I plug my headphones into my phone and bring up my tunes, then settle back into my oversized seat and try and enjoy my first, and probably only, first-class experience.
A few hours later, after I’ve been served lunch, champagne, orange juice, a hot towel, and a movie—IM1, it’s the only one playing—I’m satiated, relaxed, and even a little bit giggly over my ridiculous weekend with movie star Vaughn Asher. It’s sort of a blur, and sort of surreal. I mean, did I really get fucked by him in a tropical forest? Did I really put a vibrator against my pussy in the company of the great Adam Asher?
I laugh out loud and several people look over at me.
It was sorta fun, but Jesus, I’m glad it’s over. I’m not his type, he’s way too much ego for me, and we really did fight the entire time. I prefer my quiet, predictable, low-conflict life and the only dates I see in my future are virtual ones on Saturday night Dirty Heaven twitter chats.
The plane lands and phones begin dinging as everyone switches them off airplane mode. I stretch out, ready to get off this plane and find my next gate so I can just go home to Denver. I fish out my phone to check my messages. Bebe is gonna be pissed off when she gets that note. I switch the phone off airplane mode and it begins dinging.
A balloon bubble pops up on my home screen telling me I have twenty-two messages.
What?