Even though I should throw my water in his face and stormout, my stomach actually flips at the memory of what we’vedone. What I’ve let him do to me.
What I’d let him do to me again, if I’m being brutally honest.
“Is that why you followed me into that bathroom?” I ask.“Because you know everything? Did you look at me andthink,’‘That woman is desperate enough to f**k a stranger in aplane’? That’s probably the main way you score, right?”
“You did look desperate,” he remarks.
He laughs and continues. “Desperate for a little fun. Desperatefor a moment’s respite from the storm in your head. Desperatefor a breath you couldn’t catch, no matter how hard you tried.”
True on all accounts—shockingly true—though I’ll neveradmit it.
“And you thought you
