He smirks. “Please. All high-society types play tennis.”
Chapter Seven
“When you said we were flying to the USA, I never thought it’d be in your own freaking jet, Colt,” I squeak out as we all walk across the tarmac to the waiting private jet.
“Well, when you’re famous, you get privileges. Not only that, but the jet is also necessary to get us from one place to another easily. Walking through airports can be a problem, even though we do have to resort to it from time to time,” Colt replies as he takes my hand and leads me up the staircase.
My hands are shaking, and the tap dancing troupe is having another concert in my stomach.
I’m so nervous.
I hate flying with a vengeance.
And even though I’m sure a private jet is just as safe as a large plane, I can’t help but think the smaller the plane, the smaller the engine, the greater the chance of something going wrong. It all ends with me dying in a fiery explosion or drowning in the ocean when the jet breaks apart. Either way, I’m doomed, and I’m not happy right now.
I step inside the jet, and it’s instant luxury. An all-cream leather interior with giant seats everywhere greets me, with little tables in between. It’s more like a hotel than a plane. I walk along the spacious aisle with Colt’s hand on my lower back—comforting, steady, a silent promise that wherever we are headed, we’re in this together.
“We can sit there if you want.” Colt gestures toward a table with two seats near the rear of the jet. Grateful, I slide into the aisle seat, silently offering a prayer of thanks as Colt settles in by the window.
My breathing escalates as the other band members and the Slayettes all crowd into the jet.
On top of that, my grip on the chair’s armrest gets tighter as a hostess shuts the jet door and locks it.
I am sooo going to die!
Colt looks at me and rests his hand on top of mine. “Dee… you okay?” He looks at me intently.
Swallowing hard, I nod, my eyes wide as gripping fear paralyzes me when the engines roar to life. Somehow, I grip the armrest harder and scrunch my eyes closed as tightly as possible while the jet moves slightly.
“Dee, what’s wrong?” Colt asks as he pries my hand from the armrest, finger by finger, and takes it in his.
“I hate flying,” I whisper breathlessly.
He chuckles slightly and kisses the back of my hand. “I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell me? We could’ve gotten you some tablets to help you relax before the flight?”
I feel my bottom lip start to quiver. Daddynevermade me fly. We always took holidays to destinations reachable by cruise ship or by driving.
“Okay, I can fix this,” he says, holding my hand even tighter.
“Tamara. Can we have two of the usual, please, and keep them coming?”
“Certainly, Mr. Slade.”
“Two of the usual?” I ask.
He smiles brightly. “Don’t worry. It’ll take the edge off, I promise.”
At this point, I’ll do anything to get rid of these nerves.
Tamara returns with two glasses of amber liquid. She places them on the table in front of us, smiles at Colt, then walks away.
I wrinkle my nose and look at Colt curiously as he hands me the glass. “What is it?” I ask.
He smirks. “Your best friend. Trust me, it’ll help,” he says, clinking his glass against mine.
“Colt, it’s early in the day. I can’t drink this now,” I weakly protest.
He smirks. “Well, it’s afternoon somewhere in the world, and it’ll help calm your nerves. So, bottoms up.” He brings the glass to his lips and downs the contents.
