Zero Two Three One | John Laurens X Reader [Hamilton]

LIII: Eighteen Hole Game

❝I will never fit in because I was not meant to.❞
—Cher Lloyd

I was dreading what was to come, and for once, I decided I'd don't mind the work I was previously doing. 

The week before I went on the trip was busy. Promotional shots for my documentary. Live-streamed promotional gameplay for the first chapter of our CYOA video game. A couple of appearances on a few news stations regarding the fighting going on in North/South Korea and the, of course, the nominations for a Supreme Court Justice. Hell, I even went on a few more "dates" with James. 

I hated every moment of everything I had to do... Well, to be fair, the video game was really well done; the graphics were stellar, the storyline was captivating, and the voice acting (including the voice acting Alexander and I did) was phenomenal. But besides that, I hated every moment of everything I had to do.

And yet, I'd take all of that rather than be where I am now.

June 26, 2059.

I've never been on a private jet before. Fighter jets, sure. I trained with fighter jets. Flown them. Fought with them. But private jets are completely different from military fighter jets. They're not armed with missiles. They're not flying into battle. They're not used for destruction. They're luxury.

And I mean fucking luxury. Jesus, I don't want to know how much this thing costs. The interior is large and furnished with chairs, sofas, and even a fucking dining table which, not that long ago, I joined other celebrities to eat dinner at.

Yeah, I'm here with about a dozen other celebrities. There are two other private jets with the same number of celebrities. We're all going together like a fucking squad of cucks to an island resort off the coast of Charleston, South Carolina. A bridge connects the island to the mainland... not that it matters. 

While on the jet, Alexander and I did everything in our power to interact with other celebrities. We gained some status among the actors, singers, and models. Some came around and liked us quite a bit. 

Other than Joy Nova, who is the star of the show on this jet, I don't recognize anyone here. I know Elizabeth and James will be at the island resort, so I assume they're on one of the two other jets. So I stay close to Alexander where I feel most comfortable. I was impressed, but not surprised, by Alexander's ability to charm the crowd. Pretty much all the females on the jet surround him as he flaunts his opinion on current events. Hell, they don't care what he's saying. They just like listening to him.

I think of home again. God, I miss it already. Alexander and I scheduled a lot of renovating work to be done while we're gone, and a bunch of furniture will be delivered to our house as well. By the time we come home, our house will be nearly perfect. That will be nice...

Joy Nova, noticing I was a little alone since Alexander was pushing me aside, came over and refilled my glass of wine. We're all drinking.

"You look too sober," Joy teases.

"Yeah, I am," I scoff, brushing my white skirt flat on my legs. "I just want to get off this jet."

"We're almost at the landing site," Joy assures me. "Then we'll take a limo to the hotel. You're going to absolutely love the hotel. The bars. The spas. The beaches. The pools. The hot tubs. It's amazing."

Glad I took Reynold's advice and bought a couple of bikinis. I've never worn a bikini (surprise, we don't do much swimming in Russia), and I felt a little uncomfortable showing so much skin. So I got the most modest bikini I could find. I sent pictures of myself in my bikinis to Peggy and Charles for their opinion, and they assured me I looked great. I hope they're right.