Enjoy that Economy seat. I hear the food is… colorful.
-Thomas
My eye twitches.
I delete that message right away, never wanting to be reminded of my humiliation. Then I sift through a few others, trying my hardest to mentally block out the sudden screaming of children filling the air. My head begins pounding.
I shut my eyes and try to calm down. I’m unusually angry. Angrier than I’ve felt in a very long time. It’s wrong. I know I’m being unreasonable, but fuck, I’ve had a shit day from hell, and the last thing I need is to be sleep-deprived. Everything is gnawing at me more than usual. I’m not like this, I tell myself. I’m saner than this. I’m better than this. Still, the old me likes to rear its ugly head from time to time.
“Um, excuse me?”
Opening my eyes, I check the time on my Sohne watch.
“Hello?”
Time isn’t passing. How much longer do I have to wait –
“Excuse me, sir! Are you deaf?”
My head shoots up, and I immediately make eye contact with an angry brunette glaring down at me.
“No, I’m not deaf,” I snap back, matching her snide voice. “What do you want?”
With an icy look, she retorts, “My seat.”
I lift a brow, tone dry. “Then go find your seat.”
Leaning over, she grits out, “You’re sitting in it.”
Two
Aidan
Fuck me. I don’t recall people in Economy class being rage cases like this tiny little thing here.
I pull my ticket out of my pocket and look at the seat number.
“I’m window seat,” she tells me in a defensive tone. “Don’t argue it. I’m really not in the mood for bullshit today.”
“Yeah, well that makes two of us,” I mutter.
“If that was the case, you’d have gotten up by now.”
Little Rage-Case is right. I’m the next seat over. Looking up at her, I say, “No need to bite my head off, darling –”
“Don’t call me darling. Just move.”
“With your tone of voice, you’d think this problem can’t be so easily corrected.”
“The problem is I’ve repeated myself three times and you’re still not getting up.”
I think I’m broken because my glare is doing nothing to intimidate her. Well, shit, she’s a feisty little thing, isn’t she? And judging by her barely there clothing, I’d say she isn’t a shy one either. She’s got a handkerchief of a white tank top on that accentuates her cleavage. Her short-shorts can pass for underwear, barely hiding her ample ass. She’s not at all what I’m used to. And while her clothes leave little to the imagination, her face stands out the most. It’s smooth and spotless, heart shaped with lightly applied make-up that make her blue eyes leap out of her tanned skin. Her dark pin straight hair falls just below her shoulders, and I spot random red strands throughout.
Huh.
I’ve spent the majority of the last decade bossing people around, so I’m not sure how to feel being bossed by her, but I stand up anyway. I’ve admitted defeat just hours prior, no use fighting something else now.
When I sit in my seat, she moves to hers, brushing her smooth legs against my suit pants. I’m hit with a fruity scent that’s pleasant and not overwhelming like women her age that seem to think perfume is an alternate method to showering.
Taking a seat next to me without batting me another eye, she opens her elephant print mammoth sized bag and shuffles through an avalanche of shit. I watch her in bewilderment as she takes out a stick of bubble gum and shoves it in her mouth. She tosses the wrapper aimlessly on the seat before crossing her legs. She’s so small, her knees don’t even touch me, but her shorts shoot up even more. She’d make a nun blush with the view she’s uncaringly showing off.
“Do you have a staring problem?” she hisses at me without even looking.
My lips curve up as I reply, “It’s hard not to stare at a spectacle.”
Her face whips in my direction. “Oh, yeah? Well, I should be staring at you too, wiseass.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“When I see a man dressed in an Armani suit wearing a twenty thousand-dollar Rolex sitting in Economy, I should probably watch that too.”
I can’t help the smirk that accompanies my face. “Please, Armani can be bought retail, and I guess Rolexes would seem impressive back here.”
A dark brow shoots up. “Are you saying Armani and Rolexes aren’t that big of a deal?”
“I’m saying there are a hell of a lot more out there.”
She eyes me again, taking in my watch and suit. “So, what’re you wearing, hot shot? Something fit for a king?”
“Try a Lange and Sohne watch and a seven-figure clothing budget.”
I sound like such an arrogant cunt. Not my intention, but I’m a man with taste. I’ve spent a lot of time honing my look which matters in a world like mine.
She scoffs with indifference. “Well, it all looks the same to me, and men like you do too.”
“Men like me?”
“Materialistic bastards thinking you’re better than everyone else with your Lange Sunny or whatever-the-fuck-you-call-it watch.”
“Would you rather I have a wife beater on and a beer in my hand?”
“I’d rather you stick a fork down your throat and shut the fuck up.”
Something strange happens. My mouth splits, and it’s not an angry frown I feel coming on, but a…smile.
I’m…smiling.
Well then.
How the fuck do I respond to that? For once, I have nothing witty to contend with. Little Miss Rage Case has won the battle and my mind is still trying to absorb the shock of it all as I watch her closely turn away from me and put on a giant pair of headphones.
