Mackie, May I?

Mackie, May I? Chapter 20

“This is insane, you know that?” Jesse says as he buckles in his seatbelt the minute the flight attendant tells us to.  I think he’s still a bit bewildered about everything going on, as I kind of explained everything to him in an elated rush when he was still half-asleep.

I look over at him and grin, loving the boyish excitement glittering his features.  He looks absolutely and adorably warm today, and I know it’s going to take every ounce of my will power not to make out with him for the entirety of this flight.  He’s wearing that gray beanie that always makes me a bit dry-mouthed, gray sweatpants, and a maroon Henley shirt that stretches across his lean muscles just right.

It’s infuriatingly tempting.

I ask him, “Were you surprised?”

“Fuck yeah I was,” he curses with a naughty grin, reaching his hand to the side to grab at my upper thigh.  “I’ve never had a surprise like this.”

“What?” I ask him disbelievingly, trying to focus on something other than how warm and close his fingers are to me, “You never had a surprise birthday party?”

He shakes his head, “I never really did the whole birthday party thing, I never liked it.  Too much attention.”

I narrow my eyes at him; “Well I’m throwing you a party this year.  Next year.” And then, with my cheeks blushing, I ask him, “When is your birthday, by the way?”

“It’s in April,” he grins, shaking his head at me.  “And please no party.  Just give me a cake and a kiss and I’ll be good.”

“We’ll see,” I tease, knowing he’s crazy if he thinks I won’t make a bigger deal out of his birthday.  I’ve always been a party planning fiend, especially for people I care about, and since Jesse’s been moving steadily upward on the list of people I care for, he’s going to get one of the best ones.

We’re both quiet for take off, and I can tell by the increasing pressure of his grip on my thigh and the few hurried glances out the window beside me, that he gets very nervous by them.  I’ve been on enough flights recently to have effectively curved any apprehension I get, so when I feel his fingers starting to leave a bruise, I ungrasp his fingers and then place my hand on his cheek, moving him down to kiss me.

It doesn’t work as well as I thought it would, as he doesn’t kiss me back as wholeheartedly as he usually does, that part of his mind still focusing on the increasing elevation of the plain, but he doesn’t move away.  And that’s enough to motivate me to keep distracting him.

When the attendant announces that we’re safely tucked away in the air and can use our electronics, I pull away from him and for the first time since I’ve known him his eyes don’t immediately meet mine.  Instead they avert over my shoulder and out the window, and I think when he realizes we’re in the sky and not hurtling towards our death, his chest deflates.

Poor guy.

“You okay?” I ask him as soon as he looks back at me.

He nods, his breathing a bit heavier than normal, as he explains, “The last time I was on a plane was when I was six, so I’m just…I’m not exactly used to it.”

“Sorry,” I say, for some reason feeling the need to apologize.  “My mom has nerve pills she uses when she flies, I’m sure I could’ve gotten you some.  I didn’t even…”

He rolls his eyes at me, “You’re crazy.  You surprise me with a flight to Los Angeles for two days, with a nice hotel and everything, and you apologize ‘cause I don’t like flying?”

When he puts it that way it does seem a bit over-the-top, but I can’t help it.  I’m so desperate for this trip to be perfect, for us to be perfect, that anything that has the ability to render it less than has me in panic.