Davidson's [POV]
The second I land and turn on my phone, missed messages show up. Nothing that looks like one from the pianist from the airport, but then it hasn't been that long, and she's likely jet-lagged from the trip. She'll probably call tomorrow. In fact, that makes more sense tomorrow's Saturday, when most people have free time.
I work, of course...but I'm not most people.
I grab my stuff and walk up the ramp and into LAX itself. People check me out as I join the flow of travelers. I can feel their gazes, especially the women. I'm used to it, though. Women have been eye-fucking me since I hit puberty. In junior high I had a friend named Freddie. His mom used to lower her tank top every time I went over to hang out.
