Chasing Sunsets

Buckle Up

If my bag wasn't already stashed in the luggage compartment, I'd have swapped this hooker dress for the dependable one I'd left my house in. How the hell Tara could feel comfortable flashing her crotch every day, I didn't know. The pilot had already gotten more than one good eyeful of my ugly underwear. God, how embarrassing! He probably thought I was flaunting the merchandise on purpose. I consoled myself with the thought that I wouldn't have to see him again until we departed next week. And at least I was wearing underwear. Unlike the other three. Well, those blue eyes in the cockpit were getting no more cooch action from me! I wagged my index finger at the captain's back and chugged a bolstering gulp of bubbly.

I needn't have bothered, though, because Captain Chris seemed to have already dismissed us. I guess he'd gotten more than enough crotch flashes for the day. Despite Tara's rowdy laughter, his head was down, scanning the approach plate on his tablet or whatever. His attention was on his checklist and the gauges and screens below the windscreen.

As for me, I absently offered the requisite laughs that Tara expected. My laugh sounded false to me, but she didn't seem to notice. Her jokes, whenever she was with her rich buddies, like Dana and Tiff, were always so superficial. I liked her better when she didn't have an audience, when she wasn't like a piece of Baccarat crystal—gleaming and untouchable from her pedestal. What the hell was I even doing here? I was only her father's employee, after all. I sighed. I'd promised Mr. Calder I'd watch out for his princess. No more than a glorified au pair.

Rolling my eyes at Tiffany's ear-splitting shrieks of laughter, I knocked back the rest of the Prosecco. But there was no welcome buzz to ease my tension and, instead, the bubbles only tickled my belly. Or was that the aftereffects of a certain searing blue gaze? Chris. I wondered if he was a Christopher or a Christian? Either way, he had a very piercing pair of eyes. The kind that stripped you bare of whatever cloak of bullshit you wore, even skimpy green bullshit.

I snorted into my empty glass. He probably thought I was some classless bimbo on my way to being skunked on expensive Prosecco. Wasn't that what every prole in my 'privileged' position would do? Gorge myself on whatever was free and ingratiate myself to the hostess. Hover over her every word like a fly on bloated bullshit.

"Have a refill!" Tara commanded, hopping off tiffany's lap to plonk herself on mine. She tipped the Prosecco bottle and spilled the clear bubbles into my flute and onto the naughty Gucci so it looked like I'd peed myself. "You're being boring, darling." Her hiccups ruined the tone of disapproval she was trying for.

I set my teeth. "Maybe if I was wearing my own clothes I'd feel more myself."

"Boring! You have to show some legs and ass, get your boobs out once in a while. Find someone who can make you forget that deadbeat."

"I would forget him except you keep bringing him up."

She ignored my grumble. "What about Captain Fantastic?"

"Shh!" I threw a suspicious look at the pilots.

She glanced down at my damp dress. "You're already wet for him."

"Seriously, Tara, shut up," I hissed. I could feel the blood surging into my cheeks again, and hoped to God Chris couldn't hear Tara's blaring words over the noise in his headset. "I'm not on the hunt for dick, don't confuse me with Tiffany."

"Hey!" Tiffany gave a mock scowl and then promptly laughed into her glass with a shrug. "Some of us haven't been laid in a month!" She clinked her glass against Dana's. "Am I right?"

Dana answered with a sly grin.

Tiffany gaped. "What?! You fucked Brian from Tinder?"

"Oh, yeah."