I don’t let her.
“Thanks. Was it Jett? My wife gets nervous about flying. I just want to make sure she’s prepared for takeoff. In fact, do you mind if we borrow your barf bag? Usually two isn’t enough,” I articulate with a calm and cool demeanor.
Jett frowns. “Um, yeah, sure, man. Sorry, I was just helping your wife.”
“I appreciate it. She was just reminding me that she often doesn’t let others help her enough. A fault of hers. I’m glad you stepped in, but I’ve got it from here,” I say.
Then I look up at Rachel with a condescending smile. “Honey, I think you should sit down and leave this poor man alone. I don’t think he wants to deal with your condition once we’re in the air.”
Jett is now frantically scrambling for his barf bag. He extends it to me with wide eyes, reaching around Rachel, who is still standing, blazing with rage but apparently struck with silence on how to remedy this situation.
I take Jett’s barf bag. “Thanks, man. I hope you enjoy your flight. I’ll try to make sure she’s as quiet as possible, so you aren’t disrupted.”
Rachel falls heavily into the seat beside me, exhaling thick frustration.
I pat her leg to continue with the charade. “There, there, sweetheart. We’ll be landing before we know it.”
She whips her head around to face me, our noses only a couple of inches apart. “What if he was my soulmate and you just ruined it?”
Her voice is muffled and raspy, much more flirtatious sounding than whatever I just witnessed between her and Jett, even though I know she doesn’t mean to sound flirty at all. I enjoy it though.
“Soulmate? You believe in that kind of stuff? I mean, of course you do. Well, babe, if he’s your soulmate, destiny will somehow get you two together,” I reply while leaning in closer, whispering in her ear.
“I hate you,” she mutters between gritted teeth.
The freckles that are sprinkled across her nose and cheeks scrunch up as she glares at me. I push away the thought that she’s even more beautiful up close, a rarity with most people. My experience with people is the closer you get, the more you see their ugliness. But with Rachel, all I see is honesty.
“I hate you, too,” I reply before pulling back from her. I rest my head against the back of my seat, placing the extra barf bag from Jett in her lap. “Here you go, darling.”
Then I grab my headphones and ignore Rachel’s side-eye glance as she watches me pull out an old MP3 player from the inside pocket of my jacket. I’m sure she’s wondering about the ancient device. I bought it when I was sixteen. I can obviously replace it with something better now, but I don’t want to. I even had it restored when it started to glitch, but it’s impossible to upload new music to it. I’m stuck with songs like “Crank That (Soulja Boy)” and “Party Like a Rock Star,” which depicts culture more than who I once was, as I was not partying, or a rock star, or cranking anything but overtime shifts and microwave dinners.
The truth is, I keep small reminders of who I once was, and at one time in my life, I was just a young boy who had to grow up too fast to make sure my little sister and I stayed together and had a home.
Chapter 12
Evan
Thehotelisover-the-top,as usual. Melanie is obsessed with making sure her clients always radiate status and wealth. She says the appearance of money sells, and she’s not wrong. I notice how people look at me differently when I look like money. Like I’m actually a person worth recognizing.
But the fact that this room has a separate living space and even larger bathroom than I have back in my own apartment in New York City makes me feel like I’m taking up too much space. I don’t mind taking up some space, butthismuch seems extravagant. Frivolous. Unnecessary.
I’m also wondering what Rachel’s room looks like, even though I shouldn’t be wondering at all. Is she receiving the same treatment that I am as the author on this tour? She didn’t check in at the desk with me. She said she needed to call her roommate, and then rolled her very-much-in-need-of-repair suitcase into the sitting area in the lobby. She seemed relieved to put space between her and me. Not that I minded the distance either.
She’d fallen asleep on the flight, slowly disintegrating into her seat as her body became entranced by the heaviness of dreams. I watched her body relax nerve by nerve, muscle by muscle, until her head had slowly fallen toward me.
She looked so uncomfortable slouched over, and while part of me thought she deserved the neck ache from sleeping that way, the other part of me, the part I don’t like to reveal, had gently scooped my shoulder under her chin until she was resting on me.
Her mouth had fallen open, drool soaking my blazer, but the feeling of her against me was warm, and I haven’t felt warm much lately. It was…nice.
When she woke up, her eyes had gone wide, a bewildered expression sketching itself on her face until she abruptly sat up, wiping her lips and acting like nothing happened.
I acted like nothing happened either.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Lily
Pic please.
