Fly With Me | ✓

31.1

you know my flight lands at six, right?

Your time or my time?

Kingston.

For the last time, yes. You've texted me ten times about it.

it's not like you're frequently on time to things, Kingston. and i'm assuming this is important, because you won't tell me anything about it.

My lips are sealed. But I'll be at the airport, okay? Shitty rental car and all.

promise?

Christ almighty, YES. I PROMISE.

good 'cause we're taxiing and i needed an answer before shutting my phone off. <3

Everleigh wasn't sure how Maverick had managed to type, Have a safe flight you shit. so quickly, but there they were.

If Everleigh slept on the flight, she could take all the time in the world that night with Maverick—probably would've been nicer than panicking she'd potentially bled through her trousers, too. She wasn't sure there would ever be an end to things they had to catch up on since March. Even the last couple weeks, they'd barely spoken unless it was confirming Everleigh's flight times. Hence the ten text messages Maverick had received over the last 24 hours because Everleigh, though she truly trusted him with a lot more than she ever thought she would, did not trust him to show up on time even marginally. Even after ten texts, she was ready to wait in the lobby and show up fashionably late to whatever the hell they were attending that required she wore all blue.

Didn't mean she wasn't excited to see him.

Which made her nervous as all shit. Even the magazine she'd bought from the duty free once she'd gotten away from Roman—who refused to stop making sex jokes the entire car ride to the airport and all the way to the gate from the moment he'd found out about her and Maverick's shared hotel room—couldn't settle her nerves. Maverick graced the cover, surrounded by pastels; the pinks and blues matched the Easter egg colours of Revive to a tee. It wasn't shocking that Maverick was getting colour matches in general; but given that this was his first release that had a colour palette other than black and white was probably exciting to magazines. Pastels suited him. If he even tried to make a stupid do you have feelings for me joke, Everleigh was going to kiss him and then tell him she liked the colours and didn't even realize he was on the cover. She would not deal with the smug smile. (If she was forced to, she would kiss it off or smack it off.) (All bets were off, Maverick, it had been three months.)

Everleigh was used to being on flights, so it surprised her how nervous she was to fly. Maybe she wasn't nervous to fly, maybe she was nervous to land. And with nerves came wine. And with wine came more wine. And with wine came as much alcohol as her co-workers, who made sure to ask if she was okay a thousand times during the ten hour flight, were willing to give her.

It was no shock that by the end of the flight, Everleigh was more than a little tipsy but not quite drunk enough to not feel the nerves of the night. She hoped there was a bar where they were going—somewhere secluded so there was no chance of paparazzi taking photos of Maverick's a little too embarrassing girlfriend who, very publicly, said she wasn't his girlfriend and then snogged him in the airport the next time they were photographed together.

When she walked out, thankful she wasn't stumbling like she half expected to be. Embarrassing, either way. She hoped she didn't smell like airplane liquor. Or that Maverick had some cologne she could use—the body spray she'd packed was buried somewhere in her suitcase that she would not be opening in the middle of the airport. Was that weird? To not see her Maverick in three months and ask to wear his cologne after a long flight? Probably not the weirdest thing Maverick had been asked in his life, really. Now that she thought about it.