Page 7 of Wild for You
“With a performance like that, how could I resist?” I pass him my phone, so he can plug in his number. I know Elliot’s going to be pissed when she finds out, but we’re all mature adults. There’s no reason I shouldn’t be able to have a repeat performance. After all, this orgasm is going down in my vagina’s history books. I’ll dedicate a whole scrapbook page to Jack and our special time in the janitor closet together.
Hell, I’ll even make a playlist.
“I’m actually leaving for a two-week work trip in the morning, so I guess we can catch up when we get back?”
He hands me my phone and helps me straighten my dress. After several minutes of searching, my panties are nowhere to be found. There’s zero chance I’ll walk out of here not looking freshly fucked, but I’m in such a good mood that I don’t even care. I’m feeling lighter than I have in months, and there’s a spring in my step that I haven’t felt since college.
“Why don’t we grab some of that jungle juice before I make my way back to the couple of the hour?”
“I’ll get you some, but I’d rather keep your taste in my mouth for a little while longer,” he whispers as he ushers me out of the closet. “Right this way.”
CHAPTERFOUR
Gwen
My head is poundingas I close my eyes, trying to pretend I’m anywhere but sitting in a cramped airplane. What was in that jungle juice? I wince as the cabin lights flash brightly, indicating our arrival, and everyone stands up to retrieve their luggage.
So much for the meditation technique. I’ll be sure to inform Maggie that her woo-woo ways stand no chance against my hyper-vigilant work brain. I suppose I can rest when I’m dead.
In just a few hours, I’ll be sitting on a beach in Costa Rica if I can just get through this next connection, though I’m cutting it extremely close. I sigh and check my watch. If I get off right this second, I could make it … if I sprint.
I sigh. I hate seeing people run through the airport. It’s so obnoxious, but this is the only flight out today, and if I miss it, I’ll be stuck in the Miami airport overnight.
I swipe to open the weather app to triple check the forecast. Just like the last three times I checked, it shows a huge tropical storm coming in overnight.
The last thing I want to do is fly over the ocean in a hurricane. Nope, I’ll take my chances sprinting through the terminal like an idiot before I put myself through that torture.
It’s not that I’m afraid of flying. It’s not the flying part at all, really., I have an irrational fear of deep water, and I figure water doesn’t really get much deeper than the ocean.
A shiver works its way up my spine, and I shudder at the thought.
As soon we’re cleared to exit, I grab my carry-on and force my way to the front of the plane. I have a clear path, and just as I pick up my pace and see the exit sign, an elderly gentleman stands up and steps into the aisle ahead of me.
I all but crash into him as I wait for him to grab his luggage from the overhead compartment.
“Jill, I don’t see my bag,” he tells the little old lady sitting in the seat next to his.
“Well, Bruce, I don’t know what to tell you. It’s the black bag. You put it up there yourself,” she says, looking up at him into the aisle.
“Well, shit, Jill, there’s a sea of black bags up here. How the hell am I supposed to know which one’s mine?” he barks as he ever so slowly ruffles through the luggage.
If I were a good person, I’d offer to help the old man, but I think it’s clear that level of patience isn’t exactly my virtue, so I tap him on the shoulder, “Excuse me, sir, I’m in a hurry, and you’re blocking the way to the exit. Could I just get by you? Real quick?”
“Huh?” he yells, then turns to continue looking for the bag. “Jill, did you say it was the red one?”
“Christ, Bruce, it’s the black bag. You packed it yourself. Where are your glasses?” she screams. He ignores her, still looking for the bag.
My breathing starts to hitch, and a thin sheen of sweat forms on the back of my neck. Glancing down at my watch, I see it’s ten minutes until my next departure. “Sir, I really need to get by you, so I don’t miss my next flight.” I realize the only way I’m getting off this plane is if I push Bruce out of the way and risk breaking his hip—which is actually quite tempting at the moment—or help him find the damn bag.
I open the compartment on the other side of the cabin and stand on my tiptoes. I see a black carry-on rolling bag with a tag that readsBruce & Jill Tanner. I pull the bag down and pass it to him. “Here you go, Bruce. Now I need you to pick up the pace before you make me late.”
He takes the bag reluctantly and turns to his wife. “Well, no wonder I couldn’t find it. That angry lady behind me had it. Damn luggage pirates! Jill, I told you someone would try to steal from us. These airplanes aren’t safe. They’ll let anyone on a flight.”
I roll my eyes and resist shoving him out of the way, my threadbare patience fueled solely by last night’s riveting encounter, as I tap my foot incessantly and wait in the now full line for my turn to get off the plane. I check my watch and see it’s five minutes past my next departure.
Great, the old bastard made me miss my flight. I supposed there’s no rush now. I throw up my hands in defeat. I’ll be hanging out in the airport all night long. At least I’ve got a hell of a highlight reel to pass the time.
An hour later, I’ve finally gotten my new flight sorted out. I drag my suitcase behind me as I make my way to the gate where I’ll be spending the night until my next flight at 6 a.m., roughly twelve hours from now. Normally I’d get a hotel room, but all the rooms close enough are booked for the night, and I don’t want to Uber across Miami for four hours of sleep. I pull out my phone and text Maggie, letting her know I’m safe.
