Page 7 of Christmas in Coconut Creek

I pulled the lock and swung the door outward. “I amnothaving sex with you!”

Expecting Frankie, a bucket of cold water was thrown in my face when the person standing outside was the flight attendant from the cart earlier.

“Are you okay, miss?” she asked skeptically.

“I’m so sorry, I’m fine. I thought—”

Before I could incriminate myself further, the freckle-faced attendant pointed at the blinking red seatbelt sign. “We’re about to hit some mild turbulence. If you could just return to your seat.”

“Of course.” I ducked around her and beelined back to my row, not even caring about the dramatic way I flung myself over Frankie’s lap and into the shadow between his shoulder and the window.

He studied me. “You okay? You look a little flushed.”

“The flight attendant thinks I’m a voyeuristic, polyamorous whore.”

His lips parted and a sliver of pink tongue poked out. “You were gone for like, two minutes, troublemaker.”

“Youwere supposed to be the one who knocked on the door.”

Dark brown eyes opened wide in surprise, and he pointed at his chest. “Me? You told me loud and clear.” He mimicked my voice. “Alone, Frankie.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time a guy didn’t take no for an answer.” I huffed.

He stared at me as the flush of my skin lessened from crimson to pink. “So should I...” He began unbuckling his seatbelt again, as if he was going to head to the bathroom himself.

“Sit!” I grabbed him by the bicep, feeling every hard ridge of muscle underneath the worn white button-down he had on. “Please, sit. We can’t draw any more attention to ourselves. Let’s just…” I tapped on the touch screen in front of me and started scrolling. “Watch a movie.”

“I don’t know,” he tsked. “With your track record, how do I know you won’t try to fondle me under the airline blanket?”

“Actually? You’re not that funny anymore.”

“But youdidthink I was funny?”

“No, I take it back. You were never funny.”

“Too late.” He pinched the skin above my elbow playfully, and the second I lifted it off the armrest, his own arm took its place.

“Perfect!” I found the same film title on Frankie’s screen so we could hit play together. “Top Gun. Your favorite movie.”

“Fuck Tom Cruise.” He shook his head. “What an unattainable standard to have as a pilot. And introducing my bedroom to women as ‘my personal cockpit’ never got the reaction I hoped it would.”

Frankie looked genuinely distraught and I tampered a laugh by sinking my teeth into my bottom lip.

“You’re laughing at a man’s pain.”

“Oh come on, be mywingman,”I joked, slapping my palm down right above his knee and shaking it. “WatchTop Gunwith me.”

His eyes were on my hand until I drew it back into my lap to untangle my earbuds. “Fuck, fine,” he caved. “The things I do for a date.”

I pumped my fist in celebration while Frankie pulled his own earbuds from his pocket and plugged the auxiliary edge into the armrest.

“My favorite movie isBridesmaids, by the way,” he said before sticking them in his ears and shimmying into the cushion.

Itwasseventy-eightdegreesand blindingly sunny when the plane landed in Fort Lauderdale. Frankie folded the sleeves of his shirt up to the elbows and undid a few buttons over his chest to acclimate, and suddenly it felt about ninety-five.

Of course the baggage claim, like in any other airport, was no less than three miles from the gate, and Frankie and I walked alongside each other with my snow boots hanging by their laces from the handle of my backpack while he guided us across the sparkling linoleum.

Very unfortunately, the man looked even better off the plane. Long legs and a cute ass that I kept sneaking looks at when his height carried him slightly further ahead of me. Up close he looked older, fine lines starting to crease his forehead, but when I saw him in this light, walking happily beside me, pointing out the different tourist attractions I might want to see and which ones he’d been kicked out of as a teenager—he was youthful still. Like a big kid in a very attractive older man’s body.

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