Love In Alaska (The Love In 50 States Series Book 2) by Shelby Gates
Authors: Shelby Gates
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ONE
The speakers on the plane crackled and the pilot's voice filled the cabin, telling me and the other passengers we were looking at the Chugach Mountains.
I didn't care what they were called. All I knew was that I'd never seen a view as spectacular as the one out my tiny porthole of a window.
The seatbelt light above me dinged and a different voice came over the loudspeaker, asking us to stow our computers, put our tray tables up and bring our seats back to their upright positions. I didn't have a laptop out, my tray was already up and I hadn't been able to recline my seat because of the large man stuffed in the seat behind me.
I checked my seatbelt and twisted to the left, then to the right in an attempt to stretch out a little. It had been a long day of flying. I'd gone from Mobile to Dallas, caught a connection in Seattle and, almost twelve hours later, was finally getting to Anchorage. I'd been on one big jetliner and two smaller planes and all of them seemed to have provided me with the same size seat.
Small.
I peeked out the window again. The mountains loomed just to the left of us, their jagged peaks capped by snow. It was a little weird to see snow in September but I was coming in to Alaska and I was pretty sure the weather didn't always play by the weather here. I inched forward and craned my neck so I could see more of the landscape below. Through the broken clouds, I could make out a vast expanse of blue and a curving coastline. From my vantage point, Anchorage looked more like an island than an extension of North America.
“Coming home?” the guy sitting next to me asked.
He hadn't spoken the entire flight. We'd listened to the flight attendant's safety speech in Seattle and, two minutes later, he'd slipped an eye mask on his face and promptly fell asleep. I'd tried to follow suit but I had too much on my mind.
“No,” I answered. “Just visiting.”
He nodded, like that's what he expected. He looked to be in his sixties, with gray hair and wire-rimmed glasses. “I hope you have some warmer clothes,” he said, taking in the shorts and t-shirt I was wearing.
I hadn't given much thought to the temperature of my final destination when I'd gotten dressed that morning. I'd opened the sliding glass door to my hotel room and the humidity had slammed into me and I'd grabbed the coolest clothes I could find. I'd dug out a sweatshirt during the layover in Seattle but quickly shed it once I'd boarded the plane. Judging from my seat mate's choice of outfits—a flannel shirt and khaki pants—I was not adequately dressed for September in Alaska.
“I do,” I said. “In my luggage. It'll be chilly, right?”
He shrugged. “Depends on what you call chilly. Should be high fifties during the day, a little cooler at night.” He gave me a sly grin. “Or we could see snow.”
I smiled. “You live here then, I take it?”
“Yep,” he said. He adjusted the glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. “Going on thirty years now. Wouldn't live anywhere else.”
“No? Why is that?”
“I like the quiet. I like the peace.” He smiled at me and smoothed out the creases in his pants. “And I like the cold.”
“I'd think you'd have to.” Vermont was a cold place to live, too, but it didn't feel as remote as Alaska did to me. Maybe because Boston and New York, teeming with people and skyscrapers and civilization, were only a few hours away. Or maybe it was simply because I didn't know much about Alaska and what it had to offer.
He nodded again. “What brings you here?”
Oh, I'm just here to have sex with another resident of your state, I thought.
Because that's what I was doing. After fifty months in a loveless, sexless marriage, my friends had convinced me to go see the country—and fuck a guy in each one. I had the money to do it, to visit each state in alphabetical order and look for a guy in every single one. But I was still working on having the guts to carry out my mission.
“Just
The speakers on the plane crackled and the pilot's voice filled the cabin, telling me and the other passengers we were looking at the Chugach Mountains.
I didn't care what they were called. All I knew was that I'd never seen a view as spectacular as the one out my tiny porthole of a window.
The seatbelt light above me dinged and a different voice came over the loudspeaker, asking us to stow our computers, put our tray tables up and bring our seats back to their upright positions. I didn't have a laptop out, my tray was already up and I hadn't been able to recline my seat because of the large man stuffed in the seat behind me.
I checked my seatbelt and twisted to the left, then to the right in an attempt to stretch out a little. It had been a long day of flying. I'd gone from Mobile to Dallas, caught a connection in Seattle and, almost twelve hours later, was finally getting to Anchorage. I'd been on one big jetliner and two smaller planes and all of them seemed to have provided me with the same size seat.
Small.
I peeked out the window again. The mountains loomed just to the left of us, their jagged peaks capped by snow. It was a little weird to see snow in September but I was coming in to Alaska and I was pretty sure the weather didn't always play by the weather here. I inched forward and craned my neck so I could see more of the landscape below. Through the broken clouds, I could make out a vast expanse of blue and a curving coastline. From my vantage point, Anchorage looked more like an island than an extension of North America.
“Coming home?” the guy sitting next to me asked.
He hadn't spoken the entire flight. We'd listened to the flight attendant's safety speech in Seattle and, two minutes later, he'd slipped an eye mask on his face and promptly fell asleep. I'd tried to follow suit but I had too much on my mind.
“No,” I answered. “Just visiting.”
He nodded, like that's what he expected. He looked to be in his sixties, with gray hair and wire-rimmed glasses. “I hope you have some warmer clothes,” he said, taking in the shorts and t-shirt I was wearing.
I hadn't given much thought to the temperature of my final destination when I'd gotten dressed that morning. I'd opened the sliding glass door to my hotel room and the humidity had slammed into me and I'd grabbed the coolest clothes I could find. I'd dug out a sweatshirt during the layover in Seattle but quickly shed it once I'd boarded the plane. Judging from my seat mate's choice of outfits—a flannel shirt and khaki pants—I was not adequately dressed for September in Alaska.
“I do,” I said. “In my luggage. It'll be chilly, right?”
He shrugged. “Depends on what you call chilly. Should be high fifties during the day, a little cooler at night.” He gave me a sly grin. “Or we could see snow.”
I smiled. “You live here then, I take it?”
“Yep,” he said. He adjusted the glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. “Going on thirty years now. Wouldn't live anywhere else.”
“No? Why is that?”
“I like the quiet. I like the peace.” He smiled at me and smoothed out the creases in his pants. “And I like the cold.”
“I'd think you'd have to.” Vermont was a cold place to live, too, but it didn't feel as remote as Alaska did to me. Maybe because Boston and New York, teeming with people and skyscrapers and civilization, were only a few hours away. Or maybe it was simply because I didn't know much about Alaska and what it had to offer.
He nodded again. “What brings you here?”
Oh, I'm just here to have sex with another resident of your state, I thought.
Because that's what I was doing. After fifty months in a loveless, sexless marriage, my friends had convinced me to go see the country—and fuck a guy in each one. I had the money to do it, to visit each state in alphabetical order and look for a guy in every single one. But I was still working on having the guts to carry out my mission.
“Just
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