Pam glanced out the window again. They were cruising over a bed of fluffy white clouds that went on as far as her eyes could see. She turned to her companion, who was sitting with his legs extended into the aisle and his eyes peacefully closed.

“I can't believe we are on a plane to Las Vegas right now,” she said in an excited half-whisper. “This is crazy.”

Jim's eyes remaining shut. “It's a good kind of crazy though,” he mumbled.

“I can count on one hand the number of times I've been on an airplane,” she mused. “This just doesn't seem real.”

Jim opened his eyes, and reached for her hand. “It's real,” he smiled.

“It's expensive,” she replied, the corners of her mouth turning downward. “I shouldn't have let you do this.”

Jim sat up straighter, moving his legs out of the path of the oncoming drinks cart. “I don't need your permission to do nice things for you,” he said, leaning his head down toward hers.

“This goes a little beyond doing something nice,” she replied softly. Pam looked up to find his face inches from hers. “I wish you'd let me pay for part of this.”

“I didn't say you couldn't,” Jim raised his eyebrows suggestively. “But you should know I deal in a very special currency.”

Pam couldn't help but laugh, but was prevented from responding by the appearance of the flight attendant.

“What can I get you to drink?”

Two cokes and a few pretzel packets later, Pam put her head against Jim's shoulder, trying to get comfortable enough to sleep for a bit. Jim was even more uncomfortable, his long legs simply not designed to survive coach class. Seated in practically the very back of the plane, they had been fortunate enough to have an empty seat in their row. Jim stretched somewhat sideways across two seats, resting back against Pam. She wrapped her arm around his waist and enjoyed the pleasant, if somewhat awkward cuddle.

Jim alternated between half-watching the Sandra Bullock film on the screen, and wishing they were already in Las Vegas. He was doing the latter when Pam's arm tightened around him, and she whispered in his ear.

“Have you ever heard of the Mile High Club?”

He twisted around to look at her. “I have,” he replied slowly.

Pam said nothing, but a mischievous look washed over her face.

“What?” Jim asked, aware his heart had started to beat faster.

“Nothing,” she said innocently. “I just wondered if you'd ever heard of it.”

“It strikes me as a great idea until you get into the logistics of it,” he replied. “I mean, unless you are flying first class.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you been in a plane's restroom? I don't think it's designed for one person, much less two.”

“Where's your sense of adventure?”

“I know this is going to come as a shock, Pam, but sex in a public toilet doesn't strike me as adventurous. More like cramped and uncomfortable.”

“Party pooper.” She stuck her tongue out at him.

“I beg to differ. We are on a flight to Las Vegas, aren't we?”

“Hmmph.”

They watched the movie for a little while, then Pam pressed her lips against his shoulder. “You don't have to do it in the lavatory, you know.”

“What?” Jim was convinced he could not have heard her correctly.

“For the Mile High Club.”

He slid his hand over hers. “What are you suggesting?”

“Well we're pretty secluded back here. If we could get a blanket from the stewardess...”

“They don't like to be called stewardesses anymore, Pam. You mean the flight attendant.”

“Right, flight attendant.”

“But go on. What happens after the blanket?”

Pam brushed her hand from his waist down to this thigh. “Oh, I don't know. I'm sure we could think of something.”

Jim was momentarily speechless. “That's....”

“a good idea?” Pam suggested.

Jim laughed. “More like a recipe for public embarrassment.”

“So you don't want to have some fun?”

Jim didn't reply. Instead he watched as a flight attendant walked down the aisle, picking up empty cups and used napkins.

“Excuse me,” Jim said, motioning to her. “Can we get a couple of blankets?”