Page 6 of Sparks
I guess I was staying. I took the cup with a smile and the guys cheered, yet again, when I sipped the drink, making me laugh. I noticed a blue tooth speaker on a table in the middle, thumping hard. I needed to find out what brand that was because it was loud and had amazing bass.
While everyone chatted, asking me questions, my eyes shifted coolly around the room until I spotted the officer, Captain Fowler, sitting back in a corner chair, watching me. He raised his little plastic cup when our eyes met, and I fought the urge to press a hand to my jumping stomach. I raised my cup to him, too, then tried to give the guys talking to me my attention, but it was no use. At the first lull in conversation, I slipped over and sat beside him, pulling my legs up into the chair to get comfortable.
“Hi,” I said, because I’m smooth like that.
“What’s up?” He spoke with a little bit of a laugh, clearly amused at this whole situation.
“So, you’re okay with all this?” I waved a hand at the massive hotel party and he shrugged.
“They need it. We’re just coming back from overseas. They don’t get much down time.”
Overseas. That meant war zone. I chewed my lip and looked around at the laughing faces, feeling a flare of dread at the knowledge that people in this room had put themselves in harm’s way, and would do it again.
“Don’t worry,” he said, apparently reading my face. “It’s not our first rodeo.”
“You go out a lot?”
He gave a nod, watching a group that had started playing poker at a nearby table. “Twice so far. I’ve got a fucked up elbow from when we had to drop for cover, getting shot at.” I gave a small gasp and he held out his arm to show me. “Can’t straighten it all the way.” Then he shrugged and took another drink. “Not even middle-aged and already broken.” He said it with a half-grin, though.
Getting shot at.I swallowed hard and took another sip.
“What are you having?” He nodded at my cup.
“Vodka and cranberry. I pretty much only drink vodka.”
“Me too,” he said. “But with soda. What’s your favorite vodka?”
I told him and he grinned. “Same! Look at that.” He held out his cup and we clanked the plastic together, drinking again.
“So, where you from?” he asked.
“Virginia Beach, mostly. My dad is retired Navy. You?”
“Navy, girl, huh? I’m originally from Raleigh-Durham area, North Carolina. Ever been?”
“Driven through. I’ve flown there, but it was late so I only saw the inside of a hotel.”
He nodded and took another sip. “How long you been flying?”
“Four months. Six and a half if you count the six-week training.”
“Okay. And what’d you do before that?” Not gonna lie—his inquisitiveness was flattering.
“I went to college,” I told him. “Got a degree to be a teacher, and then….” I shrugged.
“No teaching then?”
I shook my head, looking down at my drink. This was always a shameful subject for me. Who completes four and a half years of college and student teaching, then throws it all away? My parents couldn’t understand it. I’d just felt so trapped that I couldn’t even sleep at night.
“That’s okay,” he said gently. “It’s not like you can’t go back to it someday if you’re ready.”
“Yeah,” I said. The thought of working with little ones again someday filled me with a glimmer of hope. I took another sip without looking at him. My belly was starting to feel really warm.
“So, where do you live now?” he asked. I felt his eyes on me, watching me intently, and when I looked up I felt a buzzing jolt at his eyes staring at mine. Conversation with him was too easy. I had his undivided attention, and he was actually interested in learning about me, asking me questions. Most guys only wanted to flirt and try to be sexy.
“I’m based out of Newark. I live in Jersey City with seven other flight attendants in a two-bedroom apartment.”
“Seven?” His face lit up. “How the hell does that work out? Bunk beds?”
