Free Fiction Friday: First Class (Part One)
Welcome to Free Fiction Friday! This is where you'll get a new story every week. Some are standalone, or might be part of a longer work like today, but will never go on for longer than four weeks.
Please enjoy the first installment of First Class!
The flight attendant leaned toward him and offered a choice of beverages. By the cheeky grin she wore, and the amount of cleavage she displayed, Colton Dillinger III suspected that wasn't all she offered. He flashed his casually sexy smile and asked for a Scotch on the rocks. It was a long flight from Los Angeles to London, he might as well get drunk.
The coach passengers began boarding, their feet dragging as they schlepped along the carpeted walkway, their bags swinging precariously toward the first class passengers. God, he hated commercial travel. Why couldn’t he have his own jet like that bastard Jared Smythe. Oh, that’s right, because Colton didn’t have a rich daddy who bought him everything he desired. He’d had to scrape and barter his way up from the gutter, reinventing himself along the way. Nothing about Colton, from the expensive shoes he wore, to the perfectly mussed hair atop his head, or even his name, was reminiscent of the boy born to a crack whore who’d sold him to the neighbors for the price of a fix. For ten long years he’d lived as their servant, sexual and otherwise.
“Sir?” The attendant startled him out of his reverie. Damn it, dwelling on the past did no good. It simply brought up memories and issues he’d stuffed as far down as they’d go. Besides, he was light years from where he’d started—even without his own jet. “Your drink, sir.”
“Thank you.” He didn’t bother with a smile, she’d already turned to attend another passenger by the time he refocused on the present. “Bloody memories.”
He took a long drink, enjoying the burn as it scraped along the back of his throat. A pair of hippies made out on their way down the aisle, their matching dreadlocks pulled atop their heads like macabre headpieces. Idiots. They probably didn’t shower regularly. Another sip relaxed his bitter thoughts, but not by much. He’d earned the right to criticize others, he figured. Hell, he’d had enough people judging him his whole life, it was only fair.
A set of long legs came into view and he traveled up the length of denim to a flowery blouse, then further, past a pair of mid-sized, but respectable breasts, to a face that should be on magazine covers. Well, they were in L.A., she probably was a model. Long, lush chestnut hair fell over her shoulders and he suddenly wanted to reach out and see if it felt as marvelous as it looked. The young woman checked her ticket and peered past those in front of her, keeping her gaze above the heads of those in first class.
Some people were uncomfortable with wealth. She was probably one of them. Those who didn’t have money often feared the ones who did. It was just the way of the world.
Colton sipped his drink, keeping a watch on her even if she refused to see him. Gold flecked eyes of jade were framed with dark lashes, and even darker brows arched across her smooth forehead. There wasn’t a mark on her skin, not a mole, or wrinkle, or even a freckle. She had the clearest, prettiest skin of any woman he’d ever known. Certainly she was a model. Had to be. With that face? She could make a killing.
On impulse, he pressed the attendant button as the woman shuffled past, intent on getting to her seat. A few minutes later the pretty blonde appeared and Colton put on his most charming smile, the one that dazzled and made women swoon.
“Would it be possible to upgrade someone to first class?”
The attendant looked puzzled. “All the seats are taken, sir. I’m sorry.”
“Not this one.” Colton pointed to the empty seat beside him.
“That seat is paid for, but the passenger hasn’t checked in yet, I’m afraid we can’t give the seat away until the doors have closed.”
“I think if you check your records, you’ll find the ticket was paid for by me, and the passenger’s name is Amy Edinger and she most likely won’t be here in the next,” he checked his watch, “ten minutes. I have it on good authority she’s sunning herself on a beach in Malibu where she’ll stay, thank you very much, until hell freezes over.”
The flight attendant’s smile faltered, her eyes narrowed the tiniest bit.
“We had a falling out. I desired a return to London, she wished to stay in the sun. I can tell you what else she said this morning, but I wouldn’t want to cause your ears to burn. Amy is anything but a lady.”
A wide grin broke across her face. “I think I understand, Mr. Dillinger. Did you have someone in mind for the upgrade?”
Colton gave her the young woman’s description, along with his desire to keep the arrangement discreet, and sat back, Scotch in hand, a satisfied grin teasing the corners of his lips. This trip had just become more interesting. Perhaps he’d get drunk and laid before landing at Heathrow. God knew after six months with Amy, he could use a good rumble in the sack. She excelled at dramatics. If there wasn’t an audience, why perform? That included in the bedroom.
A commotion beside him drew his attention from the inflight magazine he was reading to a shapely young woman’s bare midriff. As she struggled to situate her bag in the overhead compartment, her blouse hung loose from her body, giving him an exquisite peek at her pink lace bra. Not bright pink, but soft, like a powdery sky at daybreak. Innocent.
She sat with a huff, a scowl on her features which almost made him regret his decision. He didn’t need more drama or complications, just a nice shag in the bathroom. It took her several minutes to settle in, but once her seatbelt was fastened, her book, water, and god knows what else stashed in the pouch of the chair in front of her, she leaned back and sighed a long, heavy, dramatic sigh.
A flash of anger cut through his regret. What did he expect? He’d left one drama queen only to find another. And now he was stuck with her for the entire flight. Why’d he have to be so impulsive? Would he ever learn?
“Can I get you something to drink, miss?”
“Gin, please. With lime, if you have it.”
Colton closed the magazine he pretended to be reading. Perhaps this wasn’t doomed after all. The woman spoke with a clipped British accent. Not cockney, but not posh, either. And she hadn’t ordered a white wine spritzer. She went straight for the hard stuff.
Now, if only he could get her to go for his hard stuff, it would make the upgrade worthwhile.
The story continues next Friday with Part Two. Who is this mystery woman? Will she give Colton what he wants?
Until then, have a fabulous weekend. I've heard there's a big game on Sunday, will you be watching? I'll be tuned in for the commercials, and the game. It should be a good one.