Crazy For You

Who knew getting naked could be so funny?

Denver International Airport

Tasha checked her watch once more, flipped her backpack more securely over her shoulder, and picked up speed as she ran through the crowded airport. Flight 224J was set to take off in five minutes for Dallas and she was halfway across the Denver airport, running to beat the band, before the last call to board.

Just as the flight attendant prepared to close the door she leapt forward, boarding pass in hand. She shoved them at the woman.

“This is my flight,” she gasped, mentally chastising herself for that second cup of chamomile tea this morning. The one that made her so warm and cozy that she’d fallen asleep on the couch until her mother had called.

“Okay,” the attendant responded. She tore the stub off the ticket and handed the rest back. “Hurry.”

Tasha did, loping down the ramp toward the 737’s open door, her backpack heavy on her right shoulder and another small carry-on in her left hand. Good thing she’d decided to travel light and not check her luggage. Her hiking boots weighed heavy on her feet though, and she felt as if she were lumbering. But she made it, bursting through the door and startling the flight attendant, who then glanced quickly at her ticket and pointed down the aisle.

“We’re nearly ready for take-off. A few people have changed seats. Just sit wherever you want. There’s a nice window seat in first class. It’s yours if you want it.”

Since Tasha’s ticket was clearly marked “coach” she thought she’d for once take advantage of what was handed to her and accept the business class seat. “Cool,” she responded as she made her way down the aisle.
She spotted the lone seat immediately, puzzled as to why anyone would leave the window open and choose the aisle. She always wanted the window. Not that she was a world traveler or anything, it was just that when she flew, she’d always loved to look out over the postage-stamp view below.

As she neared the seat, she spotted the man on the aisle and the word stuffy immediately came to mind. He was dressed in a tie, starched white shirt and suit pants, with wire-rimmed glasses perched low across his nose. His darkish hair was conservatively cut. Definitely a nine-to-fiver, she decided. Maybe a nine-to-niner, or worse. A shame. He was probably not that much older than herself. She’d always likened a business man with the ugly duckling. A free-spirit trapped inside a suit, secretly dying to get out. To her, the concept of suit-and-tie seemed so...unnatural.

A laptop was open on top of his briefcase; his fingers flew across the keyboard. She had to wonder about a man who couldn’t stop thinking about business long enough to stop working during a brief layover. To her way of thinking, something was definitely wrong with that scenario. Oh, well, none of her business. Perhaps he’ll get off in Dallas, she thought, then realized that even at that, it was a three hour flight.

Tasha stopped beside his seat, glanced overhead, then dropped her carry-on bag to the floor. She grazed her fingers under the compartment above his head to find the latch so she could stow her backpack inside. At that point, the flight attendant came over the speaker to remind everyone to buckle up. Tasha glanced at the attendant and caught her stern gaze as her hand tripped the switch. Mr. Laptop was oblivious to everything as the compartment door swung vigorously upward. Then quite suddenly, a blanket, a small make-up bag, and two pillows rained down on the man in the seat.

Tasha cried out. The flight attendant stopped talking. Mr. Laptop stared straight ahead, his fingers frozen over the keyboard. A woman three seats back shouted, “That’s my bag!”

Finally, Tasha moved. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Here, let me get that.”
Dropping her backpack to the floor with her carry-on, Tasha grabbed one of the pillows and tossed it back up above. She heard the flight attendant drone on again in the background and nervously glanced around at the other passengers. They weren’t paying a bit of attention to her or the flight attendant. She still hadn’t looked Mr. Laptop in the face yet. Grabbing another pillow, she tossed it upward as well.
By now the owner of the makeup bag had come forward. The man in the aisle seat was removing the blanket from his lap and handing it to her, still not looking up. But when Tasha reached for the handle of the makeup bag and lifted it, the latch sprung open, and the entire contents spilled into his lap. Tasha gasped; the man exhaled in disgust. Mr. Laptop looked up then—dead on—and stared quite sternly into her face.

“Are you finished?” he finally asked.

Tasha grinned nervously. “Uh...well, I think so.” It was then that she looked down and saw the sticky mass of dark brown liquid makeup oozing into the cracks around the keys of the laptop. “Ohmigosh!”

Stuffing the blanket into the compartment, she then picked up the make-up bottle, capped it and thrust it at the woman behind her. Then, she snatched eyeliner and lipstick and brushes and make-up remover from his lap and the computer and tossed them into the bag, wondering all the while why any woman would slather this stuff all over her face. When a tube of mascara slid between his legs, she started to reach for it, too, then jerked her hand back. Her wide-eyed gaze went to his face and he slowly rotated his gaze to meet hers.

Blue eyes. Oh God. Bluer than a clear Rocky Mountain afternoon.
Tasha swallowed, her mouth gone suddenly dry, then pointed to the mascara. “You get that one,” she said, her gaze still locked with his. He turned his attention to his lap.

“Ahem, yes. I think I’ll do that.”

After he’d retrieved the elusive mascara and popped it into the bag, Tasha snapped the clasp and shoved the bag toward the woman. She searched for something to wipe the makeup from the computer until the attendant came up behind her.

“Miss, you need to take your seat now,” she said firmly.

“But I...” Tasha looked at her and saw the exasperation in her eyes. She nodded, “I’ll take my seat now.”

First, she hoisted her heavy backpack up over the man and into the compartment, crowding into him slightly. Then she grabbed her carry-on and tossed it onto the floor in front of her seat. When she tried to ease past his knees, he rose a bit out of his seat, still clutching the make-up covered computer and briefcase to his lap to let her pass. Just as she was clear, her foot caught on the strap of her carry-on and she tripped into her seat, catching his right arm in the process and dragging him to the right with her.

He quickly jerked himself back into his own space.

“Tight fit,” she said.

It sounded like he growled.

Tasha risked a glance his way. His glasses sat a little cock-eyed on his face.

Sighing, she leaned back against the seat. Her head fell for a second against the headrest and she momentarily closed her eyes. Exhausted. This vacation her mother had insisted upon—bless her kind soul—was supposed to relax her, wasn’t it? My goodness! So far she’d overslept, almost missed her flight, and ruined a man’s laptop all in the same day!

This was not relaxing.

Yes, Violet had surprised her all right. The day after she’d suggested Tasha get away from Pinebow Springs for a while, she’d shown up with Club Regale Resort reservations and airline tickets in hand. A gift, she’d said. By that time Tasha was thoroughly convinced that she did need to get away. And she’d be grateful to her mother forever for providing her the opportunity.

Laptop?

Abruptly, she jerked her gaze back to the man’s computer and reached for her bag. “Oh! I think I’ve got something in here to clean that up with,” she half-muttered under her breath. After finding some tissues, she reached for the computer. Startled when he pulled it back onto his lap, she squarely met his gaze. “Let me clean it off for you.”

“No. Thank you. I’ll have it looked at professionally.” He popped the lid of the computer shut.

She stopped his hands with hers. “Just let me get the big stuff off. It will dry on there and everything.”

Tasha watched as his gaze fell to her hand for a moment. Then he removed his hand from beneath hers, finished fastening the computer back together, and sat both it and his briefcase at his feet. He looked at her in defiance. “Put on your seat belt.”

Surprised, Tasha stared back at him. “What?”

“Put on your seat belt. You’re a walking disaster. The way things are going this plane will crash. Put on your seat belt.” He reached down to securely fasten his with a loud snap, his gaze still connected with hers.

Tasha did as she was told, breaking the connection with his eyes. The seat belt sign was on anyway, she reasoned. She wasn’t doing it because he’d ordered her to do it, or anything. Then she glanced at him once more. He’d laid his head back against the headrest, his eyes were closed, his fingers laced together over his abdomen. She let her perusal drift slowly over him, from head to knee—and was almost afraid to admit that she liked what she saw. He was just too damned attractive for her own good. Who would have thought it? A man in a suit? He appeared to be asleep. But Tasha knew better.

He was avoiding her.

It was then, the calm after the storm, that she realized that her heart was beating rapidly. And it wasn’t from exhaustion. It was from sexual energy, pure and simple. The vibes were good, as her mother would say. Even for a businessman.

Turning, she forced herself to look out the window, and dismissed him as he did her. The airport raced rapidly by and the plane nosed higher into the air.