The Woman in 3B - Eliza Lentzski Page 0,28

least I didn’t think it was supposed to be. I didn’t want to appear too eager to sit close to her, but I also didn’t want to make it weird by not sitting next to her, like I thought she had cooties. I was going to be awkward in my tight pencil skirt no matter where I sat, so I took up the place beside her.

The glass tumbler, filled halfway with its amber liquid, looked at home in Anissa’s curved hand. She balanced the glass on her bare knee while the light touch of her fingers kept it from tipping over. There was something super enticing about a woman who drank bourbon—like she’d forced her way into the Old Boy’s Club of booze, cigars, and impulsive purchases. I was more into wine or beer myself.

“Does this kind of stuff happen regularly?” she asked.

I knew she meant the canceled flight and hotel detour, but I was tempted to tell her that no, gorgeous women whom I’d only recently met had never borrowed my pajamas before or drank bourbon on my hotel bed.

Instead, I shook my head and took another burning sip from my glass. The alcohol warmed me from the inside like a cozy blanket.

“For as long as I’ve been doing this,” I said, “I can probably count on one hand the number of times I’ve gotten stuck because of canceled flights.”

“How long have you been a flight attendant?” she asked.

“Almost eight years.”

“Do you like it?”

“I do,” I nodded. I cupped my glass in both hands. “I get to travel the world, see interesting places, meet interesting people.”

“That sounds suspiciously like the company line,” she smirked.

“Okay, well, how about you? Do you like being an HR consultant?” I turned the question around on her.

“I’m impressed you remembered,” she said, raising her eyebrows.

I shrugged, not wanting to make it a big deal that I’d memorized the details of her life.

“My job is decidedly dull,” she said, “and I have no social life because I’m on the road so much. But I don’t really know what else I’d be doing if not this.”

I nodded knowingly. While I wouldn’t have described my job as dull, it certainly monopolized my time, especially when I took on extra flights to continue chipping away at my unnecessary student debt.

“What were you majoring in at college?” she asked.

I felt a small, but private victory that I wasn’t the only one who’d remembered the details from our brief food court conversation.

“I have no idea,” I admitted. “Which is probably why it didn’t turn out so well. I took a little of this, a little of that. I stuck it out for two years before I realized college wasn’t for me.”

“And not even an Associate’s Degree to show for your work?”

“Nah. Just a bunch of student debt.” I tried to keep the bitterness out of my tone. “They should really tell people that college isn’t for everyone. It would have saved me about forty grand.”

I normally wasn’t so open about my massive debt, especially with someone I didn’t really know, but conversation came easy with her.

Anissa winced at the admission. “I can relate. I never thought I’d pay off my MBA. But I chiseled away at it, little by little.”

“I’m trying to do that with my student loans,” I confirmed, “but after my car payment and rent, there’s not a lot left over. Luckily I don’t have time for much of a social life outside of work. I try to get the two or three flights-a-day lines each month. We really only get paid when we’re in the air, so longer flights are the best ones. I pick up extra flights on my days off to make a little extra cash, but we’re generally limited to 12-hour days.”

“Twelve hours?” she echoed. “That’s a long day.”

“It’s not all in-flight though. Like right now,” I noted, “this is technically considered part of my work day.”

“You’re getting paid to drink my good booze?”

“Not too shabby, right?”

“Want some more?” she offered.

“Sure.” I had no place to be.

Anissa leaned across me to grab the bottle of bourbon from one of the bedside tables. She continued to lean to one side as she topped off my glass, which provided me an unobstructed view down the neck of her t-shirt. I quickly averted my eyes when I realized I could see the tops of her naked breasts, straight down to her bellybutton.

“Tell me the craziest thing that’s ever happened on a flight,” she commanded.

“The craziest?” I was