I scowl at her, knowing how much that just cost me. “You now have to buy me drinks tonight. Actually, for the whole weekend,” I mumble.
She giggles. “Deal. Totally worth it to see how excited he was.”
“Hmm, tell that to my declining credit.”
We walk onto the plane and two women in pilots’ uniforms greet us. “Welcome,” the younger one says. “I’m Alana.” She points to the middle-aged woman next to her. “Jean and I will beyour pilots today. The skies are blue and clear. It should be an easy ride. Sit back and enjoy.”
“Ooh,” I respond, “women pilots. It’s not a cockpit on this airplane. It’s a clitpit.”
The older woman spits her water, but my girls all laugh. They’re such a good audience for me.
As we walk further into the plane, I see Daylen placing his bag into the overhead bin. His wrinkled T-shirt raises slightly, revealing his toned abs. He’s so solid, and he’s got one of those paths of dirty blond hair from his belly button that disappears into his jeans. It’s kind of hot.
I shake my head in disbelief of where my mind went. Where did that come from?
I then notice a rose tattoo on the side of his abdomen with the name Rose written under it. Ugh, men with tattoos of women’s names on their bodies. That’s certainly a mainstay on my red flag list. I’ve honestly never met a man who encompasses more of my red flags than Daylen Humblecut.
I swear I did my best to be nicer to him after the New Year’s Eve incident. I was truly appreciative of what he did and bit my tongue at his ridiculousness for weeks. But it’s like he hated me being nice to him, and he went out of his way to be extra douchey to me. By the end of January, we were back to our verbal sparring where we belong, as if New Year’s Eve never happened.
I look at him. “Speaking of men who probably can’t find a clit, good morning, Daylen,” I say in an over-the-top fake cheery voice.
He narrows his eyes at me. “You’re so damn negative. Can’t you ever just walk into a room and say something nice to me?”
I cross my arms. “I’m not here to build you up, Hannibal Lecter. If you’re broken, you’re a project, and I’m not Home Depot.”
He exhales a long breath. “Who brought her?”
“I did,” Layla happily sings as she throws her arms aroundme. “And I’m so happy she’s here. We’re going to have the best time,” she squeals as she kisses my cheek.
I look around and take in my surroundings. Holy shit, private planes are like floating houses. “This is really nice, Layla. Thank you,” I express to her sincerely.
She smiles. “My absolute pleasure. Get ready for the most memorable weekend of your life, girlfriend.”
I rub my hands together with excitement. “I’m ready.”
After takeoff, everyone crowds around the big table and begins drinking. I hang back for a moment. It’s not even eight in the morning, and it’s going to be a long day. I need to pace myself so I don’t have a repeat performance of New Year’s Eve. That night scared the shit out of me. I’ve barely had more than an occasional glass of wine since.
I know I should probably talk to someone about that night, but I’m kind of embarrassed by my naivety and equally embarrassed that Daylen was the one who saved me.
I’ve had more than a handful of nightmares of what could have happened if Daylen hadn’t noticed what was being done to my drink. Despite our return to verbal jabs, I’ve softened on him. How could I not after what he did? He may be an annoying Neanderthal without an ounce of sexual appeal, but he’s a good guy. Okay, maybe he’s a little more appealing than he used to be, but obviously I’ll never go there.
I notice one of the flight attendants flirting with him as she offers him a drink. He’s got her laughing, along with everyone else in earshot. I remember what he said about choosing happiness every day. He’s definitely one cheery motherfucker who gets off on making everyone around him laugh and smile. While I find it irritating, I suppose there are worse things a man could be.
And then I consider my earlier thoughts of having a group of friends who laugh at my over-the-top jokes. I suppose I enjoy making people laugh too. That might be the only thing we have in common.
Sulley walks off to chat with an older couple hitching a ride with us. I think she said they’re Reagan’s mother and stepfather. I should probably also say hello at some point.
I step into her spot around the big table. Beau is telling everyone his beliefs on how testosterone helps build muscle and how increasing cholesterol intake plays an important role in that. Sometimes I don’t understand half of what comes out of Beau’s mouth. He’s freakishly smart.
He looks at the guys. “I can’t believe you all don’t drink Boner Shakes.”
What? Now he has my attention.
He continues. “Trust me. It helps build muscle. The added benefit is it will be the best and biggest boner of your life. Guaranteed.”
I smile. “We know from thoseanonymousonline photos that Daylen could use help in that department.”
Daylen narrows his eyes at me, and I can’t help but laugh. Okay, so it’s just the opposite. I didn’t see much of his dick, but I saw enough to know it’s not small, not small at all. I may have had a dream or two about the handful of seconds it was rubbing through me. I don’t think he realizes it happened, but it did. It figures the only remotely attractive thing about the man would be something that’s covered most of the time.
