The Woman in 3B - Eliza Lentzski Page 0,29

too flustered, worried she’d caught my stare, to give her an immediate answer.

“Yeah, like, the Mile High Club. Is that a real thing or is it only in the movies?”

“People trying to have sex in an airplane bathroom is actually a lot more common than you’d think,” I remarked.

“Really?”

“Mmhm,” I hummed as I took a quick sip. “People try to get away with all kinds of things when we’re in the air. Guys watch porn on flights all the time—totally don’t even hide it. Or you get those couples who ask for blankets so they can fool around under them.”

“Wow. I had no idea,” Anissa blinked. “Have you done anything like that? Are you a member of the club?”

Her tone and features were so nonchalant, it was as though she’d asked if I flossed regularly instead of if I’d ever had sex on a plane.

“Uh, no. Definitely not.”

Anissa shifted on the mattress, sitting up straighter. “Definitely not? Why is that a definite no?”

I took another drink of my bourbon to give myself more time to formulate an answer. I half contemplated telling her about the monthly bingo card, but it was supposed to be a company secret. “I can’t wrap my head around having sex in a port-a-potty,” I settled on.

She stuck out an adorable, yet juicy lower lip. “Not even once?”

“When I’m on a plane I’m typically working, and it wouldn’t be responsible for me to ditch the people in my crew like that, plus there’s so many people on a plane,” I began to ramble, “and I’d be selfish to monopolize one of the bathrooms when so many people would probably be waiting.” I could feel myself squirming.

“Okay, okay,” she laughed. She knocked her shoulder against mine. “I’ll stop harassing you about it.”

“Have you done anything wild and crazy while on the job?” I asked, not wanting to feel like a rigid prude.

“I borrowed a girl’s pajamas and drank whiskey with her in bed,” she grinned cheekily.

Her response made me laugh. “Okay, fair enough.”

I couldn’t help noticing that at some point in our conversation, her shoulder had continued to press against mine. It was a friendly gesture, but it was electrifying. I lost all other feeling in my body except for the warm, solid press of her arm touching mine.

“Want some more?” she asked. Her voice was deep and round. The syllables covered my brain in a warm, velvety blanket.

I’d become too focused on the warmth radiating from her body for her question to register. In my silence, she again filled our glasses before they could ever empty. It was probably the most dangerous way of consuming alcohol. If she continued to top off my glass, I would have no idea how much bourbon I’d actually had.

As she poured, some of the liquid splashed onto the top of her hand. She brought her hand up to her mouth and licked away the few clinging drops. Her tongue was quick, but everything seemed to slow down with the action. My eyes were drawn to her broad mouth, her generous lips, and to her smooth skin. It had been an innocent movement to avoid spilling alcohol on the bed, but my mind was busy with anything but innocent thoughts.

I remembered her cute, shallow bellybutton. How much whiskey could I drink off of her abdomen? I pressed my thighs together, hopeful she wouldn’t notice. I could feel the heat radiating from my core like an overworked campfire, and this woman was gasoline.

“So.”

Anissa set her glass on the bedside table and licked her lips.

“So,” I repeated back.

“So, are we going to fuck now or later?”

My eyes widened and my mouth fell open. “What?”

Anissa raised up on her knees in bed. “Am I supposed to pretend you haven’t been ogling my ass and tits all night?”

My eyes opened even wider. “I-I …”

Anissa put her hands on her hips and waited for a real response. The expectant posture only succeeded in thrusting her breasts higher and farther out. Without my brain’s permission, my eyes dropped to her chest. I could just make out the shape of her dark nipples through the thin t-shirt material.

“See? You’re doing it right now,” she practically gloated.

I slapped my hands over my eyes, no longer trusting myself to not gawk at her body. I had probably looked like a hungry, cartoon wolf eyeballing a sheep all night.

“What’s wrong, Alice?”

I loved how my name sounded coming off her tongue. I could only imagine how much better it would sound when