Chapter 3
three
Cheri
“Porca miseria,” I mutter to myself. I’m going to miss my flight, and then I won’t get to Jaclyn until tomorrow. Lucy, my driver, meets my gaze in the rearview as I ask, “Is there another way to the airport?”
“Afraid not. We’re stuck. It’s not usually this bad. There’s probably an accident somewhere. What time is your flight?” she responds.
“Eleven.” I think. Damn. I drag my phone out of my purse and double-check my boarding pass. “Yup, eleven.” It’s already ten-fifteen. I’m so screwed.
“You’ll make it.” She doesn’t sound very confident.
“Uh-huh, thanks.” Blowing out a breath, I sit back in the seat and try to relax. It’s one of those situations where I can freak out or go with it. There’s nothing I can do to change it.
“Are you checking that bag?” Lucy asks, distracting me from my thoughts.
“No. I’m bringing it on the plane.”
“Good. You’ll definitely make it. I hope you have your running shoes on.” She’s smiling as she says the last words.
Running shoes? It hits me a moment later—I’m going to run for it. Fun. I’m short, with lots of curves, what my nonna called an hourglass figure—and this body does not run. It’s why I don’t travel unless it’s well-planned. Spur of the moment and I don’t mix.
But running? Nope. Not unless I’m being chased by zombies, and they’d for sure catch me and eat my brain. I wonder if I’d taste different from someone who isn’t creative? Hmm.
The car jerks forward and startles me out of my thoughts.
I do a little fist pump when I see we’re moving again.
Where did the traffic go? Ugh. Who cares, especially if I can make my flight.
Thank goodness my parents insisted I do PreCheck so I can get through security faster.
Of course, I’ll still have to run through the airport and pretend to be chased.
Sucky. I hate being sweaty, and being sweaty on an airplane all day is going to suck donkey balls.
What if I smell? Oh. My. God. How embarrassing.
I’ll never forget the time I had to fly with my father’s old bodyguard, Uncle Theo.
He had horrible body odor, and I almost barfed all over him.
I don’t want to do that to someone else.
Oh no. Wait, I booked first class, and the seats will be wider. I’ll squish against the window.
“We’re here. Good luck, and have a safe flight,” Lucy says when she stops the car in front of the terminal.
I flash a smile as I add a twenty-five percent tip in the app.
I’ve already typed a review because she was so nice, and I give her five stars.
I climb out of the car and slide my backpack over my shoulders.
When Lucy sees me at the back of the car, she pops the trunk for me to grab my carry-on bag.
I wave goodbye to Lucy and rush through the automatic doors as they slide closed. They almost grabbed me. Rude.
No longer worrying about sweating, I do my best impersonation of a power-walker, but there are so many people.
Did I say I could do this for research? What a horrible idea.
There are so many people. I have to keep saying, “Excuse me,” and “Sorry” when I bump into them while trying to get to the PreCheck area, only to find another line.
Tapping my foot, I glance around. Everyone is wearing the same frustrated expression I know is on my face.
At least I’m not sweating—yet—but I still have to get to the gate.
“Research,” I mumble, and the lady in front of me turns to give me a weird look.
I almost stick my tongue out but stop in time, lick my lower lip instead, and shrug.
Why is Little Cheri showing up now? She never comes out when I’m in public—she barely comes out in the apartment.
Whispering in my head, I remind her it’s not safe for her here and take a deep breath.
Research, Cheri, remember? Whatever this is, it’s awful. Why would I need to know what it’s like to be a Little running through the airport? What or who would she be running from? Bad guys? Daddy? Hmm. Would anyone read a Zombie Daddy book?
Could I even write a book like that? My DD/lg books are sweet and spicy, not gory and sour. But maybe? Opening the notes app on my phone, I add a reminder to the list of things for Brooklyn, my PA. She can ask in my reader’s group—Cheri’s Little Darlings.
The PreCheck line moves faster than I expect, and as soon as I’m through, I run for my gate.
Luckily, it’s not that far away—I don’t think, anyway.
The final boarding announcement makes me move faster.
I need to catch this flight. Cavolo! Racing through the airport was not on my bingo card for this month, or ever, but here we are.
There are no other passengers waiting at the gate when I stop at the podium, out of breath and sweaty for real this time. After pushing the hair that’s escaped from my ponytail behind my ears, I blurt, “Am I too late?” Then I show the attendant my phone with the boarding pass displayed.
She scans the code and smiles. “You’re good, Miss Santini; you still had a couple of minutes. But you’re the last passenger to board. It’s a good thing you’re in first class, though, or we’d have to gate check your bag.”
Santini? Not Anderson? Cavolo! I must have used my family's credit card when I made my reservation. Ugh. Another whatever moment. I guess my brothers won’t be in the dark about this trip for long.
That’s a problem for Future Cheri. There have been so many today.
My throat is so dry, so I rasp, “Thank you.” Then head down the ramp to the plane.
The flight attendant follows me to my row, and the man sitting in the aisle seat stands so I can slide past him into the window seat.
“Can I help you with that?” he asks, pointing to my suitcase.
I dip my head to see what he’s pointing at. Duh. “Yes, please. I’m a bit vertically challenged. Thank you.” This is what I get for traveling alone. I always have my family with me, and I don’t have to think about stuff like being too short.
“No problem,” he replies.
After sliding my backpack under the seat in front of me, I sit down, pulling my seatbelt around my waist. Once I’ve yanked the fabric to make sure it’s tight, I sink into the wide, cushy seat and breathe a sigh of relief. I made it. Yay.
My seatmate’s deep chuckle makes me turn my head toward him. He’s older than I thought from my first glance. His hair has streaks of gray, and laugh lines frame his eyes. His smile seems genuine, so I smile back.
The flight attendants run through the security briefing, and I check my seatbelt again and turn off my phone.
Flying makes Little Cheri want to come out, but I can’t let her—not in public.
It’s why I write age-play books. I live vicariously through my characters since I can’t have it in real life.
I doubt real Daddies even exist. Sure, lots of authors write about them, but has anyone ever seen one of these unicorns? It’s sad.
Once we reach altitude, I relax a little. As soon as we’re allowed to use electronics, I grab my laptop. It’ll take over four hours to get to Atlanta. That leaves me plenty of time to work on my book.
When I think about where I left Gabi and Seth, I cringe.
They’re going to be so mad at me. Seth has been edging Gabi for at least six hours.
She’s going to kill me—if she hasn’t passed out from bliss already.
Poor Gabi. Poor Seth, too. His dick was already hard enough to pound rocks; it’s probably ready to explode.
While I’m waiting for my document to load, I turn on my phone and a million dings, like alarm bells, chime over and over. I sink into my seat, my face heats, my cheeks have to be bright red as I duck from the judgmental stares, and mute my phone.
Merda. As I rush to sign in, I’m worried Jaclyn is in trouble and needs me.
But when I finally get my screen unlocked, she’s not the one in deep doo-doo.
Nope. It’s definitely me. The group chat with my brothers is blowing up my phone.
Jerk-burgers. They refuse to believe I’m a grown-up.
Instead, they treat me like I’m still in elementary school and they need to keep me sheltered from everything.
Okay, so I might have a history of getting myself into trouble, but they haven’t found out about the last few incidents.
It’s why I love living in San Jose with Jac so much.
They can’t watch me as closely—usually. This is what I get for grabbing the wrong credit card when I was hurrying to book this flight.
I love my brothers, but they’re annoying poo-heads most of the time.
If I tell them why I’m flying to Asheville and what I’m doing, they’re going to have a fit.
Traveling alone is a huge no-no in my family, and even worse is going somewhere they haven’t vetted first. I’m in a heap of trouble, no doubt about it.
The phone vibrates as messages keep popping up in the group chat. Cavolo! They’re ganging up on me as usual—demanding to know what I’m doing and where I’m heading.
Cris: Answer us, Rece, now! Damn it, Little girl.
Dante: Why isn’t she answering? What the fuck is going on?
Enzo: Should we tell Dad?
Oh God. I need Maxy, but he has to stay hidden.
How would I explain to the guy next to me if he sees me clutching my stuffie?
With my lower lip between my teeth, I bite it and look around.
My backpack is still on my lap, but at least I can see Maxy’s head.
Close, but not close enough. My phone vibrates again, and I bite harder.
Ouch! Why does my family have to be like this?
I slide over in my seat so I’m closer to the armrest by the nice man, and shove my backpack into the space on the other side.
Pretending I’m looking for something, I rub Maxy’s fur.
Burying my face in his fur would be better, but this small touch helps to ease some of my panic. We’ve got this, right, Maxy?