Page 5 of Powder
Jack
Staring at this beautiful,younger man whom I’d just hit on as if he were a nail and I a mallet, another rush of pure lust flooded my brain. Which sent a tsunami of blood to my dick, leaving my poor cerebral matter drowning in a sea of desire. Not always a good thing. Things that did not sound like me at all.Make our own nightlife?What the fuck?
“I like the nightlife,” he replied as the other passengers began that maddening nonsense of freeing themselves from their belts only to stand, bent over like crones, in front of their seats. The clicking of hundreds of seat belts floated forward to first class as the flight crew waited for the ground crew to roll the jet bridge into place.
“Do you like to boogie?” I asked and got a vacant glance. Great. My affinity for Mom’s seventies disco tunes had made me seem even older than I felt at that moment. “It’s a song. Alicia Bridges. Disco. My mother loved disco.”
Jonathon Patrick Killian O’Leary. Shut the fuck up with the disco.
“Oh, cool,” Tian replied, a hint of amusement on his too-pretty face.
“I personally don’t remember the disco era.” I felt I had to clarify in case he thought I was in my sixties rather than my late thirties.
Late, late,latethirties.
Fuck all the way off, me. I know how late my thirties are.
“My grandma thought they were pretty cool. She still has some bell-bottoms that she wears around on special days.”
“Cool.” The ache in my dick was lessening now that some of the lust juice in my skull was being replaced with reality. The plane door slid open. I felt the sudden need to exit stage left with as much speed as my creaky knees could muster. “Grandmas are cool. So are bell-bottoms. So, uhm, see you at the hotel then.”
“Yeah,” Tian replied, unsure now as I nearly checked the flight attendant off her little feet in my haste to get off this motherfucking plane as Sam Jackson might say if he were here.
If Sam Jackson were here, he would kick your ass for acting like a moron.
Yep, no doubt. I shot Tian a wobbly smile, apologized to the flight attendant, and with my carry-on in hand, sprinted off the plane with a “Thank you” to the young male flight attendant in front, saying goodbye. Jogging into the airport, I found the first men’s room—next to a McDonald’s—they really were everywhere—and rushed to the row of sinks. I splashed cold water on my face, rubbed it into my hair and beard, and then stood there staring at myself as my old friend self-doubt reared its ugly head.
You old, foolish ass. Look at yourself. As if that young stud was really interested in someone like you? Loser. Couldn’t please his wife, couldn’t lead his team to a victory, couldn’t?—
An incoming call thankfully pulled me from the spiral I was about to tumble into. My sister. I took the lifeline I knew her voice would bring me. Several men entered. The sound of flushing toilets and rushing water filled the air.
“Hey, you,” I croaked as her pretty face came up on the lower corner of my phone screen. “You look snazzy.”
“I know.” She held her phone up a bit to show off her dark blue uniform dress, custom-fitted to her curves, a blue-and-gold scarf tied around her throat, and her hair tumbling down in thick waves of honey blonde and red.
“Damn, she’s hot. You hitting that?” some random male next to me asked. I looked down at the guy, early forties, balding, pudgy, gawking at Fiona. His hands were soapy, his brow sweaty, and his skin tone the same color as school glue.
“Dude, that’s my fucking sister,” I snarled down at the man in the ugly suit.
“Oh, is she available for a date?” he asked, then wet his thin lips. I could hear my sister mumbling “Oh no” to herself.
“No, she is not. If I were you, buddy, I would move my ass down a few sinks before I decide that creeping into a private call then slobbering over a man’s little sister is a drowning offense.”
He gave Fiona a quick peek then slid down four sinks, hands still soapy. “I think I can still reach you,” I warned, which helped spur him to leave the bathroom with lather on his hands. “Fucking creep.”
“Jack,” she said, then started to giggle.
“Sorry, not sorry. Jerks don’t deserve to rinse their hands. So, can you talk? I need some help here.”
“I have ten minutes before we take off for Tokyo, so can it be quick?”
“Shit, yeah, sorry. I just…” I turned back to face the mirror. “Okay, so I met this guy on the plane.”
“Oh, did you? Tell me more!” Two men appeared, glancing at me, then attending to their handwashing as normal people should do.
I studied myself as I spoke. “He’s really nice, super sexy, and way younger than me.”
“Define way younger.”
