As Seen On TV

1. "Dallas McCarthy"

She seemed satisfied, and I hadn't given Dylan or the show application a second thought until that morning of the call.

After much deliberation and a long talk with my mother about time running out for me to find a husband and have some grandkids for her, I decided to accept the invitation, mostly for her sake, but also a tiny bit for mine. I would never admit this, but there was something about the prospect of a nationwide audience choosing who best matched your interests that awakened the dystopian-fiction loving teenage girl with a thirst for epic romance against all odds that I had stopped being after high school. Plus, TV had appearances to keep up and social engineering quotas to meet, so at least you knew the guys would be hot.

And so there I was, now sitting in terminal D53 with a cappuccino in one hand and my phone in the other, waiting for the desk worker to announce that Flight 2040 to San Francisco International Airport was now boarding.  I tried to dispel my rampant fears of flying with a couple levels of Candy Crush on my phone, but I couldn't help but tap my foot nervously against the worn strap of my backpack. No matter how many times I landed safely, I couldn't stop myself from constantly thinking about all those people in the past who had not.

My worrying was interrupted by the boarding announcement, and I waited in line until I scanned my boarding pass and made my way down the tunnel and onto the plane. I tried my best not to look down at the tarmac far below as I crossed the threshold, and I took only short, clipped breaths as I walked with measured strides down the aisle to my row.

I scanned the numbers overhead until finding the one that matched my ticket. 

"30A, 30A, 30... ah, 30A?" I looked up to from my boarding pass to see a man about my age sitting in the middle seat of row 30. He was tall, tan, and absolutely gorgeous, with deep (green? blue? grayish, maybe?) eyes and messy brown hair. From the looks of it, he ran his hands through his hair often, and his tan was of a color that could only be painted on by the sun, so I drew the conclusion that he was not from Chicago. 

"Right here," he smiled up at me and patted the seat next to him on the other side.

My train of thought momentarily derailed until it came back on track, faster than ever.

"N-no," I mumbled, "There must be some mistake... I purposely picked an aisle seat so I wouldn't have to look out the window..."

He chuckled, rather attractively, as I might have noticed if I wasn't so nervous. He stopped laughing abprubtly as he took in the look on my face.

"Oh," he said. "You're serious. What's the matter, babe? The window is the best part!"

No longer as nervous, I tried unsuccessfully to mask the annoyance in my voice.

"Not for someone terrified of flying."  

Immediately after the words left my mouth, I regretted using "terrified," because that made me sound in need of some good old fashioned alpha-male comfort and assistance, which I most certainly was not. He looked like the type to take advantage of a situation such as this one, and no matter how handsome he was, I would not allow that to happen.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't think of that. Do you... do you want me to switch with you so you don't have to even look?"

That surprised me. Rather than make fun of me or patronize me, he offered to do something kind. He actually seemed genuine, too, but I was naturally a bit wary of strangers, so I snapped, "No, thanks, I'll manage, babe."

My tone must've surprised him, because his beautiful features crumpled a little in shock and he moved his legs back so that I could get through. I sat down and closed the window covering with more force than I needed to, switched my phone to airplane mode, and shoved my headphones in my ears pointedly, in the universal sign for "this conversation is over." However, as I started to blast some terrible music that would hopefully drown out the sounds of takeoff, it became clear that this guy wasn't planning on leaving me alone.