Chapter Two #2
Still not looking his way, I go back to my lunch, which is exactly what I expected of airport food. “Try me, bitch. Think they’ll still let you play when I break your pretty nose?”
“You have broken my nose,” he glowers. “Eighth grade, you clocked me with a wiffle ball- It wasn’t funny!”
I snort, trying not to choke on my food. “Oh, it really was. Still is.” I take another bite.
“Maldita cabrón,” he mutters. Probably something about what a cunt I am.
It’s his favorite term of endearment for me.
An actual romantic, this one. My favorite nickname for him is the only one that makes his balls slurp right back up into his body.
“If I know anything about my dad, he saved some money and we’re going to have to drive together to Jeffersonville.
So, why don’t we just ignore each other until then. ”
I pointedly reach up and click my audiobook back on, switch to noise cancelling, and wait for our plane to arrive.
Two hours later we finally board.
Cristian doesn’t wait or offer to help me with my carry-on like a gentleman. He makes a beeline to the gate desk like his ass is on fire, the brim of his hat pulled low over his brow.
He’s so full of himself. But even as I have that thought, a little boy at the end of the row of seats points in Cristian’s direction, tugging on his mom’s sleeve.
He says something in Spanish, and I notice he’s wearing a teal jersey.
Santos hangs neatly between his shoulders, the number sixteen big and bold.
Fuck me, he’s actually famous now. Because his ego when he was just a rich kid wasn’t enough?
My reprieve from him is short lived- because God seems to be determined for this day to make my unalive note- when I arrive at my seat and find him sitting in the one right. Next. To mine.
Another groan escapes him when I sit down.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me. Excusé moi,” he leans across me to get the flight attendant’s attention.
I scowl down at him like my eyes could kill.
Maybe if I concentrate really fucking hard.
“I’m going to need a vodka and orange juice, si vous plait. ”
“Right away, Mr. Santos.” She directs her attention to me, I note, rather begrudgingly. “And you, mademoiselle?”
Wine. As much as you can bring me.
“Tonic and lime.”
The flight attendant glances between us but says nothing more before scurrying off to get our drinks. I ignore the look Cristian is giving me as I shove my purse under the seat. “Your French sucks,” I inform him. “Let me guess. Daddy booked your flight?”
“Of course he did. And he upgraded yours likely knowing we’d be stuck together. Oh, and I was right, he cancelled my car rental.” He holds up his phone where the cancellation confirmation is blaringly bright.
I snort. “Have fun walking to Vermont—”
“Funny. I’ll drive, passenger princess.” He rolls his eyes. “Merci,” he thanks the attendant when she delivers our drinks. I squeeze the lime into my tonic, drinking down half as he watches.
Cristian and I have always had a rather tense relationship.
He was already attached to Nelly’s hip when I met them and a complete mama’s boy.
While I tried to get Nelly to make the most of our middle and high school years, he was insistent she follow all the rules.
He planned all our study sessions and ratted us out for sneaking around.
He only stopped when they started dating, but even then he was a controlling shit fuck.
He might blame his mommy issues now- which is totally valid, that bitch can suck a dick- but the bad taste he’s left in my mouth will linger forever.
Cristian and I are not friends, not even for Nelly’s sake.
And now I’m stuck with him for the next five hours because Elias thinks he’s fucking funny and wants to see us both suffer our mutual loathing.
Maybe he thinks we’ll get all the animosity out of our system now and keep his week insult free.
Or worse, that this is going to be some kind of enemies to lovers situation that ends with us fucking all week and engaged at their reception.
I. Would. Rather. Die.
Nelly reads too many romance novels. News flash my lovely bitch, I’m going to use this flight to come up with a thousand more colorful ways to insult your beloved ex turned son-in-law- oh that is so going in my speech- and I’m going to save them all for the rehearsal dinner.
Putting my phone in airplane mode, I tuck it into my purse and look around the small cabin.
I’ve only flown first class a handful of times, mostly trips with Dad, and this is definitely the smallest, most humble version I’ve ever experienced.
The seats aren’t that much bigger or that much cushier, and if I allow myself use of the armrest I’ll be touching elbows with Cristian the entire flight.
We sit silently, both of us sipping our drinks through the in-flight how-to video and the pilot’s announcement that we’ll be delayed another ten to fifteen minutes while he waits for air traffic to clear our takeoff.
I notice the little boy in the jersey trying to get a peek at Cristian’s face as he passes with his mother, but he's watching the runway, giving the boy only a hint of his profile.
Its only when we’ve taxied away from the terminal and are sitting idly on the runway that my seat partner for the day begrudgingly asks, “How’s your new job? Nelly said you’re living to Boston now—"
“We don’t have to do this, Santos.”
“Do what?”
“Talk,” I gesture between us, crossing my legs. At least there’s room for that. “Be cordial. We don’t even have to look at each other—”