Page 58 of In Flight

“It’s happening now.” He groans as he stands up, completely naked. He took all his clothes off during foreplay last night and never put them back on.

The same is true of me. I pull the sheets up since it’s chilly in the room.

Isaac bends over to collect his scattered clothes from the floor. With a glance at me over his shoulder, he asks, “So we’re doing the same as last week? Playing it cool and waiting for the weekend?”

He doesn’t sound annoyed or impatient or remotely discontent by this arrangement. He’s leaving it entirely up to me.

I wish he’d give me a little clue about what he’d prefer, but he doesn’t.

I sit up, pulling the top sheet up to my shoulders as I do. “I think that’s the smart thing. Don’t you?”

“Probably so.” His eyes dart downward, and his mouth twitches up. “Why are you denying me one last look to tide me over through a long, River-less week?”

With a giggle, I lower the sheet.

“There they are.” His eyes crawl over my naked breasts. They’re pretty good as far as breasts go, but they’re far too large to be perky. He doesn’t appear to mind. “Enough to blow a man’s head off.”

More laughter ripples out of me at his choice of words.

He watches me as he quickly pulls on his clothes. “You don’t mind if I text occasionally, do you?”

“Of course I don’t mind. That would be nice. We finally have each other’s numbers, so we might as well use them.”

“That’s what I think.” He pulls a thin gray sweater over his head. “Okay. I’m off. See you at the airport on Friday.”

“See you.”

With that, he walks out the door.

***

FOR THE NEXT FOUR WEEKS, we follow the same pattern. Sex on Friday nights after the flight to Boston, and sex on Sunday nights after the flight to Savannah.

The first week, I waited to see if Isaac would text. He did. Later that same Monday in the afternoon and again in the evening. After a few days, I was convinced that he’d be happy to hear from me, so I felt comfortable enough to text anytime something funny or interesting happened during my days. He did the same, so by the second week we were texting regularly—throughout every day.

It’s been a good month. Even with the workweek separation, I have more and better sex than I’ve ever had before, and each day I feel closer to Isaac.

The fifth week, I have to fly back to Boston on Wednesday because Raven’s wedding is on Saturday. I make the flight alone since Isaac has to work until Friday.

I’ve been torn all week about whether I should invite him to the wedding. I want to. Desperately. And once or twice it seemed like he might have been hinting around for an invitation, although it’s really hard to read his warm, dry manner and tell what’s serious to him.

Finally I decide not to ask him. A wedding means meeting the family, and that’s a major step. We’ve been together for just over a month, and we don’t even live in the same city. We’re not ready for serious steps.

Maybe my heart is ready, but my heart is always getting me hurt. I vowed to be smart about this thing with Isaac, and I’m going to hold to that even when it’s hard.

For the three days leading up to the wedding, I’m busy with prep and prewedding events at least eighteen hours each day. By the time the wedding actually happens, I’m dead on my feet and in that exhausted daze that happens with too much stress and too little sleep.

That state always strains me emotionally, and it’s hardly a surprise that, well after midnight, I’m sitting on a chair in a side room of the reception venue, my hair spilling down over my back and shoulders because my fancy updo fell down, one of my very high heels in one hand.

In my other hand is my phone. Without any intention or conscious choice, I’ve called Isaac and am waiting for him to answer.

It’s the middle of the night. I’m probably waking him up. On the third ring, I’m about to end the call, but then his thick, sleepy voice comes on the line. “River? Is everything all right, baby?”

He’s never called me that before. It sends shivers down my spine and an excited jolt to my heart, but even that’s not enough to keep the tears back. “Yes.” I sniff and clear my throat. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not fine. You’re crying. What happened? Where are you? I’m getting up right now.”

“No, no, it’s not an emergency. I’m sorry to wake you up. I shouldn’t have called.”

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