There, on the screen, was a picture of Emma and me, during the point-five seconds where we held hands after we fucked in my car. We’ve both got that flushed, post-orgasmic glow and ooey gooey love eyes, leaving very little room to debate what we’d been doing.
Thoughts flooded my head and I felt dizzy. Who was watching us? Did they see us having sex? Was Greer after me again?
Then, things got worse. With the click and slide of waxed cardboard, Dottie opened my take-out container.
And jumped, launching the container and underwear in question across the aisle into Leroy’s lap. He held up the panties with one finger. “Nice. I’ve done that before too.” He gave them a more discerning look. “But damn, your butt must be small.”
“Oh my god!” I snatched the underwear from him and grabbed the take-out container. I could have explained that they weren’t my panties, but that was insult to injury at this point. I had bigger problems than Leroy thinking I wore women’s underwear. “How many people got that text?”
Cap winced. “It says twenty. Some of the guys, and Violet’s on here too. I assume it’s us and spouses.”
“Royce, we’re preparing for takeoff,” our flight attendant said gently behind me. “Please have a seat.”
I sat down, buckled, and turned back to Cap, whispering over the flight attendant’s safety speech. “Who sent it?”
Cap shrugged. “It’s a random number.”
“Did Coach get it?” I hissed.
He scrolled through the contacts at the top of the text. “No.”
Well, there was something to be thankful for. It bought me a little time to sort all this out. Ironically, Chef’s voice came to me first.
Clear your head.
What needs to happen next?
Unfortunately, the solution my brain came up with was perhaps the most impulsive. I unbuckled my seatbelt and jumped to my feet. “Everyone. I have an announcement.”
“Royce,” Cap tried, but he couldn’t stop me. I had that “ask for forgiveness, not for permission” phrase in my mind, and I didn’t want any lies. Someone wanted me exposed, and well, maybe it was time.
I walked to the front of the plane, steadying myself by holding onto a little peg on the wall.
“Some of you may have received a photo of Chef Emma and me.”
“Oh, god,” Coach grumbled in the front row. He ran his hand over the side of his face, just like I’d seen him do thousands of other times.
“Yeah, what’s up with that?” Dylan called out. “Doesn’t Chef hate you?”
“Um. No. But also, yes, kinda.” I took a deep breath, feeling lightheaded as I gathered the words. “Emma and I have been seeing each other, and it’s going really well.”
“You lied to me!” Owen shrieked
“Sorry,” I started.
“No, I’ve been saying this for months and you lied to me,” he went on. He was half-joking, but there was hurt in his eyes. “Were you already seeing each other during that interview?”
“No. I mean, sorta. Not really then. It’s just kinda been a slow progression. And I promised her we’d stay secret until she was ready, but . . . now this happened.”
Owen unbuckled his seatbelt and stood, walking my way with his arms out. I accepted his hug. “Sorry somebody ratted on you guys.” He lowered his voice. “Are you happy?”
I couldn’t hold back my smile. “Yeah. Really happy. I think . . . I’m in love with her.”
Owen pinched my cheek. “Look at you, buddy. Happy for you.”
Sorrento and Leroy snickered from their row.
“What’s funny?” I demanded.
