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I can’t help but crack a smile as I follow him, remembering our absolute tween obsession with the dystopian saga.
Once I’m on the jet however, my laughter snuffs out as luxury slaps me in the face yet again. The scent of top-grade leather has me worried my jeans and belt chains will ruin the material, but then I remember that my rich father owns it, so I make my way down the narrow aisle, ignoring Rey who looks like he’s in his natural habitat, and drop down on a couch without a single care. There’s a stewardess who busies herself with preparations, glasses clinking, and the sound of a bottle uncorking comes from the other side of the partition where she moves about.
As Rey pulls off his suit jacket and settles in his seat with his computer open on his lap, Noah unloads his giant body on the seat opposite mine. He gives me a wink before putting his right foot on the arm rest where Rey is sitting. His big boot knocks into Rey’s elbow which causes his hand to surge forward, almost sending the laptop to the floor, but Rey manages to catch it at the last second.
Such a pity.
He turns and gives Noah a menacing glare, similar to the one he gave me in the car earlier, but my best friend is totally unfazed, air kissing him with a smirk that reflects my own as I watch my new favorite interaction.
Yeah, maybe Noah is right, we’ll be the worst kids at Coventry, causing a bunch of trouble for everyone. And hey, if everyone has a giant stick up their asses like Rey does, maybe we’ll be able to loosen them up and show them how us hood fellas like to play.
The stewardess moves around the wall that was partially blocking her from view and presses a few buttons on the door we just entered. I never saw our driver enter the jet, so I guess he’s staying behind. I watch her as the stairs outside begin to lift and fold into the side of the jet before she leans forward and pulls the door closed, fiddling with this and that as she secures the lock. Just as I’m about to look away, she reaches down and adjusts the hem of her skirt, and that’s when I notice her uniform.
She’s wearing a stark white button up blouse that has a frilly scarf thing around her neck, there’s thin black pinstripes in a vertical pattern with the Calavera name sewn into the breast pocket. Her black high waisted pencil skirt has a split from the hem to an extraordinarily high point on her left thigh that makes me wonder if the uniform came that way or if she added it herself. On her feet she wears red-soled high heels that look way too precarious to wear comfortably on a jet, but to each their own, I guess.
But none of that is the reason my eyebrows are wedged into my hairline.
Not only does this woman have the body of a fucking goddess, the kind that slaps the self-esteem of woman within a five-mile radius, but her uniform—if it can even be called that—leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. It looks like one of two things, a sexy Halloween costume or a porn star’s outfit.
I’m not judging her in the least, however. I’m all for women having the right to wear whatever they want, whenever they want. You wanna wear a bikini day in and day out, go full nude or dress like a pilgrim…that is one hundred percent your prerogative and the biased opinions of others can suck a dirty one. But if my father owns this jet, does that not mean that everyone working on it is also his? If the answer is yes, and I'm inclined to believe so, then why does he have this beautiful temptress dressed in a way that suggests she does more than steward a flight?
I probably sound like a judgy little cunt right now, but I can’t help but to think that my dad is not just a bastard, but a bastard who uses women for his pleasures. Why that’s a surprise to me, I have no clue. After all, he did marry Rey’s mother for her powerful name. It sickens me that my father has absolutely no morals when it comes to getting what he wants. He’ll fuck anyone, ruin anyone and hurtanyoneif it gets him what he wants.
In all the time that my parents have been separated, not once did my mother date other men. She never hung out with men, hell, she never even had friendly phone chats with anyone who wasn’t one of her many girlfriends. She lived as though her husband didn’t leave her with their daughter but was on an extended work trip. Yet here he is with his own private fleet of jets and spank bank worthy cars and women who are possibly paid a little extra to keep a spring in his step.
If you want me to wish you dead, you’re going in the right direction, pops.
I breathe deeply, trying to clear my head of all the negative thoughts, and click on my phone. I shove my earbuds in and go straight to my Chicano rap playlist, turning up the volume to max as I force my mind to follow along with the lyrics ofThird Wishby SPM.
By the fifth song in my playlist, my head is cleared enough to loosen up my tense body. Until, that is, when Noah kicks my foot and jerks his chin at the stewardess who is leaning over Rey, her breasts pushed out and her lips moving. I pull my earbuds out and listen to her airy voice.
“Would you care for some champagne, Mr. Calavera?”
Rey looks up from his laptop, his eyes connecting with nothing but her eager to please gaze, “No thank you, Joyce.” He looks down and continues typing, the clicking of the keys is a clear dismissal.
Noah and me glance at one another, our lips folded inward at the rejection that leaves the woman with a red face.
“Are you sure I can’t do anything for you to make your flight as comfortable as possible?” She asks while fluttering her eyelashes.
My eyes practically roll into the back of my head at the breathy innuendo. I’m not hating on the woman for shamelessly offering herself, I mean, for all I know, the girl could have asthma and can’t help but speak like she’s out of breath…but for some reason, it irks me.
Maybe it’s because she’s already been told no, and the bitch isn’t taking that for an answer, but I suddenly find myself speaking before thinking.
“He said no, lady. Have some dignity.”
Her back straightens and her eyes find mine, the look on her face tells me she didn’t even see me on board.
I can tell she wants to say something back, but professional decorum demands otherwise. She gives me a strained smile, “Of course. My apologies.”
Rey looks over his shoulder, his eyes questioning my motives before he comes to some conclusion for my actions.
“No apology is necessary.” Rey says as he turns back to Joyce, “Just wait for me in my quarters, I’ll be there shortly.”
My stomach turns when I see the triumphant smile on the woman’s heated face. Ugh, the egomaniac probably thinks I’m jealous, so he’s going out of his way to rub what he thinks is salt into my make-believe wound.
Puh-lease, motherfucker. I’m not jealous.
And I’m fuckingnot!If I wanted to, I could find myself five more guys that are way better looking than Rey with personalities that outshine him by miles.
