Page 6 of What are the Chances

Charlotte

I WAS REALLY TRYING to keep my shit together. I had my book out during takeoff, so I could grip the edges without seeming like a newbie flyer. I frantically wanted to look at everyone’s faces and shout if the shaking was normal or not, but I figured everyone’s lack of concern or care was answer enough. Mason in the same row was somehow making this entire situation better, putting me at ease. I’d die a thousand deaths before I ever told anyone, but he and Alma were pretty awesome seat mates.

Alma has just started snoozing, and the sun has dipped behind the clouds, not that I could tell entirely, since I had the aisle seat. Mason keeps his shade shut, so if I wanted to take a peek at the clouds, I would have to chance looking through someone else’s. That just added to my frustration with him. Although if I was really mad at him, I wouldn’t give a damn, but something about Mason has me giving all the damns.

I peek at Noodge, resting in his little urn and feel a small glob of emotion trying to climb up my throat. I blink and turn my face to the air vent instead, trying to get my mind off why an attractive man like Mason would be carrying a dead cat halfway across the world. I want to hear his story. I want to pay homage to Noodge. He must have been some cat if Mason was willing to fly thousands of miles for him. I'm not sure if I can fully understand the feeling, seeing as I never had pets growing up. My mom worked two jobs to keep food on the table for me and never had the money or time for animals.

As an adult, I had entertained the idea of getting a dog with my boyfriend, but he was never in the mood to talk about it. He had a demanding job, one that required him to work more than a typical eight-hour day. I understood—at least I told myself I did—but when he did have free time, we hardly talked about important things. For the past six months our relationship had become a routine of binge-watching Netflix and having obligatory sex.

I blink at the dim lights in the cabin as that realization settles over me. I love my boyfriend. I love how he takes care of me, how we met, how sweet and handsome he is. But as time has passed, we’ve become more like roommates with benefits than boyfriend and girlfriend. We never go on dates, and there's nothing mysterious or sweet about our connection anymore. All remnants of a lingering spark have all but disappeared.

Like this trip. This trip I had spent an entire year planning and saving for. He was supposed to come with me, knowing how important it was, but it had taken a backseat to his job; everything did—including me.

I release a shaky sigh and decide I need a distraction from my thoughts. I look over at Mason and see he's moved Noodge to the floor between his feet and pulled out a sleek, silver tablet. Using his case, he has it propped up on top of the tray table attached to the back of the seat in front of him. I remove my neck pillow and quickly glance at Alma. She's still sound asleep and slightly snoring.

Mason doesn’t have his headphones in, which to me is like not putting a sock on the door. He's available for company and deep conversation. I turn my body toward him and start in on a slight whisper.

“Psst.”

His handsome face turns toward me, and he slants his eyebrows, obviously already annoyed. I've said one word to the man. What the hell? His eyes focus on his tablet, bringing his concentration back to whatever he was doing.

I continue to watch him, unwilling to give up on the chance of a conversation. The silence that filled the cabin since take off had begun to suffocate me, and I needed human interaction. He doesn’t respond, so I try again.

“Mason?” I ask in a half-whisper, half-yell, cupping my hands around my mouth. “Psst. Are you busy?”

Alma makes a sound and moves her shoulder but otherwise stays asleep. Mason winces, looking over at Alma, then meeting my eyes. Damn those green eyes and all the golden flecks. It's as if he’s tipped a kaleidoscope up toward the light and all the vibrant colors fell directly into his irises.

“I’m working,” Mason finally answers, in a clipped tone. This attitude of his won’t do.

“Did you grow up in Ireland?” I ask with my largest grin. His jaw ticks, and I can easily see how annoyed he is with me. Something deep inside me, however, doesn't seem bothered by this fact. He watches me and shifts in his seat to where he is facing me more fully.

“Yeah, until I was about twenty or so, then I moved to America.” He seems slightly annoyed with my insistence to interact, but at the same time, something behind his eyes tells me he's relieved to have a distraction from his work.

I nod and tuck my hair behind my ear. He tracks the movement of my hand and meets my gaze. My brain must be misfiring because I stare back, getting lost in his gaze. His eyes dart to my lips, and I resist the urge to slip out my tongue out to wet them.

“What made you want to leave?” I ask, scratching my neck and flicking my eyes back and forth between Noodge and Mason.

Those oddly perfect lips twist into a smirk, and I swear a small laugh leaves his lungs before he responds.

“I moved to America for work… became an accountant, and moved out West, toward Los Angeles.” He sighs and lifts his shoulder in a half shrug. “Followed my dreams like all Americans do.”

I blink and again compress a very deep and primal urge to laugh. Why did everything Mason say sound so utterly ridiculous?

He must see my internal struggle to hold myself back because he narrows his eyes for the hundredth time.

“What’s so funny?”

Unable to contain myself, I let it all out and don’t care who hears me. I laugh until tears stream down my face. I'm not sure what’s gotten into me. I feel free. I feel like letting loose and finally allowing myself to have fun.

Alma stirs and slowly wakes up. Mason jerks his head toward Alma, then glares at me.

“Good going. Now you’ve woken her.” Frustrated with my lack of restraint, he turns away from me.

“Oh honey, it wasn’t you.” Alma pats my arm in reassurance. “I need to use the jacks.” She stands and shuffles around me, heading down the aisle toward the back of the plane. I glance over at Mason who's clenching his jaw, watching me.

“You’re infuriating, you know that?” he asks in a clipped, irritated tone.

I roll my eyes. “Let me explain, Moon Boy. Don't get your panties in a twist.”

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