steaks, then went out to eat on his own.
I’m a big girl. I can forgive him. When he comes home, I’ll make it up to him.
It’s four o’clock in the morning and still no Jack.
This is turning out to be one lousy summer.
Chapter 4
The Mile High Club
If you’ve yet to join one of the most coveted clubs in the world, maybe your next flight will provide you the perfect opportunity. The initiation is arduous, but certainly worth it! Here’s what you’ll need to do:
Step #1: Get drunk. That way, you’re totally open to any lame come-on line thrown at you by a seatmate you wouldn’t look twice at in any other situation.
Step #2: Be the first one to go to the lavatory. This gives you time to adjust the lighting to your best advantage. However, should this attempt set off any alarms, do your best to act innocent when the flight attendants pound on the door. (In doing so, it would help if you refasten your push-up bra.)
Step #3: Consider a little role-playing. The most obvious is “Pilot and Stewardess,” but we all know you’re much more imaginative than that! Go for something less obvious like say, “Bronco-Bustin’ Cowboy and Wild Filly,” or perhaps “Poodle meets Great Dane,” both of which are worth extra bonus miles, because let’s face it: anyone can do it standing up. On the other hand getting down on all fours in an airplane lavatory takes real skill! Very important tip: if your hand ends up in the toilet, don’t flush.
Step #4: Afterward, expect the longest walk of shame in your lifetime. Yep, no doubt about it: everyone sitting between the lavatory and your row heard your partner’s ecstatic moans, despite the number of those little tissue squares you stuffed into his mouth. Unfortunately, there’s nothing left for you to do but hold your head high as you walk back to your seat—
So try hard to ignore the snickers, cat calls, and applause.
Does membership have its privileges? You betcha—bragging rights! Just think of all the gal pals you’ll shock—not to mention all the man-ho’s you’ll impress.
The morning flight to the newly branded Fantasy Island takes place on a spanking new Airbus A-350, and boy, is it packed to the gills.
Jack, Dominic and I are sitting in First Class. We are all in the same row, but the men’s seats are placed at each window, whereas my seat is placed with one other in the middle of the aisle.
I wish Jack’s ticket had placed him next to me. Then again, we aren’t supposed to know each other, let alone interact in public.
At least, that’s an excuse I’m willing to live with.
I try to focus on the dossier explaining my cover. It says my name is Lotta Tallant. Supposedly I’m a sex therapist. I’m also a redhead who’s into chess, math, and submission, all of which is supposed to be enticing to our target, should he be wandering through Eden Key looking for love in all the wrong faces.
The seats are really minicubicles, affording the first-class passengers the ultimate in privacy, what with high backs and curtained openings. When desired, the chairs open to a fully horizontal position.
I’d certainly desire it, if Jack were by my side.
I glance over at his cubicle, where the curtain is shut. His pouting is ridiculous.
The moment we’re airborne, Dominic puts his efforts toward charming two of the plane’s female flight attendants into opening a very rare bottle of cognac saved for the owners of Fantasy Air.
I’ve got no problem with the fact that Dominic is an equal opportunity flirt. Time that Jack realize it, too. I slip over to his cubicle and pull the curtain to one side. “You know, you’re acting like a spoiled child.”
He lifts a corner of his HUNT CLUB complimentary eye mask. “We’re incognito, remember?”
“You were certainly incognito last night.” I plop myself on his lap. “Where the hell did you go?”
“I did what any red-blooded fake husband would do, whose fake kids and fake wife are out
I’m a big girl. I can forgive him. When he comes home, I’ll make it up to him.
It’s four o’clock in the morning and still no Jack.
This is turning out to be one lousy summer.
Chapter 4
The Mile High Club
If you’ve yet to join one of the most coveted clubs in the world, maybe your next flight will provide you the perfect opportunity. The initiation is arduous, but certainly worth it! Here’s what you’ll need to do:
Step #1: Get drunk. That way, you’re totally open to any lame come-on line thrown at you by a seatmate you wouldn’t look twice at in any other situation.
Step #2: Be the first one to go to the lavatory. This gives you time to adjust the lighting to your best advantage. However, should this attempt set off any alarms, do your best to act innocent when the flight attendants pound on the door. (In doing so, it would help if you refasten your push-up bra.)
Step #3: Consider a little role-playing. The most obvious is “Pilot and Stewardess,” but we all know you’re much more imaginative than that! Go for something less obvious like say, “Bronco-Bustin’ Cowboy and Wild Filly,” or perhaps “Poodle meets Great Dane,” both of which are worth extra bonus miles, because let’s face it: anyone can do it standing up. On the other hand getting down on all fours in an airplane lavatory takes real skill! Very important tip: if your hand ends up in the toilet, don’t flush.
Step #4: Afterward, expect the longest walk of shame in your lifetime. Yep, no doubt about it: everyone sitting between the lavatory and your row heard your partner’s ecstatic moans, despite the number of those little tissue squares you stuffed into his mouth. Unfortunately, there’s nothing left for you to do but hold your head high as you walk back to your seat—
So try hard to ignore the snickers, cat calls, and applause.
Does membership have its privileges? You betcha—bragging rights! Just think of all the gal pals you’ll shock—not to mention all the man-ho’s you’ll impress.
The morning flight to the newly branded Fantasy Island takes place on a spanking new Airbus A-350, and boy, is it packed to the gills.
Jack, Dominic and I are sitting in First Class. We are all in the same row, but the men’s seats are placed at each window, whereas my seat is placed with one other in the middle of the aisle.
I wish Jack’s ticket had placed him next to me. Then again, we aren’t supposed to know each other, let alone interact in public.
At least, that’s an excuse I’m willing to live with.
I try to focus on the dossier explaining my cover. It says my name is Lotta Tallant. Supposedly I’m a sex therapist. I’m also a redhead who’s into chess, math, and submission, all of which is supposed to be enticing to our target, should he be wandering through Eden Key looking for love in all the wrong faces.
The seats are really minicubicles, affording the first-class passengers the ultimate in privacy, what with high backs and curtained openings. When desired, the chairs open to a fully horizontal position.
I’d certainly desire it, if Jack were by my side.
I glance over at his cubicle, where the curtain is shut. His pouting is ridiculous.
The moment we’re airborne, Dominic puts his efforts toward charming two of the plane’s female flight attendants into opening a very rare bottle of cognac saved for the owners of Fantasy Air.
I’ve got no problem with the fact that Dominic is an equal opportunity flirt. Time that Jack realize it, too. I slip over to his cubicle and pull the curtain to one side. “You know, you’re acting like a spoiled child.”
He lifts a corner of his HUNT CLUB complimentary eye mask. “We’re incognito, remember?”
“You were certainly incognito last night.” I plop myself on his lap. “Where the hell did you go?”
“I did what any red-blooded fake husband would do, whose fake kids and fake wife are out
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