Page 3 of Shared By the Pilots

The two of us watched him hurry away.

“Adam Mandalay,” Dex said, drawing out every syllable. “Which, I can only assume, is a shortened version ofmandatory lay.”

I giggled at the silly joke. “It’s too bad your date with 2D went so well, or I would suggest you ask Adam out.”

Dex gave me a look. “Adam is straight.”

I scoffed. “No he’s not.”

“Are you,” Dex asked slowly, “questioningmygaydar, sweetie?”

“Good point. But I’m not convinced.”

“You should ask him out,” he suggested. “Prove me wrong.”

“He seemed more interested in you than me. Also, my deal with you involved saying yes to men who askedmeout. Not the other way around.”

Dex waved a dismissive hand. “This is a suggestion outside of our deal. Did you see that man? There’s no ring on that finger, but I doubt that will last long. Ask him out!”

“Exactly,” I said, changing my strategy. “A guy like that is in his thirties, and he’s not married yet? What’s wrong with him?”

Dex raised an eyebrow. “I could say the same of you.”

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t date coworkers.”

“You don’t date coworkers. You don’t date pilots. You don’t date men with stupid chins. You have too many rules. That’s why you’re so unhappy, and I’m living my best life.”

“Shut up,” I whispered. “He’s coming back.”

Adam walked up with that charming smile plastered on his face. “I also got a pack of M&Ms and a pack of Skittles, as gifts for welcoming me into your flight crew. You get to pick who gets what.”

“Dibs on the chocolate!” I said, snagging the M&Ms.

Dex took his bag of Skittles. “I think you’re going to fit in just fine, Adam.”

The jetway opened up and we boarded the plane so we could prepare everything for the flight. Checking the beverage cart, making sure everything had been restocked. Reviewing the passenger list for any special needs requests. Dex and Adam seemed to immediately hit it off like they were best friends, rather than two men who had met five minutes ago. Adam wasn’t rude to me, but he wasn’t as friendly as he was with Dex.

I stole a few glances in his direction as we went through our routine. He was fit, and lean. His brown hair, the color of rich soil you wanted to dig your fingers into, was perfectly groomed—not a strand was out of place. His eyebrows even looked freshly plucked.

There’s no way he’s straight.

Then the passengers began boarding, and I turned my attention away from our new crewmember. The flight was a nonstop from Houston to Miami. Every flight crew had a different way of handling duties, but our crew typically rotated who handled which section of the aircraft. Today, I was in charge of business class since Dex had it yesterday. That meant Dex and Adam were handling the economy passengers.

Ever since I took my first plane ride at six years old, I’ve wanted to be a flight attendant. It wasn’t glamorous; I was part waitress, part concierge, and part traffic cop. But I loved traveling, and this was a job that allowed me to do it daily. For free. We were under-paid (who wasn’t these days?) but I considered myself incredibly lucky.

Business class passengers got free alcohol, and most of my flight was taking advantage of it today. That took up the first half hour after we reached our cruising altitude. Although it was an afternoon flight, we were also serving a light meal. I took each business class passenger’s order, then prepped the self-contained meal trays in the cabin oven before delivering them to their respective seats. On international flights, I would then have the option of sneaking in a meal for myself, but there just wasn’t enough time on a domestic flight this short.

One of the pilots had also put in a meal request. I prepped the food, then used the cabin phone to call the cockpit and let them know it was ready. Then I did a part of my job that had been standard on all flights since 9/11: I positioned the drink cart in the aisle, blocking all access to the forward cabin. A moment later, the cockpit door opened and one of the pilots stepped out.

“Garlic crusted chicken waiting for you on the counter, Captain Hendricks.” I had flown with him about a dozen times in the past few years. He was tall and darkly handsome, with an aura of quiet competence.

“Call me Luke, please and thank you,” he replied in a deep, but soft-spoken, voice. Like distant thunder. “And this is for my co-pilot, not for me.”

“Do you want anything?” I asked. “I only saw the one request on the sheet.”

He shook his head. “I’ll grab a snack in a minute, but I’d rather save my appetite for fresh Miami seafood when we land.”

I let out a hungry groan. “Me too. I’ve been thinking about fresh clams since this morning.”

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