The Woman in 3B - Eliza Lentzski Page 0,6

Family stuff. It’s fine.”

Gemma pursed her lips and nodded; she made no additional comment. She knew which topics I tended to be tight-lipped about, and family was definitely one of them. “I was thinking about your bingo card last night.”

I tore my muffin in half and popped a piece into my mouth. “You need to find more hobbies.”

Gemma ignored my jab. “What about Lara?”

My right eyeball twitched at the mention of my ex-whatever-she-was. I took a moment and swallowed the food in my mouth. “What about her?”

“The Mile High Club square doesn’t say anything about it being with a passenger. Maybe you could complete the task with someone from the flight crew,” she proposed. “And since you already know that Lara likes you, and you like her …” Gemma trailed off.

“We’re not working any of the same lines this month,” I reminded my friend. “We won’t be on a plane together.”

“Couldn’t you switch with someone for one flight?”

I stared into the murky depths of my black coffee. “I don’t know, Gemma. That feels a little icky. I don’t want to use Lara like that just to cross off a bingo square.”

“But isn’t that what you’re doing to the passengers?” she pointed out, her voice free of any malice. “Using them to win a game?”

“Yeah, but that’s different,” I tried to reason. “Spilling a drink on someone is totally different than having sex with someone.”

Gemma pressed her lips together and looked unconvinced.

“You know I’m only doing this to get out of debt,” I reasoned.

I really should have gone to a more reasonably-priced state school instead of insisting on attending a private college like the one Dawn had graduated from. I wasn’t competitive by nature, but something about Dawn brought out a desire to be better—to beat her at all costs. Despite my grumblings about how much she annoyed me, I loved my sister; but she always managed to make me feel inadequate in comparison.

“I know,” Gemma allowed, “but isn’t there another way to do that?”

“Fake my own death and move to a tropical island?” I flippantly proposed.

Gemma wrinkled her upturned nose. “Not funny.”

The tabletop rocked and wobbled when a third chair was dragged to our vicinity. My friend Kent eased himself into his chair.

“Morning,” he grumbled.

I took in his slightly disheveled hair and the visible circles beneath his normally vibrant eyes. Even the collar of his uniform shirt looked a little less starched than usual.

“Morning,” I returned. “Bad spaghetti last night?”

“What?” Kent asked. It looked like it pained him to form even the one-worded question.

“You look like crap,” I observed. “What happened?”

Kent reached across the table for the remaining pieces of my blueberry muffin, but I slapped his hand away. “Get your own, dude,” I complained.

“But I need to keep up my strength,” he practically whined. “That boy sucked me dry. I’m going to be ejaculating dust for days.”

Gemma covered her ears with her hands. “Oh gross. Too much information.”

I sat up a little straighter in my chair. “Okay, new topic,” I chirped. “You’re letting me work First Class today, right?”

Kent stroked the visible stubble on his chin. “Maybe. What do I get in return?”

I slid my muffin plate over to his side of the table and grinned, hopefully.

“Sloppy seconds of your muffin?” He wasn’t too wrecked to let the euphemism go to waste. Kent’s lips twisted to a sardonic smile. “Sorry, honey. You’re not my type.”

“We need to get going,” Gemma abruptly announced.

I didn’t know if it was actually time to go to our gate or if she just sensed that Kent and I were about to get into another one of our juvenile fights. I considered Kent a friend, but if we hadn’t been jammed together in a flying metal tube for multiple hours at a time, I didn’t know if I’d normally seek out his comradery. He was a nice enough guy and a seemingly loyal friend, but his extracurricular activities with married pilots turned me off.

We bussed our table, gathered our wheeled luggage, and set off for our assigned gate. One of the favorite parts of my day was the brisk walk to my morning flight. Kent, Gemma, and I walked side-by-side down the long terminal. We walked with purpose, not quite frantic, but not at a leisurely stroll either. My heels clicked on the solid flooring and my wheeled luggage glided silently behind me.

I walked with my head held high, acutely aware of the admiring stare of passengers and other airport personnel. It made me feel