Page 5 of Don't Look Down

“Nothing definite. I told Savannah I’d probably crash at home. These games kicked my ass. She said she’ll probably come by for a bit at some point, but she does have an early shoot tomorrow.” I shrug. She’s a model and takes jobs mostly in Florida.

I guess some would call Savannah my girlfriend, but I wouldn’t. In reality, we’re friends with benefits. Before you get mad at me for misleading her, stop it. We both agreed on this status quo. It works for us and she’s one hundred percent on board with it.

Our careers are our focus. We both respect and understand that. But we have needs, and we trust each other enough to satisfy those needs together. We’re the safe choice since we’ve had our fair share of people who’ve been interested in us only for our celebrity status. Once you’ve been burned before, it’s hard to trust others on that level. I know she won’t take dick pics and sell them for fame, and she knows I won’t record a secret sex tape.

It’s a win for all involved. Plus, it’s beneficial to have a partner I can bring to events.

We don’t live together, and we don’t plan to. We have our own spaces. Our own lives. Perfect arrangement, if you ask me.

Savannah has been my friend for maybe five or six years, but this arrangement is new in comparison. It’s been going steadily for about eighteen months.

We’re content at the moment, but maybe we could possibly be more in the future? My insides clench at the thought, but I continue the thought for the follow through. Maybe move in together and share some bills and all that BS that couples do. Who knows?

My chest tightens. I’m nowhere near ready for that to happen if my reaction is any indication.

Maybe one day.

Either way, we’re not there yet.

A beep rings out through the cabin and the intercom kicks on. “This is your Captain speaking. As we begin our final descent into Fort Lauderdale, please make sure your seats and trays are in the upright position and locked, and any carry-on luggage is securely stored. Please keep your seatbelts fastened. Flight attendants will be making their final walk through the cabin to collect any trash and prepare the cabin for landing.”

I sigh out roughly with the immediate relief I’m feeling. “Thank fuck. Finally.”

“Not all heroes wear capes, bro,” Leighton chuckles.

My left eyebrow raises in confusion. “Huh?”

“Me.” He thumps his chest in case I don’t know who he’s referring to. The jackass. “A hero. Just call me Ferris Bueller since I saved your day and all that. Now you’ll only have to put up with my shit. You know the rest of the guys would really never let you live it down if you had a full-on freakout again.”

“Oh, fuck off.” I laugh, but I know he’s right. It’s never malicious, but these guys are like brothers to me, and they would tease the hell out of me if I had another panic attack mid-flight.

Yes.

Another.

I don’t want to talk about it.

“Seriously, though. Thanks for having my back, Leigh,” I reach over and clap him on the shoulder.

A mechanical thump and whirring noise have my hand shooting right back to the armrest. My hands grip for dear life as the landing gear drops under the plane. It’s the best and worst sound. It sounds like something vital is falling out under there. It’s terrifying, but I’m almost home.

The whooshing of the wind precedes the inevitable, sickening drop in my stomach as the plane begins a more rapid descent. My ears pop and my stomach flips. And yep, I’m nauseous. I guess my stomach is still where it belongs after all.

Fuck this, though. I can’t wait for it to be over.

Landing is the actual worst part, in my opinion.

And take- off.

And the actual flight.

Who am I kidding?

It all fucking sucks.

The pilot makes another announcement and asks the flight attendants to take their seats. I know Leigh and I are still talking quietly, but I can’t tell you what we’re talking about. My brain must have switched into survival mode and blocked out the specifics of the conversation.

The plane shudders and thumps as the tires finally, thank God,finallymake contact with the tarmac. A little bit of a bumpy landing has my stomach contents threatening to exit via my mouth. Puking would make the perfect ending to this nightmare flight.