The linebacker slows. His eyes narrow to warning slits directed my way before sliding to check on her. “You want self-defense? I can demonstrate self-defense.”
A nervous laugh startles from her lips. “Not necessary.” She smiles over her shoulder at me, as if sharing a joke, but much like our hypothetical bad guy, I am not seeing any comedy in this situation. She catches a glimpse of what is probably an alarmed expression on my face, sobers, then turns to defend me once again. “No. Really. I think I’m good with my soda-in-the-sock technique.”
“Your what?” The driver doesn’t give her time to respond, but that’s okay, because there’s no appropriate response to such a question. He drops his chin with the look of a disappointed parent. “Are you two together?”
“We just met,” Claire says, though that answer isn’t going to do me any favors either. “I have a boyfriend.”
I straighten with a little disappointment of my own. Claire’s significant other should have flown up to help her settle in and taught her to protect herself. It would have saved me a lot of trouble, at least.
I motion toward the menace. “It’s Claire’s first day in Seattle, and she’s a little overwhelmed. I was trying to help.”
“By choking her?” The driver crosses his beefy arms. “Get on the shuttle if you want a ride. I assume by your uniforms that you’ve got crash pads.”
I just finished a two-day trip, and my entire body aches from being cramped inside a cockpit. I need a workout. I need sleep. I need to eat a home-cooked meal. I don’t need to argue anymore with a guy twice my size over a woman I’ve just met.
“Thanks, man.” I grab my suitcase and nod to Claire as I pass. I assume she’ll follow, but if not, she’s capable. She’ll be fine, soda in a sock or not.
Preferably not.
Glancing back, I find her watching me climb the steps, uncertainty clouding her countenance. I’m not sure whether she’s thankful for my help or sorry for almost getting me pummeled. I’m not even sure I’ll ever see her again. Seattle is a big base, and if she has a boyfriend, it’s probable she’ll transfer to a base closer to home as soon as possible.
Meeting Claire has been memorable and will make an entertainingstory. But nothing more. Even if ballerinas who watchForensic Filesand smell like cherry blossoms turn out to be my type.
I stash my suitcase and attachable cooler on the shelving unit, then drop into a sideways-facing seat and wait. Our driver continues to question Claire outside as if she’s an assault victim. If I’d truly been strangling her, does he really think I would’ve climbed on his shuttle?
I rub a hand down my face. From now on I should Uber.
The bus rocks. Claire drags her carry-on up the steps. She’ll have to make another trip for her other suitcase.
I stand to take her first bag so she can retrieve the second. “Here.”
The driver appears behind her and tosses her oversized suitcase onto the top shelf of the luggage rack, as if it were as light as a wallet. “Sit,” he barks.
All right then. I drop back down and pinch my mouth closed, the perfect passenger.
Claire presses her lips together too, but with the way her shoulders shake, she’s got to be holding back laughter. Her gaze sparkles my way.
Maybe I’m overtired, but as the events of our ridiculous circumstances parade through my mind, I have to avoid eye contact to keep from chuckling along. Just the timing of Claire’s gasp when I walked in front of her by the baggage carousel is hilarious. I’d been concerned for her, while she’d only wanted to use me as a shield from a traveler she’d sent in the wrong direction.
Though I’m still refusing to look at her for sanity’s sake, I know she sits directly across from me by the sound of seat cushions puffing. Our driver takes his spot with a grunt, yanks the door shut, and merges into traffic.
“Home, James,” Claire says, loud enough for only me to hear.
Mirth drops my head backward, crown to the cool glass. Our shuttle is far from a limousine, and Claire is far from home. Hopefully, “James” can’t hear my laughter over the sound of traffic. I wouldn’t want him to think I’m laughing at his expense.
The shuttle rocks to a stop. I jerk upright, afraid I’m about to give Claire an actual demonstration of self-defense moves as I get thrown off the shuttle.
But we’re only pulling to the curb for more passengers. As they climb on, my gaze meets Claire’s, and we both bust up again.
A family struggles past, shooting us curious looks as if expecting us to share our joke. But I’m not sure how to explain. I don’t even think I could repeat “Home, James” without laughing harder. And strangers wouldn’t find that funny at all.
It’s one of those feelings you wish you could bottle for all the other times when reality gets too serious. It’s the prescription I’ve needed to get on with my life. Now the medicine cabinet is unlocked, and my day feels lighter. Despite these clouds.
We stop once more for another flight attendant, a blonde who’s curvier than Claire. She beams at me as if she’s used to getting all the male attention, but had she been the one I put in a headlock, the physical touch wouldn’t have felt so innocent. Surprisingly, I prefer the way Claire obliviously performed a chicken dance.
Claire nods to the new crew member, then smiles at me once more before letting her giggles fade away.
I watch her watch the city pass outside the water-droplet-covered windows. Driving to the hotel winds us through a longer route than we’d have taken had we walked, but even with traffic, it probably takes the same amount of time. Plus Claire gets to see more of her new base.
