Surviving Us Read Free

away from his. “It’s really no big deal. I’m just gonna uh, listen to some music and read for the flight. No big deal at all.”
    With shaky hands, I reach down to grab the current issue of “Marie Claire” tucked in my backpack, their eyes following my every move. Opening it to a random place in the middle, I silently try to regain my composure . . . and then I look down to the article I opened it to. How I Planned a Ménage A Trois is plastered in bright red letters across the two-page spread. I slam the magazine shut and groan. Please, someone, shoot me now.
    An amused snicker escapes from across the aisle, so naturally I swivel my head around to see who has witnessed this entire interaction, hoping for someone to start up a conversation with, anything to keep me from having to chat with Stefania and Marcel. At this point, I pray they suck face for the next three-and-a-half hours, completely forgetting I’m even here.
    However, instead of a reprieve from the unnerving, I find myself staring into the most captivating whiskey brown eyes, twinkling with mischief underneath the navy brim of a baseball cap.
    “So, whatcha reading there, sweetheart?”



YOU’VE GOT TO FUCKING BE KIDDING ME.
    Of all the people that could be sitting directly across the row from me, it has to be him . Perhaps God misheard the ‘not’ part of my prayer asking to not be seated next to any of these people, because miraculously, I’ve found myself trapped between all of them.
    “First, you stare at me in the airport like I’ve grown a second head, and now you don’t answer me when I speak to you,” he says with a southern drawl and an arrogant smirk. “Do we know each other and I don’t remember? If so, I’m sorry for my previous dickish behavior, but that’s just kinda who I am. Chicks usually dig it though.” His voice is dry, unapologetic.
    “No,” I blurt out, unable to tear my gaze from his face, my cheeks ablaze knowing he saw me watching him. Damn, he’s good looking, and there’s something about him that’s familiar, but I can’t place from where.
    “No, what?” He pulls his cap down further, covering his eyes even more. Maybe, Lyv was right . . . maybe he is trying to stay disguised for some reason.
    “No, we’ve never met before,” I scoff, redirecting my focus straight ahead and growing more irritated by the second. “I definitely remember all the dicks I come in contact with.”
    “That’s a damn shame,” he chuckles.
    I’m not sure if he’s giving me a backhanded compliment, or increasing his already absurd level of narcissism; either way, I’m finished with the conversation—with him and the two weirdos to my left. I pull my headphones back up to my ears and close my eyes, hoping none of them will try to talk to me again. Gratefully, they all get the hint. Evidently, my headphones and shut lids work as the perfect duet for unapproachability. I make a mental note in case I need to use it again later in the trip.
    Unfortunately, however, about an hour into the flight, my usually worthwhile sound-cancellation headphones aren’t doing near the job I need them to. Afraid to open my eyes, I can’t only hear the giggling and moaning from Stefania and Marcel every so often, I can feel the vibration in my chair every time they move . . . and they’ve been moving a lot.
    In addition, if the dick didn’t already have cirrhosis of the liver, he definitely does now. I’ve heard him order no fewer than eight of those little bottles of Jack, two at a time as soon as beverage service began. But now, he’s either passed out or the flight attendant has cut him off, because he’s grown very quiet in the last thirty minutes or so. Resisting the urge to open my eyes and look over at him, I squeeze my lids tighter, trying to sleep a little before landing.

    “This is your captain speaking from the flight deck,” a loud, male voice resonates throughout the plane, waking me from my nap. “There’s been a