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Hello, bad luck. We meet again. Damn. It hurt.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” came a concerned voice from behind us.
I turned to see the frowning face of a flight attendant who appeared to be in her mid-fifties, with her black hair brushed back in a sleek bun and a no-nonsense way about her.
Rubbing the spot above my hairline, I muttered, “Yeah. I think so.”
Her gaze narrowed on my head. “Are you sure? It looks like it’s swelling.”
“Yes, it’s fine.” I didn’t want to make a fuss and hold up the line of people waiting to board. This wasn’t my first bump on the head.
She tsked but moved out of the way to let people by. I noticed the blonde didn’t bother to express any remorse after retaking her seat.
Once the trickle of people died down, the flight attendant came back, eyes on me. “Come on, dear. We have an open seat in first class.”
Maybe I’d been hit harder than I thought because I had “being hit in the head with a bag” luck, not “upgrade to first class” luck.
“Really?”
“Do you happen to have any more upgraded seats?” came the blonde’s voice from beside me.
“No, we do not,” answered the older woman, narrowing her eyes.
Wow, an upgrade and witnessing blondie put in her place with a skillful look of derision. What a turn of events.
Grabbing my bag, I followed my savior in her sensible shoes and impeccable uniform to the front of the plane and an unoccupied row of two. Ah, the feel of the large leather seat with the extra legroom made me sigh in bliss. Not as if my five-foot-two frame really needed it, but man, was it nice anyway.
Never having sat in first class, I was giddy with excitement.
“I’ll get you some ice for your head, and would you like some water?”
I smiled toward the flight attendant. “Both would be lovely. Thank you.”
But it was the trifecta of good luck when a dark-haired version of Thor—if Thor donned a tight black T-shirt, had tattoos running down his muscled arms, and a bad-boy sexy vibe—sat down beside me.
The flight attendant delivered my items and took note of the man beside me with widened eyes. I mean who wouldn’t? He probably had to fly first class just so his thighs, nicely encased in dark denim, could fit into the seat.
“Can I get you anything to drink, sir?”
“Water, please.”
My seatmate’s voice was pure sin. Meanwhile, I had to pull my gaze away from the massive size of his hands. Very sexy hands, with tattoos on his right knuckles. He wasn’t my type, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate the package.
The flight attendant delivered him a cup water, glancing over toward me. “How’s the bump, dear?”
“The what?” The ice pack sat unused on my lap, forgotten while I gawked at the eye candy next to me.
“Oh, dear, I think you’re disoriented. Perhaps we should have the paramedics take a look? You can always take a later flight.”
Getting off the plane meant kissing goodbye to my one and only chance at first class, not to mention inviting the hassle of waiting around in the airport for the next flight. Or worse, being forced to return to my parents’ house and hear about how my bad luck had struck again.
“No, no, it’s fine.” I made a show of holding the ice pack to my forehead and tried not to wince. If my new bruise appeared anything like it felt, I’d need a vat of makeup to cover it up for my interviews during the upcoming week.
She didn’t look convinced.
“I’m fine. Really. I’m a nurse, and this is just a superficial bump.” Okay, so it was only a half-truth. I’d gone to nursing school and completed all but my last semester before dropping out.
Thankfully, the impromptu white lie bought me a reprieve from having to deplane.
