Page 11 of Wild for You
“Nope. Not this guy. I’m a bit of a flying purist.” He grins and gestures to his setup again. “It’s much harder to do it this way, but I like the old-fashioned way.” He pulls his glasses down to his nose, peering over at me, and winks. “This is how my grandfather did it, and if it was good enough for him, then it’s good enough for me.”
I don’t miss the exaggerated flex of his bicep, and a lump forms in my throat at his confession, the confidence I felt in him five seconds ago rapidly fleeting. I shake my head again to relieve the fear creeping back up.
“Your grandfather was a pilot?” I pause, considering this. “Can you tell me a little about him? Is that what inspired you to become a pilot?” I quickly realize I’ll never be able to remember his answers, and I glance around for my suitcase. I know I’ve got a notebook somewhere in one of my bags, but Jack starts talking before I find anything.
“Yep, Pop-Pop was a military pilot in World War II. After the war, he bought a small charter plane, which he turned into a business. He’d fly local businessmen on day trips in their small, rural town. He loved being in the air.” He smiles, but it’s forced, and I don’t miss the touch of sadness behind his eyes.
Not wanting to interrupt him, I sneak my phone from my back pocket and turn on the voice recorder. Sure, it may be crossing a line recording him without his permission, but I’m only interested in repairing his image, and my head’s starting to spin from the meds. I don’t want to risk forgetting anything.
A warm tingle flutters through my belly, and I melt deeper into my seat. Suddenly, the scratchy, torn seat feels so interesting. I rub my hands back and forth over the broken leather, and a giggle bubbles up from my belly. I cover my mouth in surprise and cut my eyes to Jack to see if he heard it, too.
“What are you doing over there?” His eyes scan me, and he tilts his head as if he’s examining me.
“Nothing!” I blurt, suddenly feeling embarrassed for giggling. “Tell me the story of how you became Wombat Willy. Did you always dream of being a YouTuber?” I can’t even get the words all the way out before I burst into another fit of giggles.
Jack tightens his grip on the steering wheel, or whatever you call it in a plane, as we hit another patch of turbulence. This time, my muscles feel much looser, and the bump sends me flying in the air for a moment before my seatbelt catches me and snaps me back down in my seat.
My eyes go wide, and I don’t know what’s come over me, but the adrenaline rush feels exhilarating. “Wee! I caught air that time!” I squeal.
He eyes me again, tightening his grip. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Jack was starting to get a little nervous. The thought of Jack being scared, too, shakes up a fresh wave of worry, and I grab his knee, squeezing as a laugh escapes me, suddenly aware that we're connected on a whole new level. “You’re scared, too, aren’t you?” I let out an evil cackle, throwing my head back because I feel the laugh deep in my bones, and it feels so good to let it out. “I knew it.”
“Exactly how much of that medicine did you take?”
“Oh, don’t worry about me. Trust me. This is an improvement.” I realize I haven’t removed my hand from his knee, and when I look down at the connection, I can’t not look at the bulge in his pants. My mouth waters at the memory of last night, and I glide my hand farther up his thigh.
“Gwen … what … what are you doing?” His voice comes out a few octaves higher than usual, and my chest swells with pride. I love that I make him nervous.
“Nothing. Your thighs are just so muscular. Can’t a girl cop a feel when she’s given a chance?” We hit another burst of turbulence, and I swear it feels like we’re driving a Jeep through a forest, running over holes and tree limbs.
A clap of thunder steals my attention, and when I pull my gaze away from Jack’s penis bulge, a bright bolt of lightning flashes before my eyes. “Jack, are we flying over the Bermuda Triangle right now?” I don’t wait for him to answer. Instead, I flop back into my seat and grab my phone. “I’ve got to record this! What if I see a giant squid or something?”
“Gwen, what are you doing?” Jack snaps. “Please tell me your phone is on airplane mode.”
“Of course, it isn’t silly! How would I have service in case of an emergency?” I giggle at his joke. “Besides, I’m live-streaming this on my Instagram page. Say hi.” I point my phone at him and turn the camera back to me. “In case you’re just tuning in, we’re in a tropical storm flying over the Bermuda Triangle. I’m going to zoom in.” I push the phone to the foggy cold glass of the window. “Aw, it’s blurry. That’s sad.”
“Gwen, I need you to give me the phone.” Jack holds out his hand.
I clench my precious device to my chest in protection. “Jack,” I steady my voice, “I cannot do that. This belongs to me. It’s my property. Maybe you should work harder if you’d like to own nice things.”
“For fuck’s sake, Gwen, turn off the phone!” His voice comes out panicked, and a yucky feeling turns in my belly.
I flinch at his command and puff my chest out. “No means no.” I cross my arms in defiance. “If you want this phone, you’ll have to come through me.” He reaches for it again, and I jerk away. The phone bounces off my seat, landing somewhere near my feet. I hold up my fists in a boxer's stance.
“What the actual fuck did you take?” He grips his long mane, pulling his neat ponytail down in a mess of waves.
“You kind of look like Aquaman. Has anyone ever told you that?”
CHAPTERSIX
Jack
I’m not goingto lie; I’m really freaking out here. This thunderstorm is like nothing I’ve ever flown in. Even though I checked the weather, these winds are gnarly, and I don’t know if I’ve ever seen so much lightning. I can hardly see where I’m going, purely relying on my Heading Indicator at this point. Now that I know Gwen’s phone has been on, I can’t help the panic rising in my chest. I glance at my fuel meter and hope the phone’s magnet hasn’t fucked us too badly.
I look at Gwen, who’s now glued to the window like a child rubbing their face on every surface of a school bus. She’s dragging her cheek up and down the glass, and is she humming? I don’t know what she’s done with her headset. She must’ve stripped it off when I wasn’t looking.
“The cold feels so good on my face. It’s sensational. Jack, have you tried rubbing your face on the glass? It’s like a giant ice roller. I bet my face will look as chiseled and de-puffed as a supermodel when I’m done.”
“Uh, no. No, I haven’t tried that.” I grit my teeth as I try to concentrate on keeping the plane steady, despite all of mother nature’s attempts to take us down.
