Mile High Guy Read Free Page A

anything.
    I make a strong black coffee. It’s real coffee up in first class, not the instant rubbish served down the back. I still refuse to sit down because to get up again would be hell. I look at my watch and will the hands to move. A tap on my shoulder makes me jump.
    I swing around. The tall man opposite apologises. He’s smiling though. And he’s cute. Very cute actually. So he’s instantly forgiven.
    ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you but I was just wondering, if it’s not too much trouble, I’d give anything for a cup of that coffee. It smells divine.’
    He has the most endearing smile I’ve ever seen. The type of man I bet other women love. Imagine being married to someone like that! Waking up to that face every morning. He’s like something from a Ralph Lauren commercial. I can’t believe he’s Irish.
    ‘Sure.’ I smile back but am so tired I’m wondering if I’m dreaming. This guy with his twinkling greenish-grey eyes has to be the best-looking thing I’ve seen all night. In fact he’s probably the best-looking man I’ve ever seen in my life. But then I remember that I don’t like good-looking men any more so I’m going to stop admiring him. Anyway I’m genuinely pleased to have something to do.
    When you’re this tired it’s best to stay busy and keep talking. I ask my first class passenger if he slept well. He answers that he must have been asleep since take-off.
    Lucky sod.
    As I’m waiting for the coffee to brew, I ask if he was in New York on business or pleasure.
    ‘Business,’ he answers with a smile, ‘Kind of.’
    I’d like to ask him what kind of business but I don’t. People who interrogate others with ‘What do you do for a living?’ leave me somewhat cold and anyway we are not at a cocktail party here. He is my customer. Sort of.
    The senior hostess arrives into the galley and peers at my handsome male passenger. He seems sorry that we’ve been interrupted. The coffee is made now anyway so it’s not like I have any excuses left to talk to him. I head back to the door where Debbie is now shivering.
    ‘Well?’ she smiles quizzically.
    ‘Well what?’ I answer. I’m so whacked I badly need two matchsticks to keep my eyes open. ‘You don’t suppose the captain will be able to get away early? I’m dying of exhaustion and my contact lenses are clinging to my eyes.’
    ‘Did you see anything nice in first class?’ Debbie raises an eyebrow.
    ‘Yeah,’ I nod. ‘I saw plenty of soft reclining seats with luxurious blankets and pillows that I’d give anything to rest my head on.’
    Debbie is shaking her head. ‘Do you mean to tell me you went up to first class and didn’t see Adam Kirrane?’
    ‘Adam who?’
    ‘Good God girl, have you no life? Adam Kirrane is a God, an absolute God. He is the star of DreamBoat , that new American soap. Don’t you watch it? I cannot believe you missed him.’
    ‘I don’t have satellite,’ I tell her.
    ‘He’s the hottest thing in the US at the moment,’ Debbie gushes.
    ‘He’s American?’
    ‘Irish, but he works in America and is always in magazines and the papers.’
    ‘What does he look like?’
    ‘God, where do I start . . . er, tall . . . ’
    ‘With dark hair wearing a white shirt? The guy with the tan?’
    ‘So you did see him.’
    ‘Yeah, I was talking to him,’ I laugh as Debbie’s eyes widen.
    ‘You have GOT to be joking!’
    ‘I’m serious,’ I shrug, ‘I just thought he was some guy.’
    ‘I’ve been working non-stop in first class and Adam Kirrane has been fast asleep for most of the night with a blanket pulled around his head. I let you go up for five minutes and you have a whole conversation with him?’
    I laugh. Debbie would get excited if Westlife were on board. She knows everything about everyone on television. I don’t get it. She’s the type of girl who, if the plane is delayed, pops into the toilet with her mobile phone to ring her mum. I used to think she was telling her mum not to