The Great Adventure

Chapter 4: Frisky Business

By the time I arrived at the airport on Sunday night, I was utterly exhausted. The barbeque had been fun, at least as fun as a family-friendly event could be. I hadn't even bumped into Nolan, which was a plus. It was the after party that had really been the highlight of the night.

Once we'd gotten rid of the "crusties" – as Leah loving referred to our parents – we went to a bonfire and stayed out way too late drinking cheap college alcohol and yelling top-40s pop songs at the top of our lungs. It had been the perfect last night in town, but now I was walking through the airport like a zombie.

As if the late night and hangover weren't enough, my mother had taken the entire morning to repack my suitcase to the point where I was sure I would never find anything in it again. She also emptied my carefully packed boxes meant for storage, because she was certain I'd packed away something I actually needed to take on my trip. Spoiler alert: I hadn't.

Then she proceeded to lecture me the entire two-hour drive to the Atlanta airport about how I should be incredibly careful around the strangers I was sure to meet. She reminded me at least three times to keep all my backpack pockets zipped at all times, because there were pickpockets everywhere. When I started tapping vigorously away on my iPad to pass the time, she turned her entire body around to look at me in the backseat. With a dead serious expression, she said, "If I see you're getting up to any frisky business on your blog, I will personally fly out to wherever you are, and drag you back to Charleston. Do you understand, Brighton Rose?"

I rolled my eyes, and calmly reminded her, "Donna, I am twenty-two years old, and allowed to get up to as much frisky business as I want to." I paused to shutter at the fact that I'd actually used the phrase frisky business out loud. Before she could lecture me any more on the subject, I added, "I promise, you will not see any posts about that." My dad nearly choked on his soda, but my mother settled back into her seat, oblivious to the fact that I hadn't actually said that stuff wouldn't still go on.

So by the time I'd gotten my ticket, checked my luggage, said farewell to my parents, gone through security, found my seat on the plane, and stowed my carry-on, I was done for. I'd barely had time to whip out my Sir Purr Pillow Pet – Yes, I am the proud owner of a Pillow Pet, and no one is allowed to judge me for it – before my eyes closed. Luckily I'd bought a window seat, so I didn't need to worry about my seatmate climbing over me. Also, I had a very nice wall to lean against.

The last thing I heard before I was completely out of it was a soft laugh of the masculine sort. It was a nice laugh, and it made my smile into my pillow, even if I didn't know what the man was laughing about.

Hours later, I slowly reentered the world of the living. I felt a lot better, even if leaning on Sir Purr had suddenly gotten a lot less comfortable. My first assumption was that the pillow had fallen and I was leaning straight against the wall. Then I realized with a jolt, that I was most definitely not leaning against a wall.

My eyes opened and I realized that my worst airplane fear had just come true. More terrifying than a plane crash, or snakes on a plane, was falling asleep on my seatmate's shoulder. I sat up quickly, causing the man to jump. He laughed quietly, and I realized he must be the owner of the soft chuckle I'd heard before falling asleep. "I am so sorry!"

He smiled; it was a very nice smile, which made his brown eyes crinkle up. He had a little stubble, the kind only some men can pull off – he was one of them. And he was wearing a cardigan with a plaid shirt and a beanie. I was sure he'd put some serious thought into this outfit – every guy does, don't let them fool you – but it still looked effortless, so I let it slide. "It's alright," he said, still smiling. "Your pillow fell, so when you leaned over here I didn't want to wake you up." Not only was he terribly attractive, he was also British. That made it so much worse.