Rolling on a late night flight back to the home town. Last leg of the day after an early morning. Closing out a massive deal and still feeling the vibe of that. The boardroom smelling of wood and the power. Making everyone bend to my will and sign on the dotted line.

Needless to say, I’m feeling great.

Post up at the bar and make some moves on the honey sitting in the seat across from me. She’s not having it, but we get to vibing and have some good conversation. Leave that to pop on the plane. Roll down the jetway, lit and a few whiskeys in.

Still feeling great.

End up kicked back in my seat, collar undone, a grit from earlier still on my breath, when there is a drop in to the seat next to me.

She’s older. No ring. Typing on her phone and trying to send out an email before they close the cabin door.

I let that simmer for a bit and knock out until we take off.

She wakes me up after we’re already well on our way to see if I want something to drink from the attendants rolling around. I end up ordering a Jack and some water and we get to chopping it up about our jobs.

Always with the mundane conversation, I’m more deadly. She gets to asking about my suit and whether I wear custom fits all the time and always look this fly. Of course the answer is yes. And I spit some more in her general direction.

Things are going well. The drink flows. I get a comped mini bottle from the flight girl who is peeping game and enjoying the show.

There is some history and a shared industry from a while back.

Eventually she ends up asking about the kind of women I like. Somehow we are on this topic. I always lead things to there inevitable conclusions.

Cop the digits but leave things with enough tension that I can pick it back up later.

A few weeks go by and we’ve been missing our connections. She’s in the air, I’m on the ground. And then we switch. Banter is fun, but I want to get back to a face to face. Eventually, we line that up for a week in advance.

Roll in to the spot and she’s dressed up nicely. Still older, but not looking her age. I can appreciate a mature woman. We get to talking while the bar cracks off with some live jazz. There is more whiskey and we run through the usual moves. She lives back across town, and we dip out after a few drinks. She picks up the tab. I tell her I owe her one.

I can see her wrestling with herself. I’m closer in age to her kids than herself. She just needs a reason. I give her one.