Chapter Two #3
“It’s a three-hour flight—”
“And?”
“And you’re the only thing between me and an escape route. So why don’t we at least try to get along?”
For a moment I pretend to consider his proposal. “Hmmm…. No.” I open my second can of tonic. “I’m good.”
Somewhere in the back of the plane a baby squeals and Cristian sucks at his teeth, not at all because of the crotch goblin.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Cristian curses in Spanish under his breath before fully turning to face me. “Look,” he levels me with a glare. “We have a week of putting up with each other to get through. Can we please, for Penelope’s sake, just make it through without threat of murder?”
“No chance, Crissy.” I sip at my drink.
His cheeks flame at the nickname Elias let slip around us only once, but one I have never forgotten. “You’re impossible.”
“You pronounced spectacular wrong.”
“You haven’t changed one bit,” he scoffs, turning back toward the window.
I laugh. “Since when? Christmas? I saw you six months ago—”
“Not long enough.” He watches me order another tonic on my tablet, sipping slowly at his screwdriver.
After several long breaths through my nose- likely inhaling a number of highly contagious diseases- and half my third tonic later, I mutter, “I only started a week ago. Nelly’s wedding kind of cut into the onboarding, but I’m sure to be very busy so its…. Fine.”
Looking over, he pauses his entertainment scrolling. “Just fine?”
“Yes.” I glance his way. Fine sums up basically my entire life these days. An endless march of fine, but I don’t owe him any explanations. “How’s life as a starting forward?”
“Aw, you know what position I play—”
“Only because your dad shouts it at every gathering.”
Elias is annoyingly proud of his son. He never misses the chance to brag, even when it’s just our little group he’s bragging to.
“Still sweet of you to remember.” He settles back and I roll my eyes. “It’s quite literally like living a dream,” he grins, even though it’s just me and I certainly don’t want his smiles. “Graham still thinks I’m the goalie and he’s been to nearly all my games since I was eight years old.”
At the mention of his name my fingers can’t help but tense around the plastic cup.
My pulse rockets several irritating beats too many.
I’ve been actively avoiding thinking of him and the fact that we’re about to be stuck at the same event for the next week.
I told myself that I wouldn’t imagine the crack in his voice the last time I saw him, or the hollow look in his forest green eyes. But now here I am, thinking. Imagining.
All it took was his fucking name.
“Hey.”
I swallow, hard, looking over at Cristian who’s brows have pinched in something similar to concern. But since it’s directed toward me that can’t possibly be correct.
His tone, however, is gentle when he says, “He doesn’t get in until early tomorrow. You won’t have to face him tonight.”
I’d prefer not to face him ever.
The flight attendant comes by again and I stop her. “My friend here,” I almost gag on the word, and Cristian audibly sucks at his teeth. “Will have another screwdriver and we’ll both have a breakfast sandwich, and a salad. I’ll also take another tonic and two waters.”
Cristian leans forward. “My tab,” he insists, then smirks at me. “It’s Dad’s card on file.”
I turn to the attendant and smile beatifically. “We’d also like to buy headphones for everyone on board.”
Cristian grins mischievously, a look I’ve never actually seen on his prim features. “And we’ll pay for their Wi-Fi.”
“And neck pillows,” I add. “And there’s a little boy in the back wearing this man’s jersey. Send him up for an autograph and let him order whatever he wants. His mom too.”
When she leaves, I raise my cup to my partner in crime for this particular flight only. “I think I like the version of you that isn’t attached to your mother’s tits, Santos.”
He grimaces but taps my cup. “What a disgusting image you paint.”
“I live to please.” I beam and finish off the third tonic and lime in one gulp as his cute little fan appears at my elbow, smiling like my seat mate is God’s gift to mankind.
Just this once I won’t correct him. I stand to allow the boy to take my seat while we continue to wait for the seatbelt lights to come up.
Cristian pulls a thick marker out of his backpack, signing the jersey below his printed name with an abdominal drawing of a shark next to it.
He lets the boys’ mom take a picture of them together, asking for her email in Spanish.
I think he says something about tickets.
The exchange ends with him giving the kid another hug and telling him to do good in school, no doubt a rehearsed spiel for his younger fans.
The boy leaves, smiling like he just met fucking Santa Clause.
“What?” Cristian frowns when he catches my look.
“Nothing, Santos.” I just shake my head and as the seatbelt light blinks awake, I restart chapter four and allow myself to fantasize about men who aren’t either related to or friends with Elias Santos.