Page 11 of Anyone But You
Nope. This isn’t going to work for me because a few cocktails might convince me that a good rage fucking is in order. At least if I’m located on a different floor or at the opposite end of the hotel, we wouldn’t be as easily accessible when we’re drunk, horny, and lonely.
Knox
The next afternoon after our overnight layover, I nursed my bourbon as I read the latest crime novel, ranked #1 on theNew York TimesBest Sellers list that week. It wasn’t the best I’d read—predictable by page 50, but the dialogue was engaging enough.
My eyes flicked up from the pages when I heard Victoria moan softly in her sleep.
How high on the delusional scale would I have to be if I imagined she was dreaming of me?
Rather high.
I’d gotten off easy after the stunt I pulled. I was still breathing, had all my limbs, and could see out of both eyes. I’dexpected to at least receive a decent-sized lump to the back of my head.
Thank God for donuts and wealth, or I’d be a dead man.
It might be my narcissism talking, but a part of me believed that Victoria didn’t mind accompanying me on this trip. Of course, she protested and threw a tantrum like the petulant woman child she was. Still, I couldn’t help but notice when she left her tablet behind to use the restroom that she’d been researching excursions. I had no desire to go horseback riding on the beach, but I’d do it if it meant I could spend time with her.
The plane jolted, and some of the amber liquor splashed on my white dress shirt.
“Shit,” I mumbled, reaching for a napkin.
“Shut up, Knox,” Victoria mumbled in her sleep. I rolled my eyes and continued dabbing at my shirt. The jet lurched again in a way that made me feel uneasy. I glanced at Victoria, and despite the worsening turbulence, she was still sound asleep. The jet shuddered again, and my fingers sank into the armrests like a spooked cat with its fur raised and claws out.
This is not normal. Something’s seriously wrong.
I threw up the shade and was relieved to see the engine wasn’t on fire, but my relief was short-lived when the jet took another jerky dive, and my stomach dropped to my toes.
“Fuck this shit.”
I freed myself from the seat belt and was about to approach the cockpit when the flight attendant rushed towards me.
“Sir! Please remain seated and secure your seat belt.”
“I need to speak to the pilot.”
“Please return to your seat,” she said. She was trying to appear calm, but the sweat on her brow and the downward twitch of her lips betrayed her.
She’s afraid.
“I’m speaking to the pilot one way or another. Maybe you should take your own advice and fasten your seat belt.”
“Unfortunately, sir, I need you to return to your sea—”
I brushed past her, determined to speak to the pilot. My intuition told me that there was a probability that the plane wouldn’t make it to its intended destination.
That can’t happen; Victoria’s with me.
She could’ve been in Miami with her best friends, but my selfishness could endanger her life.
A garbled commotion echoed from the cockpit.
“Sir? Sir? Oh, fuck! Oh, shit!”
The yelling didn’t abate but became increasingly panicked and nonsensical with each passing second.
No one wants to hear “oh, shit” from their pilot.
I rushed to the cockpit and ignored the attendant’s frantic calls. Nothing could’ve prepared me for the scene I stumbled upon. I didn’t know what to expect, but I hadn’t expected to find the seasoned pilot convulsing in his seat with his eyes rolled into the back of his head. The co-pilot, who couldn’t be more than 25, hovered over him while red lights buzzed and flickered on the dashboard.
