National Singles Day

Jack
Three armed guards stepped forward to join the man standing at a wooden podium; their eight eyes locked onto me. Hundreds of weary, wait-angry passengers turned to stare.
The pre-check line was twenty deep, and the main boarding line snaked back and forth so many times the wait had to be at least an hour.
Yes, I was in uniform. Yes, I was running and dragging a rolling suitcase and clinging desperately to the laptop bag dangling off my shoulder. But none of those things mattered. Streaking headlong toward a TSA checkpoint, even for a crew member, always garnered attention. I might’ve received fewer stares if I’d actually been streaking through the airport, my junk flopping in the breeze. At least those gazes would’ve been mostly amused.
I skidded to a stop before the podium and reached for the badge dangling at my chest. The moment my hand left my laptop strap, the darn thing slipped and fell. I reached to grab it, but lost my balance and kicked the rolling bag, sending it toward the waiting pre-check passengers.
At least I managed to grab my laptop before it struck the ground.
“Running a little late this morning, Jack?” the agent I saw nearly every morning said, an amused smirk twisting his lips.
“Jerry, help. I’m so late.” I didn’t have to pretend to be desperate. My voice came out as one extended, miserable plea.
Jerry grunted, which was the closest he ever came to laughing.
“Chuck, grab that bag, would you?” he said to one of the guards who’d suddenly lost interest in my rapid approach. “Badge.” He pointed, no longer showing any sign of amusement or humor.
I straightened the strap on my shoulder, then held my badge out to be scanned.
“Have a good flight,” he said, as if I hadn’t nearly blown through his checkpoint.
“Thanks.” I took my bag from Chuck and broke into another run. “I’m laaaaaate!” I called behind me, earning another grunt from Jerry and a few chuckles from the others.
The Plane Train took forever and was so crammed with passengers, I could smell the Irish Spring on the skin of the man beside me. Don’t get me wrong, that’s a nice enough scent, but we hadn’t even met. I didn’t need to know what soap he used. By the time we arrived at my terminal, I knew which spots on his body he’d missed.
As I stepped off the train, a familiar sign greeted me, and my heart sank.
This was the point where I’d normally stop at Starbucks for a massive cup of coffee. Well, not exactly coffee. A skinny mocha latte with extra no-fat whip, a half pump of hazelnut, one squirt of caramel, a sprinkle of chocolate shavings, four Splenda packets, and extra room in case I wanted to add more milk. They didn’t have a name for what I ordered, which bordered on offensive. It was a fantastic drink and deserved recognition.
Unfortunately, there would be no skinny Jacky frappy flappy for me that morning. I would have to settle for the brutal brew we served on the plane.
Great.
By the time I reached the gate, the last of the passengers had boarded and the gate crew was closing the door.
“Wait!” I yelled, throwing the last of my breath into extra speed. “Please!”
The woman in the red coat turned, a sour twist to her lips matching the bitterness in the bun on her head. Yes, her bun was bitter.
“Jack Sutton?” Her face looked like my name tasted of gasoline mixed with dog poop.
“Yes, that’s me.” I skidded to a halt a step from her—and the door that nearly barred my way to work.
“Only thing left is a jump seat in back, and you might have to check that roller.” She glanced down, her nose somehow resisting the rest of her head and turning upward.
“Thank you so much,” I said. “I’m never late. Really.”
She rolled her eyes and stepped aside. “Badge and punch in your code. You’ve held us long enough.”
I swiped my badge and entered the digits as quickly as possible, then raced down the jet bridge.
Thankfully, there were still passengers standing in the aisles, searching for empty bins. No one paid any attention to the flight attendant breathing heavily as he struggled to keep from smacking people with his laptop.
“Hey, handsome,” a familiar voice called from a seat about halfway toward the back.
I followed the sound to find Emma, my perpetually perky partner, seated comfortably by a window. Her chestnut hair was parted slightly to one side and pulled back in a tight knot. The ruby of her lipstick was almost electric.
“Hey, Em. Love the lips.”
She grinned as a few passengers turned to see the lips I’d complimented so publicly.
“Love the hair,” she said, referring to my black mop that refused to lie down. I’d long since given up on styling it, allowing it to roam freely like some unruly buffalo. Ironically, it was also the feature that got me the most attention, aside from my eyes. Having eyes almost White Walker blue made my eye game pretty strong.
“Thanks.” I grinned at our usual complimentary greeting.
I eyed the overweight man in the center seat beside her, then the kid who couldn’t have been older than twelve by the aisle, realizing there was no hope of sitting together. “I’m headed to the back. They’ve got me sitting on the toilet this flight. See you in Miami.”
She waved her fingers like she was playing an invisible trumpet and blew me a kiss.
My heart sank as the working attendants sent the first bag forward, indicating a full flight with no more luggage space. I turned, ready to surrender my bag, to receive my first pleasant surprise of the day.
“I’ll put your bag in the crew closet up front. We’ve got just enough room for one more.” A twenty-something guy with high cheekbones and pink mascara nearly made me jump. He batted his eyes and scanned me like he was a copier and I was a piece of paper.
“Uh, great, thanks,” I said, trying to draw his eyes back above my belt.
He stepped so close I thought he might try to kiss me, then whispered, “Sure thing, honey. I’m Mikey. I thought I knew all the hotties in uniform, but you’re fresh meat. What’s your name, shugah?”
His accent screamed Deep South—or maybe just screamed, I wasn’t sure.
“Hi, Mikey. I’m Jack. Just Jack.”
He giggled and covered his mouth. “Just Jack. Like on Will and Grace? That’s priceless. I like this one.” He shoved his index finger into my chest like he was testing the doneness of a steak. “Call me if you need anything, just Jack. We have the best nuts you’ve ever put in your mouth on this plane.”
My face must’ve turned beet red because he burst into girlish giggles then twirled and sashayed to the front with my bag. Passengers within ten rows turned and watched as I ducked my head and fled to the safety of the plane’s rear,
***
The final ding sounded and passengers rose to deplane. The flight attendants working the back of the plane popped up and began gathering their belongings. I figured we had another ten minutes before all the slow-moving folks in front of us gathered their luggage and exited, so I remained firmly planted in my jump seat and continued to read a dog-eared copy of Heir of Magic by J.D. Ruffin. Nothing passed the time like a good tale of magic and intrigue.
“You still reading that stuff?” one of the attendants said, her head practically resting on my shoulder from behind.
“That stuff?”
“That’s one of your Dungeons and Dragons books, isn’t it?”
I chuckled. “No. This is more like Game of Thrones or Lord of the Rings. But I do love my D&D.”
She tsked in my ear, then straightened. “How can a man as pretty as you be such a nerd?”
I closed the paperback, careful to keep my thumb in place, then craned to look back at her with a lopsided grin. “Aww, you think I’m pretty.”
She reached down and flicked a lock of hair off my forehead. It promptly rebelled and fell back over my eye.
She shook her head. “You know you’re pretty, baby. You own a mirror. My people mourn the fact you’re on the other team.”
“Your people? Are you the female Moses? Leading women everywhere out of the land of the gays?”
“Something like that.” She snorted. “Where are you headed, anyway? It’s weird, you two connecting out of Miami.”
“Long haul to Barcelona.”
“Ooh, fancy international boy,” she said, one brow raised appreciatively.
I shrugged. “Not sure how fancy being cooped up in a metal tube for ten hours is, but I like it well enough. Passengers on the long flights are always in a good mood.”
“Huh. That would be nice. You should’ve seen some of the guys on this bird. Almost made me want to jump out the back.”
I nodded in sympathy. Any flight attendant with more than two days of service had experienced wild children, drunk or otherwise unruly passengers, and any number of other uncomfortable situations. It was a good gig most of the time, but there were days …
“I turn around in an hour, then I’m done for the week,” she said, drawing me out of my memories of horrific passengers of the past. “Have fun in Spain.”
I shoved a bookmark into the pages and stuffed the book in my laptop bag, then smiled up at her. “Thanks for the commute. See you next time.”
“Okay, dungeon boy.” She winked and made her way down the aisle.
I stood and tossed the laptop bag strap over my shoulder, then headed toward the front of the plane, surprised to find Emma still sitting patiently in her seat.
“Hey, you,” I said.
She smiled and stood. “Escort me to my gate?”
I extended my arm, like the gentleman I was. “Of course, m’lady.”
She grinned and slapped my arm playfully. “Grab my bag above your head, would you?”
“Anything m’lady desires.” I handed the roller down, then followed her off the plane.
We marched down the center of the airport toward our departure gate. Passengers milled about on either side. The occasional beeping of a golf cart ferrying workers or passengers needing assistance punctuated the constant hum of conversation. It was a typical day at the office for us, the beginning of a very long back and forth across the pond.
“You ready for this one?” Emma asked.
“Oh yeah. I’ve only done Barcelona once before, and we didn’t have much time between flights. We get a whole day to sightsee this trip.”
“Your second time on this route and they put you in front?” A hint of jealousy threaded her question.
“Don’t be jelly. I’ve been doing long hauls for years. I just haven’t done this route much.”
She nodded like she understood but didn’t look up, so I decided we needed a subject change.
“Coffee before we board? I was too late to grab Starbucks in Atlanta.”
Her face brightened back to its normal brilliance. “Absolutely.”
Twenty minutes later, armed with serious caffeine, chocolate, and sugar—not necessarily in that order—we reached our gate and stepped onto the massive Airbus A350-900, the largest bird in Delta’s fleet.
“Holy shit, this is a big plane,” I said, more to myself than to Emma.
She chuckled. “Thought the same thing myself the first time I stepped on. It’s nice having extra room, but more room means more passengers. Put your big boy pants on. You’re going to need them.”
“Maybe I’ll have a low-maintenance group,” I said as she headed toward the back of the plane, while I turned left toward the forward cabin.
“Famous last words,” she called over her shoulder without looking back.
Our crew leader, a woman with a tight gray bun and sharp jaw, stepped up, clipboard in hand. “You Sutton?”
“Uh, yes. I’m Jack.”
She eyed my face, then scanned my uniform, as if searching for dog hair or lint. “Neat, well presented, handsome. The hair’s a mess but should work. You’ll do.” She nodded like she’d just ticked every box on some mental list, then returned her gaze to her clipboard. “Delta One has been bought out. Your entire cabin is one group. Headquarters wants them happy. Got it?”
Delta One was our premier cabin service offered on long-haul and a few priority flights. The food and service afforded to customers who could handle the price tag made flying first class look like a discount service. We poured endless champagne, prepped fresh, exotic meals, and catered to our customers in what Disney called “the wow experience.” I enjoyed working Delta One, mostly because the fliers were relaxed and easygoing, but also to see the surprised looks as we rolled out each wave of food and drink. Even the most seasoned passengers were stunned by the red carpet treatment of Delta One.
The greeting I’d received from my flight leader was almost as startling as the service I’d soon deliver to passengers. I’d never had a scolding before a flight. I almost felt like slinking to the back with Emma and giving another attendant the privilege of sucking up to VIPs, but I’d never abandon my duties.
“Got it. Yes, ma’am. I’ll do my best.”
“No.” She shook her head, her eyes narrowing. “You’ll do better than that.”
And just like that, Hurricane Grandma blew down the aisle toward my poor, unsuspecting friend.
“She likes you.” A soft voice behind turned my head. “She normally ignores new members of her crew until there’s something to criticize.”
The petite twenty-something in a neat purple blazer adorned with glittering, bedazzled flight wings grinned and batted her overly round eyes.
“Oh, uh, great. Good to know.” I extended a hand. “I’m Jack.”
She glanced at my hand, smirked, then took it, her slender fingers just teasing my skin. “Mallory.” She did that copier scanning thing that made me really uncomfortable. “It’s very good to meet you, Jack. We’ll be doing Delta One together.”
“Great,” I said, painting on my brightest smile. “This should be fun. Know anything about our group? Sergeant Grandma said somebody bought out the entire section.”
Her eyes somehow widened further. “Really?” She looked around, counting the fancy tubes whose seats fully extended into beds. “That would cost over a hundred thousand dollars.”
I nodded. “That’s what I was thinking. Bet we have a bunch of cranky old rich guys. You’ll have to charm them.”
She looked up like I’d slapped her. “And what if they’re more into athletic guys with flyaway hair and piercing eyes? You gonna take over the flirt brigade?”
“Ma’am, yes, ma’am.” I flashed her more teeth, straightened my back, and saluted. “The gays are my people.”
“Well, that’s disappointing.” She shook her head. “Why don’t you take greeting, and I’ll prep round one.”
There were ten rounds of food service over the course of the flight. By the time we were done with them, the Delta One passengers would either be loosening their belts or be so full they’d wave off the last courses. We wouldn’t hear a single complaint about “airline food.”
“You got it,” I said, grabbing a tray and loading it with champagne flutes. “How much time do we have?”
A ding beat her to the punch, indicating the boarding process had begun at the gate.
“Ooh, guess I need to hustle.”
I filled the flutes and dropped a strawberry in each, then placed a stack of cocktail napkins on the corner where passengers could easily grab them. A moment later, I waited near the boarding door at the entrance to the coveted Delta One section. Steel Bun stood across the entryway, in position to greet each passenger and direct them toward their seat. She glowered at me, then eyed the champagne, and the tiniest hint of a smile tickled her lips. Instead of making her appear more pleasant, she looked like she’d tasted something sour. No sooner than the almost-smile appeared, it vanished.
“Welcome aboard,” she said, turning from me and allowing her frown to ease as the first passenger stepped up. He was an elderly man using a walker, which she quickly took from him and walked him up the aisle toward the Comfort Plus section. Seven more pre-boards arrived, each headed to the back of the plane.
Still I stood, flutes in hand, fizzing away.
Then a thirty-something man with buzzed hair and a thick five o’clock shadow stepped aboard. His T-shirt was so tight I could tell he was freezing—or, at least, his nipples were. And then there were his arms, bulging against threadbare sleeves. He glanced at his ticket, then held it to Steel Bun. Her lips pursed as she raised an open palm in my direction.
The scruffy man turned toward me and I nearly swooned. He was stunning.
“Welcome aboard. Champagne, sir?”
He froze, stared at the flutes, looked up at me, then back at the flutes. Then he turned toward a man I hadn’t seen board, a much taller, much broader man whose smile extended nearly to his ears.
“Champagne? What the fuck has Cooper done now?” the scruffy man asked the giant.
In answer, the hulk reached over his shoulder and snatched a flute from my tray, raising it in salute. “Whatever he’s done, I love it. Now, get moving. There’s people behind us.”
The first man took a glass and napkin, gave me a sheepish grin, then scooted past. I had to step out of the aisle to let the larger man pass. His shoulders were nearly as wide as the walkway. Jesus.
By the time I’d straightened and turned back toward the boarding door, another member of their party had arrived. Locks of blond hair fell nearly to the shoulders of a tanned, sharply featured man whose steely blue eyes nearly knocked me backward. His shirt wasn’t as tight as those on the first two guys, but there was no missing the defined chest that held his T-shirt aloft.
I sucked in a breath and held out my tray. “Hi. Drink. I mean … I’m … uh … champagne. No, I’m not champagne. I’m Jack. Yeah, Jack. I mean, welcome. Champagne?”
The guy cocked his head and smiled. My chest swelled.
He reached forward and took a flute, sipped, then grinned wider. “Thanks, Jack. Guess I’ll see you around?”
My nod was like a stutter. “Yeah, guess so.”
“Awesomeness. I’m Steph.”
He raised his glass one last time, and I nearly dropped my tray when he rubbed against me as he passed toward his seat in the front row.