyes pierce me as the words slip from her gorgeous bright red lips.

“No, it’s okay, Alma. Don’t expect much from him. He’s not much of a talker.”

“Oh?” Alma asks, turning to Charlotte. “You two already know each other?”

I narrow my eyes at Charlotte, cursing myself for letting her have this effect on me. I can’t seem to stop myself from speaking to her as if she’s an annoyance. But to be honest, her presence was growing on me. Somehow, the bitterness laced in her sweet voice has turned me on even more. She’s even sexier than the moment she waved her beautiful hands in my face.

“Yeah,” Charlotte retorts, her narrowed eyes matching mine. She presses her lips in a flat line, and despite her obvious urge to fire back, she hesitates. The skin of her neck stretches as she swallows, obviously pausing to think of an explanation of how we met.

“We met outside the gate when we were waiting to board.”

I’m caught off guard by her discretion. I was sure she was going to complain to Alma about how I was probably the rudest man on planet earth for throwing her belongings onto the floor and stealing her seat. When her now sympathetic eyes shift to Noodge’s urn, still resting on my lap, I see the reason why she didn’t. She remembers the second half of our conversation.

She feels bad for me.

Without even realizing it, my shoulders fall with a sigh, and my chest relaxes. My back aches with relief as I sit back in my seat. Why was I so tense? How was it possible for Charlotte to have such an effect on me when I’ve barely known her an hour?

The cabin door closes, and the plane begins backing away from the gate, moving along the runway and taking its place in line for takeoff. The three of us haven’t spoken a word since Charlotte mentioned how we met. I’m about to speak up when Alma places her hand on my arm, nodding her head toward the front of the plane. The flight attendant holds a small seatbelt in front of her, demonstrating how to properly use. Alma’s body and eyes are focused on the flight attendant, absorbing every bit of information as she goes over the safety procedures as if it’s Alma’s first time flying. I tune her out, having heard the instructions enough times to recite them myself. But I allow Alma the silence she desires and don’t speak a word.

Instead, I turn my attention to the window and the open landscape of the many runways of the Los Angeles airport. I clutch my fingers around Noodge’s urn and think back to an hour ago when I first met Charlotte.

When I had finally made it to my gate, I looked down at my phone and realized I had less than five percent battery left. I needed my phone, there was no way I was going to board the plane with it dead. Quickly, I had scanned the area for an open outlet and found one against the wall. Rows of connected blue vinyl seats filled the small area. Walking closer toward the outlet, a small silver suitcase caught my eye. The suitcase was standing upright in front of the blue vinyl seat, someone obviously using it to mark it as theirs. The seat was filled with a few personal items. I was frustrated and knew it was wrong, but I shoved the neck pillow and whatever else was in the seat with my arm, listening as they fell onto the floor in one big heap. I shuddered, guilt settling in my stomach, but I pushed it away the minute I sat down, resting Noodge’s urn on my lap and shoving my ear buds into my ears.

With the music filling my ears, I didn’t hear her approach. I didn’t know she was attempting to gain my attention until she waved her beautiful, slender, pale hands in my face.

Annoyed with the interruption and her persistence, I ripped out my ear buds with a huff. The blood drained from my face as she spoke, and even before the words spilled out of her mouth, I regretted treating her belongings with such carelessness. Even still, I physically couldn’t get the words past my throat as she pointed to her items on the floor. Something about the way her light brown hair was swept to the side, loosely tied into a braid, caused my stomach to flip with an unfamiliar feeling. Her full lips were painted a bright red. I tightened my grip on Noodge’s urn, feeling the pressure of my jeans growing as every word passed her mouth. It’s amazing the power her voice already had over me.

She continued speaking to me, but I hadn’t heard more than two words she said. Something about offering to share the outlet, I think. I wanted to listen to what she had to say, but the rest of her body had me distracted. Her dark grey t-shirt hung loose against her body, the fabric stretched against her breasts. I fought the urge to keep my eyes trained on the perfect dip of her V-neck as I took in the rest of her body, mesmerized by the way her black leggings hugged every curve of her hips and legs. She looked comfortable, and her outfit was completely cliché for a thirteen-hour flight. Nonetheless, I had never seen anyone so fucking gorgeous in my life.

My mind began to wander. I started to imagine what her ass looked like in those leggings—I didn’t have to wonder long. She turned around, reclaiming her seat beside me, her pillow and purse now gripped between her perfect fingers. I didn’t even notice I had already moved over, allowing her the room to become my traveling companion.

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