Airplane Games

Airplane Games A Turbulent Love Story Cat Wynn Copyright Copyright © 2023 by Cat Wynn All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact Cat Wynn. The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred. Book Cover by Cover Apothecary, www.coverapothecary.com Editing by Deborah Nemeth First edition of 2023 Dedication To anyone who's a little bit polarizing Content Warning Airplane Games deals with topics some readers may find difficult, including death of a parent (off page/in the past), car crash (off page/in the past), panic disorder, depression, and recreational drug use. Contents 1. Chapter 1 2. Chapter 2 3. Chapter 3 4. Chapter 4 5. Chapter 5 6. Chapter 6 7. Chapter 7 8. Chapter 8 9. Chapter 9 10. Chapter 10 11. Chapter 11 12. Chapter 12 13. Chapter 13 14. Chapter 14 15. Chapter 15 16. Chapter 16 17. Chapter 17 18. Chapter 18 19. Chapter 19 20. Chapter 20 21. Chapter 21 22. Chapter 22 23. Chapter 23 24. Chapter 24 25. Chapter 25 26. Epilogue About Author Also By Acknowledgments Chapter 1 Parker Donne hiked his bag over his shoulder and climbed the tall stairs to board the private jet. He would be red-eyeing back to the States on his client’s dime, and he hoped to get a good sleep while in flight. He didn’t have time for jet lag. He had to pick out a couch for his empty living room when he returned home to Chicago. A good goddamn couch. He sighed big when he trudged to the back of the jet to the sleeping quarters. He’d been on private planes before, of varying levels of luxury. This one was the fanciest he’d ever seen. There were not one but two large beds at the end of the space with privacy walls and doors to close off the areas. “Can I get you a drink, Mr. Donne? Champagne perhaps?” A platinum blonde flight attendant who probably was a high-end model in her spare time appeared with a tray of already poured flutes, but Parker shook his head. “Not tonight, thanks.” The attendant smiled, a little too warmly at him. “Anything else? Anything at all?” Her eyes roved up and down Parker’s body from torso to shoes and suddenly Parker got the feeling that he was being watched very closely indeed. But he was not in the fucking mood. It wasn’t that he wasn’t flattered. Or that he hadn’t participated in his fair share of hookups. Hell, he’d made the mile-high club. He fucked a girl in an actual airplane bathroom before, her leg bent around his waist, his hand cupping her ass, her back pushed against a wall (overrated and he’d found it disgusting because of the bathroom. It’d been her idea). But he was thirty-seven now, and the days of pretending to revel in useless hookups were well behind him. “You’re still young, dude. You act like a fucking geriatric, Jesus Christ.” That’s what his best friend Pamela had said to him as she gently bounced the newborn strapped to her chest, unloading groceries out of her minivan. “You’re one to talk. Look at what you’re driving these days,” Parker had lightly ribbed. Pamela had been a high-end traveling auto mechanic like Parker once. They’d even been in business together. But now she was a stay-at-home mom. Secretly, he was jealous. Also, he really wasn’t one to talk. He didn’t even own a car. Pamela and her wife had given birth to their precious baby three months prior. Parker had been anointed godfather. Not that he believed in god. Not that Pamela or Rebecca did either for that matter. “But you’re rich. And we wouldn’t want Avery with anyone else. Well, except us,” Pamela had said. “And frankly, I’m worried you’re gonna die alone, so there’s that…” Well, she certainly had a point there. Parker yanked off his shirt and jeans and stabbed his legs into a pair of flannel pants. Then he changed his socks out to the nice cashmere ones provided on the plane. He was ready to sleep like the dead. “Oh. My. Fucking. God. Who do these wild-looking Pumas belong to? Are you kidding me right now?” Parker sat straight up in his bed, when the privacy divider ranked open loudly. He squinted at the light breaking through into his quiet, dark cocoon. “Excuse me?” Who the hell was this? He’d been told he’d be the only passenger on this plane, but it was clear that there had been a mix-up because in front of him appeared the curvy silhouette of what he could only imagine was a beautiful bag lady. She had a lot of bags on her shoulders, which she let drop to the ground. “Miss. Miss.” The flight attendant rushed to the end of the plane. “Your sleeping quarters are to the left. Your left, miss. Not my left. See?” The flight attendant turned to Parker. “I’m so sorry, sir. We didn’t mean to disturb your sleep.” Now both women were staring at him and his bare chest. He wasn’t a prude so it wasn’t like he was going to cover up or something. Instead, he ran his hand over the stubble on his jaw, shaking his head. “No problem.” “Nice shoes, dude,” the curvy woman said to him, her gaze scrutinizing. “Nice rack” is what he would’ve said if he was a total fucking creep which he wasn’t, but so many of the men around him were. Sometimes their voices echoed in his head. He could see her clearly now after his eyes adjusted and he could tell she was…well. Attractive. Very attractive.