“Now boarding Group A,” the attendant announces into the sound system, interrupting our bickering so I can’t conjure up something to say back to Rachel.
I promptly stand up, grabbing my carry-on. “Coming?”
She remains sitting, legs crossed and leaning back, as if she has absolutely no intention of getting up and following me.
“You go ahead. I’m going to stock up on my oxygen out here before being stuffed in that plane,” she replies.
“We are supposed to board, Rachel. This is our boarding group,” I insist, trying not to raise my voice to cause our own commotion.
“Like I said…Go ahead,” she replies flatly, crossing her arms.
I huff. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m pretty sure you’ve already established that prejudice against me. I may as well stay true to character, or would you prefer to rewrite me and create something all your own like I do to Barrett?” she mutters with a frosty nip to the words as they fall from her lips.
“Fine,” I say before turning around and heading toward the gate to get in line with the other passengers who are responsible enough to board when they are instructed to.
She is absolutely, wholly, and incredibly infuriating, constantly finding ways to make my skin tingle with annoyance. I don’t know why she’s so set on provoking me, honestly. This is my book tour, and she should be grateful she’s part of it.
On the plane, I situate myself, thankful Melanie at least gave me the window seat instead of the aisle when she ordered tickets. She seems to love Rachel more than me, which is fine, but she almost seems to prefer Rachel after only weeks of knowing her. She’s known me for years.
I watch as passengers navigate by me, pressing their bodies and luggage against the seats in the aisle. I begin to wonder about what Rachel said as my legs already begin to feel stiff. I also begin to wonder if Rachel is going to board the plane. I prefer the seat to stay empty beside me, but that happy thought soon vanishes when I hear her bubbly voice talking to the flight attendants at the front.
Is she the last one to board? Did she leteveryoneon before herself?
I lean over, noticing her obnoxious pink coat. She’s smiling at the flight attendant. She finally turns to walk toward me. I lean back and gaze out the window.
“Oh, sorry.” Rachel laughs. “My suitcase is unfortunately broken.”
“Here, let me help you.” It’s a deep voice that replies, and I slightly tilt my head to see what is happening.
A man has gotten up and is putting Rachel’s carry-on in the overhead bin.
“Thank you.” Rachel’s reply is warm, a tone I’ve never heard directed at me before. “I really need new luggage, but I don’t travel often enough to justify it.”
“I’m Jett,” the man says, extending his hand.
The man looks like a Jett. His black hair is slicked back with more hair gel than I’ve ever used in my life, as if he’s a young John Travolta about to belt out, “You’re the One That I Want.” He’s wearing ripped jeans and a ragged black T-shirt. It’s a pity the pants aren’t leather.
“I’m Rachel,” she replies.
She places her small hand in his, and they just stand there in the middle of the aisle. Even the stewardess pauses to smile at them and spins back around to complete something at the front instead of interrupting them.
“What are you doing in LA?” Jett asks.
I roll my eyes. This man needs to sit back down.
“Business,” Rachel replies coyly.
Her hands are clasped behind her, and she appears to be squirming. Does this woman even know how to flirt?
I take a deep breath before interfering. “Hey, honey. I think the plane is getting ready to take off.”
Rachel snaps her head back at me, her eyes squinting together, glaring. I smile to myself but make sure the smile doesn’t reach my lips for her to see my pleasure in this moment I’m creating.
“Oh,” Jett stutters. “I better let you sit with your husband.”
“He’s not my…” Rachel begins to protest.
