Mark made a sound of disgust in his throat at the other passengers’ whimpering, gasps, and small cries of surprise at the plane’s dips and swoops. It was like they didn’t trust the technology. Planes were super safe; safer than driving, in fact, and they had tons of redundant controls and safeguards to keep them that way.<br/><br/>Finally, the girl across the aisle got her courage enough to answer him. Though the light had dimmed, there was enough ambient light in the cabin to see her. She was pretty and scared, which made her look beautiful. Not beautiful in the way that actresses did when they pretended to be scared, but sorry in that genuine, raw, way that reality portrayed the truth. She accused him of cutting off her Uber and flipping them off, and as she described the event, he began to smile.<br/><br/>“<i>I</i>could have killed someone?<i>Your driver</i>was the one who cut me off first,” he insisted, leaning over the armrest of his chair. “Your driver made me lose the race,” he said, “and yeah, I shouldn’t be sitting next to you. I should be in front of you, like I was on the freeway,” he added with a laugh.<br/><br/>Because, really – guys like him should always come out in front.<br/><br/>He turned to look towards the front of the plane as the wings stabilized and it reached cruising altitude. The lights flickered back on. The intercom static came on, and the captain began to speak.<br/><br/><i>“In a few moments I’ll be turning off the seatbelt lights. Please remain in your seats unless you absolutely need to, folks. The weather is unpredictable, and we might hit a bit of turbulence. Our flight attendants will be by to start distributing dinner soon. As always, thank you for flying with us.” </i><br/><br/>Mark leaned his chair back as soon as the seatbelt light went off. He turned his head towards the scared girl across the aisle. “Hey, those pills you took. What was that? Valium? Xanax?” He raised his brows as he watched her. “Does that work for you?” His lips curved up into a little smirk as he drew one hand slowly across his stomach. “Because what I find works is a quick trip to the little room up front with someone like me,” he said, drawing his gaze along her face and breasts, then moving back to her eyes. “A little oxytocin goes a long way. And I, Sweetheart, happen to have a PhD in oxytocin distribution.”