Fireworks 1 and 2

Chapter Sixteen

    Drake scrolled through the text messages on his iPhone, ignoring the pilot's familiar greeting over the speakers. He'd dressed comfortably for the flight, in gray sweatpants, an October's Very Own t-shirt, sneakers, and a Toronto Blue Jays baseball cap with the brim pulled down low over his eyes.

    His boys were stowing away their carry-on luggage while talking amongst each other. The private jet was exquisitely furnished, matching the style and luxury that most five star hotels had. Large, cream-colored leather seats, glossy black marble tables with swirled patterns throughout the stone, and multiple televisions mounted into the walls at the front and back of the cabin. A long couch lined one section of the jet. Niko had already claimed the couch, and it hadn't taken him long to fall asleep.

    Chubbs leaned over his shoulder and peered at his phone. "Always on that thing."

    Drake lifted his eyes and smiled tiredly. "I want to check my messages before I have to put the phones into airplane mode."

    "You mean you want to check to see if she texted you about whether or not she's coming to Calabasas," Chubbs corrected.

    Drake lowered his gaze and continued scrolling through text messages. "Artists are still thanking me for inviting them to OVOFest. There's too much going on in my inbox right now."

    "Do you want me to check for you?" Chubbs asked.

    "You don't have to do that, man," Drake said, shaking his head.

    Chubbs yanked the cell phone out of his hands. "I got this."

    "Has everyone boarded yet?" Drake sat up straighter in his seat so he could do a head count.

    "Everyone's on," Chubbs answered, swiping his finger across the screen of the sleek cell phone. He sat down in the empty seat across the aisle from Drake.

    "Everyone's two on," OB called out from where he sat towards the back of the jet.

    The rest of the crew groaned at the horrible joke, a reference to a track he'd appeared on with Drake.

    "That was corny," Drake called back to OB.

    Hush, seated near OB, muttered, "Yo...if I had popcorn on this flight with me, I'd be throwing it right at you, man. That was awful. Just awful."

    OB was tickled pink at his play on words, evident by his cackling.

    Ryan, so tall that he had to lean down when standing to prevent his head from hitting the top of the cabin, clapped Chubbs on the back. "What's wrong with him?" he asked, tilting his head in Drake's direction.

    "He wants to know if the girl texted him," Chubbs said, already scrolling through texts.

    "The girl?" Ryan repeated, rolling his eyes.

    "You know, the girl," Chubbs muttered with a wave of his hand.

    "When we get back to Calabasas, he'll have his pick of girls." Ryan collapsed into the seat behind Chubbs. He linked his fingers together behind his head and closed his eyes.

    Drake peered out of the small window on the left side of his seat. Ryan was most likely referring to the revolving door of women who were invited to lounge around his estate. They swam, mingled, ate his food, and partied on his property. Usually when they were present, he was holed up in the studio working, in his bedroom sleeping, or anywhere else in the house he could find privacy.

    During his first few years as an entertainer, he indulged in the women. Several years into his career, he continued to indulge, but he was coming to a point where indulging wasn't as enjoyable as it used to be. Whether it was right after the sex, or the morning after, at some point the other side of his bed would still be empty. He'd still be waiting for the person who was truly meant to fill that space beside him.