Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Today, for instance, I ordered a strawberry margarita and a Mountain Dew.
The margarita arrived before the Mountain Dew, and I’d sucked nearly half of it down before she arrived with my drink and to take my order.
“Now, Pinky,” she said, referencing my t-shirt that I’d changed into. A pink No Bull one that felt so soft that I wore it all the time. Obviously, she’d seen me in it before. “What would you like to eat? Your usual?”
I nodded.
“I’ll get everything right out,” she said with a smile.
I thanked her, then thanked her again in my head for not commenting on how much food I was eating, and then pulled my phone out to text my brother.
He didn’t answer, so I texted my mom.
It was as I was reading her text about Target’s lack of yeast, and their constant disregard for bathroom tidiness, that he walked in.
I’d thought about him a lot in the last few days, and all of those thoughts centered around the great guy that he was.
He could’ve handled that night a whole lot differently, yet he’d been sweet, caring, and didn’t push what he knew I wasn’t willing to give. Even if I hadn’t said all the words.
He was with whom I assumed was his eldest brother.
They were laughing about something on the phone in Shine’s hand.
I sucked so hard on my margarita that I didn’t realize that I was empty until the obnoxious sound indicated that I was.
I stopped sucking, but the damage was done.
The two men at the front of the building looked my way and saw me.
Callum’s face lit up.
The man at his side looked at me curiously, but otherwise, didn’t smile or do much of anything.
The waitress that I didn’t like—the one that was very, very in your face with her enthusiasm—walked up to Callum and started speaking to him.
She smiled, touched his bicep, and I had the urge to throw my empty margarita glass at her head.
She frowned, though, when Callum indicated me in the corner.
The waitress turned, saw me sitting there, and frowned.
I reached for my Mountain Dew and took a hefty swallow before pushing it slightly away.
My brain hurt, and I couldn’t tell if it was due to a brain freeze, or the man now walking toward me with his brother. The only reason I recognized him as his brother was I’d remembered his face from the family photo on Shine’s dresser.
I watched them warily as they came, my stomach a nervous mess.
“You mind if we sit with you?” he asked, glancing at my empty glass.
I shook my head. “Nope.”
Instead of sitting next to me like I expected, the both of them slid into the booth across from me. The brother against the wall, and Callum on the outside.
He smiled when he finally got situated.
His eyes took in my attire, and he raised his brows at me. “Bad day at the office?”
That’s when I looked him over and noticed all the grass and dirt on his clothes.
Earlier, I’d been focusing on his face. But now I clearly saw that he’d been working all day.
And clearly, he hadn’t been home yet.
“Bad trip, actually,” I admitted. “I worked with my least favorite coworker on this particular trip, and I gotta tell you, each time I do, I hate her more and more.”
“What’s wrong with her?” the brother asked.
“Iris, this is my brother, Price,” Callum introduced us.
“Trinket?” I asked curiously.
Price’s brows rose in surprise, but he nodded. “Yep.”
“And, to answer your question,” I sighed, “she’s the one girl that everyone loves, but I hate. I’m not sure why nobody can see her underhandedness. But when I look at her, I see a snake in the tall grass. Swear, she comes up behind me on flights and offers the guests drinks like I haven’t already done it. Oh, can I help you, honey? Oh, your water is looking kind of low. The other flight attendant is a bit busy in the back. Let me get you a refresh.”
I changed my voice when I was impersonating Meya—pronounced Me-uh.
“Doesn’t sound too bad,” Price offered. “I mean, it could be worse.”
His shrug made me smile bitterly.
“I had an elderly passenger complain to me that I wasn’t treating her the same as Meya treated her passengers. Which, technically, is true. Meya somehow swindled the gods or something because I’m usually on first class. This flight, I was informed at the door that I wasn’t in first class today. I was in coach. And in coach, you get treated differently because you don’t pay for it like first class does. Meaning no meal—unless you pay for it—and no free alcohol. So yeah, she didn’t get treated the same. But don’t worry, Meya had her back. Fed her a free meal—which might I add is a no-no—and then gave her free drinks, and kept slipping little passive-aggressive comments in there about me until the lady got it in her head that she needed to complain.” I flagged the waitress down from across the room and pointed at my margarita glass. She gave me a chin jerk before she turned toward the bar. “Anyway, that was just a small part of all of my four days on with her.”