The layover, p.1
The Layover, page 1
The Layover
Gale Stanley
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Copyright ©2022 Gale Stanley
BIN: 010258-03331
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Changeling Press LLC
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Editor: Kira Stone
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
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Table of Contents
The Layover
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Gale Stanley
The Layover
Gale Stanley
Inside the cockpit, Captain Paul Miller is always in control. But on the ground, he constantly feels adrift. His marriage is crumbling, and life has become much too complicated.
Jamey Conley has worked hard to make his café in the Frisco airport a successful venture. He loves his work -- and especially the airport scenery. He goes gaga over guys in uniform, but when he meets Paul, sparks really fly. Too bad his ideal man is married -- and straight.
Chapter One
Captain Paul Miller made a descending turn over San Francisco, and configured the airplane for a landing. Despite the wind and turbulence, he nailed a perfect touchdown. Switching to ground control, he taxied to the gate, and then stood at the flight deck door to bid farewell to the passengers.
Some pilots skipped the goodbyes, but not Paul. For the last five hours, these strangers had put themselves in Paul’s hands, trusting him to transport them through some pretty crappy weather, six miles above the earth. The least he could do was show them the face behind the voice on the speaker.
Several travelers congratulated Paul on the landing. Their relief at being on the ground never ceased to amaze Paul even though he knew fear of flying was a common phobia. Flying was hardwired in his DNA, and he couldn’t wait to be up in the clouds again. Inside the cockpit, Paul was in control. On the ground, he felt adrift. Life was complicated.
Paul smiled and nodded so many times he felt like a bobble head. Ah, finally, the last passenger. “Enjoy your stay in San Francisco.”
The young man stopped and held out his hand. “Thank you, Captain.”
Paul responded automatically and shook it. A scrap of paper passed between them. The man winked, then he was gone, leaving behind a scrawled phone number. Paul stared at it.
“Looks like you have an admirer.”
The copilot’s smirk pissed him off. Frowning, Paul made a big deal of tearing up the paper and tossing it. “Don’t you have some checklists to check?”
Sully chuckled and headed back inside the cockpit, giving Paul a chance to escape on his own. Paul was new on the Frisco run, but he’d already heard plenty of gossip about his thrice-divorced copilot. The flight attendants called him a dog who went after anything in a skirt. Paul intended to keep his distance. Happily married, well, married anyway, Paul didn’t want his reputation tarnished by a player who couldn’t keep it in his pants.
Paul’s stomach growled and his thoughts turned to breakfast and a mug of strong coffee. Airport and good food didn’t belong in the same sentence, but Paul’s hunger pangs demanded attention. The Layover café across from gate seven looked promising, but it had a long line at the door. Paul was about to pass it by, when the door opened and the rich smell of brewing coffee stopped him in his tracks. He joined the queue, and fortunately, the line moved quickly. No sooner did Paul get through the door, than a kid with caramel hair came running up, and shoved something into his hand.
“Sorry for the wait, Captain. This will…” The rest of his words were lost as the boy hurried off.
Paul stared at his hand, now clutching a pastry wrapped in waxy paper. What the --
An elbow to his arm jarred Paul back to reality. Another customer was ogling his pastry.
“Hey Cap, you gonna eat that? If you don’t want it, I’ll take it off your hands.”
Paul took a quick bite to stake his claim, and an exquisite taste exploded delightfully in his mouth. The turnover was tender, flaky, and filled with real apples. Paul licked the last crumbs from his lips as a woman with a gray bun, beckoned him to a small bistro table in the back. She pulled out one of the wrought iron chairs for him.
This woman knows how to run a restaurant. Impressed by the restaurateur, Paul smiled. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“The name’s Emma.” She pointed to her ample bosom, where a tag covered most of the logo on her white polo shirt.
“Thank you, Emma. For the chair, and the pastry.”
“You can thank Jamey for that.” Emma pulled a menu from a pocket on her navy bistro apron. She handed it to Paul, and then leaned in and lowered her voice. “We take care of our flyboys. Order the egg, potato, cheese and bacon burrito. It’ll fill you up till dinner.”
Paul’s lips twitched with amusement, but he took her advice. “Done. And coffee, please.”
The meal not only satisfied Paul’s hunger, but his taste buds as well. He pushed away his empty plate, just as the pastry-boy came out of the kitchen with a coffeepot. The name Jamey was embroidered under the logo on his white polo shirt.
“Refill, Captain?”
“Yes, please. And thanks for the pastry, Jamey.”
“Was everything okay?” Jamey asked, as he poured. “Can I get you anything else?”
“It was more than okay. I would have licked the plate if I wasn’t so full. I don’t think I’ll eat again this week.” Paul stirred sugar into his coffee. “My compliments to the chef. Oh, and tell your boss this is now my go-to stop whenever I fly to Frisco.”
Jamey’s mouth twitched with amusement. “I’ll do that.”
The boy’s smirk hinted at hidden secrets. Intrigued, Paul wanted to continue the conversation, but Jamey raised the pot in a salute. “Till we meet again.”
The door barely swung shut behind him when Emma appeared with the check. “I’ll just leave this here, Captain.”
“Thanks for everything, Emma. Your café is tops in my book.”
“Well, thank you, but it’s not my café. Jamey is the owner.”
It took a second or two for Emma’s words to sink it. Paul’s smile vanished, wiped away by astonishment. He felt like an ass. His feelings must have shown on his face.
“Don’t worry, Captain. Lots of people make that mistake.”
“I’d like to see Jamey before I leave.”
“Sure, I’ll tell him.”
Paul expected Jamey to ignore his request, but a moment later, Jamey appeared at his table.
Paul stood. “I owe you an apology. I normally don’t make assumptions.”
Jamey gave Paul a lopsided grin that sent his pulses racing. “Happens all the time. No apologies necessary.”
Paul extended his hand. “Can we start over? I’m Paul Miller, pilot.”
Jamey grasped his hand. “I’m James Conley, chief cook and bottle washer. And owner.”
“Good to meet you, James.” Paul smiled apologetically. “I’ve been rude, but it’s just temporary. I plead jetlag. Can you chat for a minute?”
“Sure, I have a few minutes.” Jamey took the chair opposite Paul. “Everyone calls me Jamey.”
Paul pointed to the logo on the coffee mug. It matched the one on Jamey’s shirt -- a pilot waving from an open plane. “Great logo, Jamey.”
“Thanks, I designed it myself.”
“Is there anything you can’t do?”
That mischievous grin appeared again. “I can’t resist a man in uniform.”
Am I the only pilot who hates this damn uniform? Paul forced a nervous laugh. “I’m flattered, but I’m not gay.”
Jamey’s face flushed scarlet. “Sorry, it was just a bad joke. When I was a kid I wanted to be a pilot.”
Paul immediately regretted his words. “Now I’m sorry, I overreact when I’m tired.” He paused before changing the subject. “If you don’t mind my asking --”
“Twenty-seven,” Jamey said, quickly.
Paul met Jamey’s gaze, and suddenly he was drowning in deep, rich chocolate. A nervous flutter started in Paul’s stomach, the likes of which he hadn’t felt since he was first hit puberty, and a chance encounter with an older boy in a public b
athroom had rocked his world. Caught peeking at his first uncut cock, Paul was given a demonstration of how the foreskin moved back and forth over the head. One thing led to another, and suddenly, both boys were both jacking off. Overcome by throbbing waves of sensation, Paul thought he might die from the ecstasy. He never saw that boy again, but for a long time his masturbation fantasies involved two males.
Paul brushed aside the memories. It was just boys being boys, jacking off without touching each other. “I wish we could talk longer, Jamey, but I have to check in at the hotel.”
“And I have to get back to work. It was great meeting you, Paul. Stop in whenever you’re in town, coffee is on the house.”
“Oh… yeah, sure. Thanks…”
Jamey disappeared into the kitchen, and Paul tried to tamp down his rising libido. He’d been ogling the café owner -- who happened to be another man -- like some lovesick adolescent. And those weird memories popping up out of nowhere? What’s that all about? Paul put it down to marital stress. He tried not to let the rough times with his spouse affect his work performance, but it was getting harder to leave his personal problems back on the east coast. He really needed to check in at the hotel and decompress. Paul gulped down the last of his coffee, left a big tip for Emma, and headed to the cashier to pay his check.
* * *
Jamey locked the front door, and reversed the sign so it read Closed from the terminal. He turned around and almost walked into Emma, who pinned him with a flinty stare.
“Jamey Conley! Stop torturing yourself.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh yes, you do. You’ve been mooning over that pilot since he walked out of here.”
“No way, Emma. He had a wedding band on his finger.”
“I saw it. And I saw that look on your face, too. I can read you like a book, Jamey. Stop wasting your time.”
Jamey sighed. “Okay, so I’m a sucker for a uniform, but I know it’s a waste of time to want somebody I can’t have.”
Emma gave him a shrewd look. “Don’t be so sure you can’t have him. I caught him checking you out. He wouldn’t be the first straight man to use you for sex.”
It was true. Jamey didn’t have the best gaydar in the world, but he could still tell when he was getting eye-fucked and that was hard to resist, especially from a man in uniform. But Paul Miller appeared to be straight. Or maybe he just wanted to come off as straight. Whatever. Jamey had vowed to avoid those kinds of complications. He chalked Paul up as off-limits.
“You don’t have to worry, Emma. I learned my lesson.”
A year ago, Jamey had fallen for a married flyboy. He’d really believed the man would leave his wife, but it had never happened. Turned out, the pilot just wanted to get his penis sucked, because his wife didn’t like to perform oral sex. The bastard actually believed that he wasn’t cheating if he got a blowjob from a gay man. That’s what happens when a guy thinks with his penis, instead of his brain.
Emma started filling the salt and pepper shakers as she lectured Jamey. “You need to find yourself a nice young, unattached man.”
Easier said than done. Jamey had a type, and they were hard to come by. First off, there had to be enough sexual attraction to make Jamey’s prick throb like a divining rod. Besides the physical, Jamey wanted someone a little older, gay but confident in his masculinity, and financially secure. There’d been a few deadbeats in his past. Oh, and he had to wear a uniform.
Jamey sighed. Emma was overprotective and bossy, but it came from a good place. Jamey and the café were all she had. As for Jamey, Emma filled the void left by his grandfather.
Two years ago, Sarge had died, leaving Jamey completely alone. His grandfather’s real name was Sam but everyone, including Jamey, had called him Sarge, a nickname that went back to his days as an Army cook. They’d been together since Jamey was four and his parents were killed in a burglary gone wrong.
Sarge had never flown a plane, but he loved aircraft almost as much as he loved to cook. He and Jamey saw Top Gun so many times Jamey could recite the dialogue by heart. Sarge knew a spot near the airport where they could watch the planes come in and out right over their heads. The men who flew the planes made a vivid impression on Jamey. As a boy, he admired their black uniforms, stripes, and wings. As a teenager, he became more interested in what lay under the uniform.
Sarge knew Jamey was gay before he did, and he became Jamey’s biggest supporter. When Jamey went through tough times in school, Sarge came to his rescue, and at Jamey’s high school graduation, Sarge cheered the loudest. Jamey liked to cook, but he had no idea how to turn that into a career. It was Sarge who convinced him to go to college. “I won’t always be around to take care of you,” his grandfather had said. “But with a good education, you’ll be able to take care of yourself.”
Jamey studied business and hospitality management, and no one was prouder than Sarge when Jamey earned his degree. A week later Sarge had a massive heart attack, and that fast, he was gone. For a long time, Jamey couldn’t get past his grief, then he pulled himself together and started to make plans.
With Sarge gone, there was nothing to keep Jamey in D.C. After a lot of research, and a preliminary visit, Jamey decided he wanted to live in San Francisco. Thanks to his inheritance, he had enough money to relocate, and to buy the rundown airport café he’d seen on his trip. Emma offered to stay on, and they were a good team. Jamey christened his café The Layover, and it quickly became a popular spot for breakfast or lunch. Travelers and airport personnel came in droves for Jamey’s strong coffee, oversized breakfast sandwiches, and most of all, his good-natured service.
After a rough start, Jamey’s life had turned out okay -- thanks to Sarge. Jamey had a business he loved, a small but adequate house near the airport, and Emma. The only thing missing was romance. Jamey had been so sure he’d find his soul mate in Frisco, with its large population of gay men, but it hadn’t happened.
Emma finished setting the tables, and started wiping down the counter. “Jamey, you sabotaged yourself buying a place in an airport. You put those flyboys on a pedestal, and no one else is good enough.”
Jamey sighed. It was true. The uniform, and the men who wore it, had always fascinated him. The pilots exuded authority, power, control… But, all that confidence intimidated Jamey. In school, he’d never been part of the in crowd, and despite his success in business, he still felt like the kid who couldn’t measure up.
“Earth to Jamey!” Emma’s tone demanded attention. “What about that nice man who left all the coffee samples last week?”
“The salesman? He was just pushing his brands.”
Emma lowered her head and looked over her glasses at Jamey. “Jamey Conley, you’re the only gay man I know who has no gaydar.”
Emma knows me too well. Unless a guy was a complete flamer, Jamey couldn’t tell if he was gay or straight. Hell, Jamey was so clueless, even Paul Miller had registered a blip on his gaydar. When the pilot looked in his eyes, Jamey had felt honest to god butterflies taking wing. Of course, it was just wishful thinking, brought on by sexual frustration.
“You’re right, Emma.” Jamey sighed. “If the coffee salesman comes back, I’ll talk… no, I’ll flirt with him.”
* * *
Paul had enough seniority to pick out a regular flight schedule. Each month, he made eight two-day trips to Frisco, and a meal at The Layover had become part of his routine. It wasn’t the free coffee that kept him coming back, although it was damn fine coffee. It was Jamey. A pilot spent a lot of time away from home, and a friendly face meant a lot, especially now that Paul’s life was fucked up beyond recovery.
Paul had learned a lot about the café owner in the three months he’d known him. Jamey had a rough childhood. He must have gone through hell after losing his parents, and then to discover he was gay… Somehow, he’d still achieved his goals, knew exactly who he was, and wasn’t afraid to admit it. Jamey might be ten years younger than Paul, but he was a whole lot wiser. Suddenly, Paul couldn’t wait to see him.
No line at the café. Good, Jamey will have time to talk. Paul spotted his honey-colored curls through the window, and did a triple take. The café owner was sitting with a customer. A young preppy-looking customer, with his sleeves rolled up to show off his Rolex. He probably has a personal trainer and a Porsche as well.
