Page 8 of What are the Chances

“Trust me, I’m not actually complaining about that almost hand job you gave me,” he jokes with a crooked grin. “I only woke you up, so Alma didn’t have to witness it.”

Something churns in my stomach at his comment, and like a sliver in my skin, it irritates me.

“For the record, I was not giving you a hand job,” I clarify, hoping to knock that egotistical grin off his face. “I did not mean to touch you like that.” I know my voice has suddenly grown louder, and I hope I'm not disrupting the other passengers, but I can’t seem to contain myself.

How could he have thought I was flirting with him? He must have, otherwise, he’d just brush off what happened and not talk about me giving him an almost hand job through his jeans.

His face falls a bit at my clarification, and his chauvinistic smirk takes over.

“No need to be shy about it. It’s not like I didn’t enjoy the view of those perfect breasts while you passed out on my shoulder.” His gaze briefly lowers to my chest. I follow his eyes, wincing at how loose my shirt has become. He probably had a fantastic view of my teal striped bra and ample cleavage.

“Well, I wouldn’t get too excited about my hands being on you.” His comments make my anger burn a little hotter. “I was thinking and dreaming about my boyfriend. Fucking fantastic sex dream, thank you very much.” My face burns at the lie spilling from my mouth—I hadn’t been dreaming about my boyfriend.

In fact, I was dreaming about Chris Farley, but not in a sexual way. In this dream, we were eating cookies while driving the car that was in shambles in Tommy Boy. If anything, I was overly excited about the chocolatey goodness I was experiencing.

Mason’s jaw ticks a few times as he studies me, then returns his gaze to his backpack. Ignoring me, he pulls out his phone and headphones.

I almost think that's it—end of conversation, end of humiliation. He proves me wrong when he lets out a sigh.

“You have a boyfriend?”

The genuine concern in his question shifts something in my chest. He isn’t being a dick about it, just honest and real. I nod my head, ashamed of myself, for some reason. Had I led him on?

Mason gives me a side smile, successfully catching me off guard.

“Next time you flirt with a random stranger,” he states, “ you might want to disclose that little tidbit of information. I’d be fucking pissed if my girlfriend acted like you just did.” The words drip from his mouth, and my chest pounds with an unfamiliar pain.

His words have hit me like a ton of bricks, picking at an old scab that hasn’t fully healed. I am not a fucking cheater.

“I wasn’t flirting with you. I’m sorry I touched you inappropriately, but I wasn’t flirting. I was being nice,” I breathlessly try to defend myself, my face flushing and my heart thundering. Mason smirks again, popping his earbuds back in. I'm thoroughly convinced I see him roll his eyes.

“Whatever you have to tell yourself,” he says, lowering the armrest down with a hard thrust, obviously using more power than necessary. The armrest lands back in its original position with a loud smack. In one smooth move, he tilts his head back on the headrest, completely shutting me out, presses his lips into a thin line, and closes his eyes.

The rest of the plane ride is spent in silence, tears springing in my eyes on more than one occasion. I’m not sure whether the tears are from the guilt I feel for almost cheating on my boyfriend or from the way Mason’s eyes drop to me before he closes them, refusing to allow me to see them the rest of our flight.

Everyone frantically packs up their bags as the Captain comes over the intercom, declaring our descent. It's as if everyone thinks they'll win some kind of prize for being the first ones off. I power on my phone, verifying Sam still going to pick me up and let him know my flight is landing on time.

Me: Flight’s on time. You still picking me up?

Sam: Yep, all ready for you.

I shut off my phone and try to relax as the plane draws closer to land. This is a foreign country. This is something I’ve never done before, and I have no idea what I’m getting myself into. But Sam was born and raised here and would be my guide. I silently send a thank you to my mom for watching out for me. I desperately wanted to make this trip, but not knowing anyone here or anything about the country would have been a big deterrent, especially now that my stupid boyfriend wasn’t here with me. The plane begins its descent, and my stomach flips and turns. I try to look out Alma’s window, she has the shade open.

My heart nearly bursts as Ireland comes into view. From here, everything still looks like perfectly sequestered squares with black dividers as roads. There are wheat fields and the ocean. I instinctively try to lean closer, but Mason clears his throat. Dammit. I give him a side look I wish could kill. I want to see more but instead, fall back into my seat and let out a sigh.

I don’t say anything to Mason as our flight stops and the passengers fill the aisle, waiting to get off. I don't say anything to him as he follows me out of the gate, seemingly headed in the same direction. And I definitely don’t say anything to him as I wait for my larger suitcase at baggage claim. Even if I had wanted to, he ignores me, immersed in his phone.

I'm mad at myself for leading him on. I want to apologize, but the vibe he kept giving me was basically to fuck off. So, I leave him alone.

I inhale a deep, refreshing breath, determined to leave this small blip behind me forever and never see him again. I’ll never hear about Noodge or why Mason followed his dreams to become an accountant. I will never see Mason McConnell ever again.

Finally, as the baggage carousel begins to move, I grab my large black suitcase off the belt and head outside. Fighting to push through my crappy attitude, I force a smile on my face for my boyfriend’s best friend, the same man who has become more like a brother to me.

The early morning sky is packed full of grey clouds, and the ground is soaked with rain. It's freezing. I hadn’t thought of how cold it would be here.

I scan the arrivals zone for the familiar dark hair and bright face. Soon, I find Sam, off to the side, pulled up along the curb.

“Over here, Char!” he yells with an enthusiastic wave.

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