Not Your Basic Love Story

I always have a plan. Always. The empty seat next to me was definitely not in the plan. Even worse, it was a painful reminder of the loneliness I was about to face for the entirety of my weekend in Mexico. Not that it was a vacation. If it were possible to cancel, I would have.

I fidgeted with my unclasped seatbelt. I’m usually more relaxed by the time I’ve boarded. I did, after all, get to the airport an hour early and have a beer (or two) in the lounge. My anxiety was still high because of the unknown factor: who would be sitting in the row with me. Knowing my luck, I’d be stuck sitting next to the chattiest person in British Columbia.

If only I had the window seat. It’s easy to ignore people from the window, watching the landscape fly by. Unfortunately, I was stuck in the aisle as people stuffed their winter coats into the overhead compartments and jostled their luggage past.

Now began my tradition of guessing who would be sitting next to me.

An old lady approached with her ancient carpetbag, sun hat already on her head, fake pastel flowers along the brim matching her blouse. She smiled at me, and for a moment, I resigned myself to having to talk about all ten of her cats for the entire five-and-a-half-hour flight ahead. She checked her printed ticket, squinted at the numbers above her head, and kept moving.

Next was a young mother travelling alone with a rambunctious little boy, who was already whining and fighting against her. As much as I love kids, I don’t love being confined in a tiny space with them for hours at a time. Sitting next to a toddler would also make my empty seat barrier moot; there would be zero defence against the screams of pain from tiny ears popping or the smell of dirty diapers. I released a relieved sigh as the mom worked her way past. I hoped whoever she sat next to would be helpful.

Oh no. Worst case scenario. An older guy approached, coughing into his hands and sniffling through his red, runny nose. It was too early in the season for allergies. It would be just my luck to leave on vacation and return home with the flu. There wasn’t enough sanitizer in the world to help me here. Luckily, he also kept moving, his germs some other person’s problem.

My breath caught in my throat at the next passenger. Tall. Dark. Handsome. All of the clichés. His black hair shined, perfectly combed atop his head, and his beard was trimmed along his jawline and faded into his sideburns, emphasizing his angular features.

Time slowed as he checked his phone and then looked up at me. His gorgeous, deep brown eyes were pools of hot, sweaty summers and mysterious backstory. The quirk of his gentle smile hinted at various talents other than containing his perfectly straight teeth, their pristine whiteness a stark contrast against the warm colour of his skin. I couldn’t help but smile back, warmth flushing my cheeks.

He said words.

“Hmm?”

He pointed past me. “That’s my seat.”

“Oh!”

I stood, shuffling by him awkwardly as he ducked and slid into his spot. His chest brushed up against mine momentarily, accompanied by the gentle, welcoming aroma of his tasteful cologne and perhaps a hint of tequila.

I sat back down and buckled in as he situated himself. My pulse quickened. Did I really get to sit next to Mr. Sexypants for the whole flight? Oh shit. That meant I had to figure out how to string words into sentences without conveying how awkward I am, which was difficult to do even under normal circumstances.

He put his immaculately cared-for iPhone on airplane mode before tucking it into his canvas and leather messenger bag and went to shove it under the seat in front of him, but I interjected.

“You can put it under the middle seat. I mean, if you want. More legroom for you.” I offered a polite smile, trying to avoid direct eye contact.

He looked up at me, caught my gaze, and again I was lost in those intense eyes of his. I tried not to blush. I failed.

“Nobody’s sitting here?” he asked, eyebrows raised and brow slightly furrowed.

I shook my head. “It’s just the two of us.”

“Thanks.” He smiled and took me up on my offer. As he slid his bag under the seat, I noted the absence of any rings on his fingers.

I forced my eyes forward. Get it together. He’s a perfect stranger. He’s not interested. Your bed is barely cold, and here you are, fantasizing about a stranger on a plane. Miranda was right. I should have spent the last two weeks swiping right instead of eating ice cream and watching The Bachelor. But Tinder, ugh. I wasn’t ready for that dumpster fire yet.

“First time going to Mexico?” he asked, rolling up the sleeves of his black dress shirt, perhaps a bit too formal for travel, to reveal thick forearms with a spattering of dark hair.

Relax, girl. It’s only a forearm. Although, it’s one of the top five sexiest parts of a man’s body. Maybe he is interested. A little flirting never hurt anyone, right?

“No, I’ve been a few times. You?”

He shook his head. “Never to Mexico. I haven’t been on a plane since I was a kid, and I barely remember it.”

I smiled. “Well, if you need anything, I’m a veteran flier.”

“Thanks. I’m a little nervous. I wish I wasn’t by the window.” He looked out, his expression trepidatious.

“The window is the best part! Take-off and landing are usually a little bumpy, but other than that it’s quite boring. You won’t see too much once we’re up there, just clouds. Once we get closer to Mexico and start our descent you’ll see the ocean.” I was babbling. Luckily, the pre-flight checklists forced me to stop before I could embarrass myself any further.

Silence grew between us as the plane taxied to the runway. The flight attendant gave out safety instructions in both English and French while everyone ignored her. I glanced over at my seatmate to see him studying the laminated emergency response instruction card.

He looked up, catching my amused smile. “I had to see if the people in the pictures were as calm as that movie said.”

I thought for a moment, racking my brain for the reference. “Fight Club?” I guessed.

A surprised smile lit up his face. “You know it?”

I grinned. “Do I? I practically have it memorized.”

“So if this is Fight Club,” he said, leaning closer, “does that make you Tyler Durden, or me?”

“We’d both be Tyler Durden, obviously. But I’d be Brad Pitt.”

“No way. If anyone’s Brad Pitt here, it’s me.”

I chuckled. “Not that there’s anything wrong with Edward Norton. I mean, he’s a babe.”

He smiled at me for a long moment, his eyes twinkling. Then, he slid the instructions back into the seat pocket and reached his hand across the empty seat between us. I took it, his large hand enveloping my comparatively dainty one; his grip was confident but gentle, nails trimmed with care.

“Dev,” he offered.

“Rebecca,” I replied.

He held onto my hand for exactly three heartbeats before letting go. I forced my eyes forward, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. The plane increased in speed, rumbling and shaking as we darted down the runway, engines roaring. Dev inhaled sharply through his teeth and gripped the armrests. I took note of the tendons and veins as they rippled beneath the skin of his hands. His eyes were shut tight, a light sweat forming on his brow. My stomach dropped a bit as we gained elevation, but soon we were at a steady incline, and everything was normal.

“You okay, Dev?” I asked, enjoying the taste of his name on my tongue.

He opened his eyes and nodded once.

“The worst part’s over. Do you want something to drink? My treat!”

A curious smile played upon his face. “I don’t think a lady has ever offered to buy me a drink.”

“Well, I’m a feminist,” I said with a smirk.

He laughed. “Sure, yeah, I can’t turn that down.”

“What are you going to Mexico for?” I asked, small talk coming easily for once as I waited for the attendants to begin their service.

“Winter break, final year of college. Next semester is my last one. It was kind of a last-minute decision. A bunch of my cousins are going down. They’re up there, near the front somewhere. They talked me into it. It’s been a while since I’ve travelled, and I thought it would be fun to get out of the rain and have some sunshine for once.”

“Ooh, what’s your major?” I twisted in my seat to face him.

“Business administration. Are you a graduate?”

I nodded. “Engineering.”

“Wow, that’s impressive. You must have a really cool job.”

My job was... meh. It wasn’t what I’d imagined myself doing as a little girl when I dreamed of becoming an engineer. Everything was different than I’d imagined... I changed the subject. “Are you from Vancouver?”

“No, Surrey.”

Surrey was just east of the Greater Vancouver Area. It would be an hour from my place to his, at least, and I’d have to get off the Skytrain. Probably take a couple of busses. Wait, what? Why was I even thinking that? Geez, Rebecca. You’ve known him for like five minutes, and here you are—

“How about you?” he asked.

His question caught me off guard; I’d been in my head again instead of paying attention to the conversation. “I live in Vancouver.”

He smiled. “No, what brings you to Mexico?”

“Oh!” I laughed it off. “My best friend Miranda is getting married. I’m one of her bridesmaids.”

“Sounds like fun,” he said, wiping a light sheen of sweat from his brow.

The attendant addressed us in his chipper voice. “Anything to drink?”

“Yeah, um, I’ll have tequila and orange juice. Dev?” I looked over at him.

He nodded. “Sure, sounds good.”

I silently praised myself for guessing his drink; the slight whiff of tequila I’d gleaned from him was accurate. I paid with a tap of my card as the attendant handed me the cups with ice and orange juice, as well as two tiny bottles of Cuervo. I poured them out, a little heavier on the tequila than I’d intended with a bump of turbulence. Cup in one hand, I offered the other to Dev.

He sniffed it. “Whew, that’s a strong drink!”

“Sorry, but I mean, we’re going to Mexico. It’s only getting started.”

We raised our little plastic cups, tapped them together, said cheers, and took a drink. It was awful. I’m not one for tequila at the best of times, and semi-warm orange juice didn’t do it any favours.

I looked over to Dev. “How long are you—”

A panicked expression appeared on his face. He dropped the cup and fumbled through the seat pocket in front of him. My stomach clenched, but nothing could prepare me for what happened next.

Dev puked all over himself.

By the smell of it, he’d ingested quite a bit of tequila already, along with what may have been a greasy burger and fries. I looked away as fast as possible, fighting my gag reflex.

“Oh teri,” he cursed.

Moans of disgust erupted from the other seats. The attendant reappeared with napkins and plastic bags. I quickly excused myself down the aisle to the bathroom, thankful there wasn’t a line-up. After splashing some cold water on my face, I glanced up at myself in the tiny mirror. My skin was somehow even more pale than usual. My mousy brown hair was damp around the frame of my face and at the back of my neck from sweat. I glanced down at my clothes. Ugh! Was that..? Gross. I wiped at my grey tank top and faded jeans with some paper towel, getting most of the vomit off.

I took a steadying breath as the plane shook again and prepared to return to my seat. When I was sure my stomach would hold, I exited the tiny room and nearly ran into Dev. Slime covered his trousers and once-nice shirt, an embarrassed grimace on his face.

Stomach, don’t betray me now! I inched past him and made my way back to my seat. Though the attendants had done a good job cleaning everything up, nothing could be done about the acrid smell I was now stuck with for five. More. Hours.

Just when I’d thought my luck was getting better, it had, in fact, not turned around at all. If only my seatmate was the old lady with the cats, or the mom with the toddler, or even the guy with the germs. Nope. I was stuck sitting next to the guy with motion sickness because of course I was.

I grabbed my iPhone from my purse and quickly put in my ear pods, turning on RuPaul’s Drag Race, thankful I’d saved several episodes ahead of time.

When Dev made his way back he looked defeated. I felt bad for him, a little. I moved my knees and he shuffled into his seat. He said more words.

I pulled one of my pods out, just an inch. “‘Scuse me?”

“I said, I’m sorry. About that.”

“It’s fine.” I smiled, teeth still clenched, the awful smell stronger with him there. Didn’t he have a spare change of clothes in his carry-on? I shoved my pod back in and looked at my phone, hoping he would take the hint and leave me alone, my fun and flirtatious five-hour flight ruined.

As soon as we land I'm texting Miranda about what happened, and then I'm getting a drink. NOT tequila. Anything but more tequila. Tequila might be permanently ruined for me, and I haven't even landed in Mexico yet.

<3

Read the rest of the first chapter here!