Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
“How about a little battery-operated fan and a clean, wet washcloth for the back of your neck?”
I nod gratefully. “Thank you.”
“I’m guessing you’ve had a bad experience with flying?”
“Yes. Really bad.”
She takes the bag I just used, folding it closed and sealing it. “It’s nerves. I see it all the time. People who have gotten sick are so convinced it’ll happen again that they make themselves sick before we even take off.”
Dane interjects himself into our conversation. “So you’re saying it’s all in her head?”
I reach for my seat belt and unfasten it. “I’m not sitting here.”
“I’m sorry, we’re too close to takeoff for you to move,” Janet says as the pilot makes an announcement. “I need you to put it back on. As soon as we’re in the air, I can bring you that fan.”
Reluctantly, I refasten my seat belt, leaning my head against the seat back and closing my eyes.
“How much are you getting paid for this?” Dane asks me.
“Not enough.”
The plane is rolling now, everyone around me carrying on conversations like everything is fine. I squeeze the armrests, telling myself to relax. Flights take off and land safely all the time. It’s supposed to be safer than driving a car.
I am a professional. I can do this.
“Go to your happy place,” Dane says dismissively. “Like a library. You always have a book with you; you must like libraries.”
My stomach lurches as the captain slows and announces we’re about to take off. Eyes still closed, I open another bag so it’s ready when I need it.
“Don’t puke again,” Dane says. “Come on, Nosy, where’s your happy place? Let’s talk it out.”
“She sick?” someone asks from nearby.
“Yep,” Dane answers.
He returns his attention to me. “Where’s the happy place? Is it a beach?”
He has no concern at all for my well-being. He just doesn’t want me puking next to him. The plane starts moving again and I take a deep breath in and out.
“It’s hot,” I say, my hands aching from squeezing the armrests so hard.
“Stop thinking about that,” he says, annoyed. “Happy place. Lapping waves. Frozen drinks.”
The plane is moving faster now and my stomach is in a free fall.
“That is my happy place,” I say, cringing. “It’s filled with flames. It’s a literal inferno.” I press myself against the back of the seat as the plane lifts off. “The guys who invented pantyhose and shapewear are there and it’s run by a guy named Lucifer.”
“Your happy place is hell?” he asks, confused.
“As long as you’re not there, yes,” I manage, bringing the bag up to my mouth.
“Real nice, Nosy,” he grumbles. “I’m trying to help you here and that’s the thanks I get?”
I can’t hold on any longer. It’s a good thing I didn’t eat this morning because my stomach won’t rest until it’s empty. I puke into the bag, tears running from the corners of my eyes.
“Poor thing,” someone says from behind us. “My son gets motion sickness.”
I turn away from Dane, keeping a tight hold on the bag. We’re flying from Minneapolis to Tampa, so I may be in for three hours of this.
And it’s just the beginning of this road trip. From Tampa, we’re flying to Boston, then to Toronto and then home.
I feel the heat of Dane’s body as he leans closer to me. “I’m putting my headphones on. Will you nudge me before you barf so I can try to move out of the way?”
He’s the most inconsiderate jackass I’ve ever had the misfortune of working for. He deserves to be puked on.
“Yeah, I’ll nudge you with my foot,” I fire back. “It might hurt.”
He chuckles. “With your little pixie feet? I doubt it.”
Somehow, I have to get my hands on one of those park bench photos. I’d never share them with anyone, but to get to see Dane in a compromising position?
That, I would enjoy a lot.
CHAPTER SIX
Josie
“Josie, wake up!”
With a gasp, I open my eyes and survey the scene around me. I’m sitting at a long table in a bar, the rest of the table filled with Mammoths players passing around shot glasses filled with amber liquid.
“You want one?” Dalton Lorenzo asks me, holding out a shot glass.
I recognize his voice as the one who woke me up. I can’t believe I fell asleep in a crowded bar.
Then again, I’m about to doze off again. After hardly sleeping last night and being sick for the whole three-hour flight to Tampa, I wandered off the plane in a daze.
The weather is nice here. It’s in the ’70s. Normally, I’d love to check out the local scenery. But after a two-hour dinner with the team at an Italian restaurant, I was ready for bed. Unfortunately, though, Dane wanted to go out with his teammates. So here I am, technically on the job but also unable to stay awake.