Huh.
Soon every person has gracefully boarded the flight and the flight attendant is preparing us for take-off, and I still can’t stop looking at the girl next to me. Nor has the smile on my face weakened. Reluctantly, I turn my head away and force myself to listen in on the safety procedure while a baby screams and a fat man in the aisle next to me passes gas. I want to die.
Focus, Aidan.
The sooner we do this, the sooner I’m off this congested shithole of a place.
*
Twenty minutes later…
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.Thump.Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
“Dora, Dora, Dora the Explorer! Something, something, something, Dora-Lora.”
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.Thump.Thump.
“Swiper no swiping!”
Thump.
“You look like you’re about to explode,” remarks Rage-Case with an amused smile on her face.
My face is tense with anger as the kid behind me continues to kick my seat, singing the same ridiculous tune of a little girl named Dora the fucking Explorer. “Just a little,” I grit out.
Her smile broadens, and she pops a huge bubble from her gum. She then places her iPod back in her mammoth purse along with her huge headphones. “Forgot to charge this. Stupid thing’s dead,” she tells me. “So, I’ll be suffering with you.”
“I’d rather suffer alone.”
“It’d be awfully suffocating suffering alone, not to mention lonely. Best it be enjoyed with a cool girl like me.” She winks exaggeratedly at me and blows another bubble.
“Didn’t you just tear my head off a half hour ago?”
“Didn’t you take my seat a half hour ago too? Let’s call it even, especially now that we’re bored out of our skulls and have absolutely nothing to do.” She smirks at me then, and I blink in response, unsure of what to say.
I resist giving her comments attention because I’m not about to let her know she’s funny. I’d like to sit here shitty and pissed in peace. But when she happens to sift through her bag again, I can’t help sprinkling some humor in.
“You don’t happen to have anything sharp in that bag, do you?”
She lets out a hard laugh, and I can’t resist cracking another smile as she turns red in the face. “Oh, my God. No, I don’t. Well, maybe a toothpick.”
“Can you mute someone with a toothpick?”
She laughs again. “If you want to serve a lengthy sentence, I’m sure you can get creative.”
When I don’t immediately respond, she says, “The safest option would be cooling off to a movie.”
She turns to the screen on the back of the seat in front of her and turns it on. She presses a few buttons and goes through a list of titles.
Thump.
Thump.
I rub my face as she searches. “I could really go for some hard liquor.”
“Well, I’m sure there will be some classy bar nearby in Ottawa when we land, rich man,” she assures me. “For now, it’s economy class with the thumping child and rambling chick next seat over.”
I resist smiling, but I feel the corner of my mouth go up. “Great.”
“What’s the deal anyway,” she adds. “Were they out of seats in Rich Dick Class?”
“Referring to someone as a ‘Rich Dick’ suggests you have a chip on your shoulder for the rich, darling.”
“I told you not to call me that,” she whips back with a glare, but just as quickly the glare fades and she gives me a cheeky look. “And you’re probably right. I’m bitter because I’m broke, and I envy you egotistical assholes.”
I resist widening my eyes. Well, that was.... honest. I know I’m envied, but I’ve never been told it before, unless someone was desperate to kiss my ass.
“No movies worth watching without punching someone in the face, fuck my life,” she mutters under her breath.
I eye her for a few moments as she then begins scratching away the bright red nail polish on her nails. She’s wearing at least a dozen fake gold bangles, and they clatter together audibly as she scratches away like her life is depending on it.
You know, this is not what I’m used to. When I’m around an attractive woman, I usually get the hair-twirling-around-the finger-while-flirting treatment. This girl simply doesn’t care about me, much less my presence. She’s not even blushing, or sneaking glances in my direction, or even trying to act modest. Thing is, I’m fucking good looking, and I’m not trying to boast about it. It just is. And she doesn’t give a fuck.
Huh.
And now that I take a closer look at her while she’s preoccupied, I see the kind of stunner she really is. I resist smiling as I check for a wedding ring or any valuable jewellery she might be wearing to signal she’s in a relationship. She’s not wearing any. People of my wealth flaunt that sort of shit around, picking out the finest jewellery like it’s a fucking contest. I usually pick up wealthy women, and not because I have a thing for them, but because they’re everywhere in my social scene, and it’s a matter of convenience. And before I see their beauty, I’m staring at their ring finger first. My attention is only ever drawn to available women, even if it’s innocent flirtation. If she’s even a foot in a relationship, I’m not interested.
“Instead of envying us,” I tell her in a low and smooth voice, “a girl with your looks could very well woo any old rich man on his deathbed. A sugar daddy will see to it you never go without, and that’ll keep you from being bitter at the rest of us innocent people of wealth.”
Her lips curve up, but I can tell she’s fighting against a smile. “All of that sounds very advantageous, but if something sounds too good to be true then there’s always a catch.”
Now I really like her. What she said is too true and a
