golden

IV

*:･ﾟ✧ 1900 hours (WPT).
Los Angeles International Airport, California.

12 texts.
10 missed calls.
All under one name.

Daniel Ocean.

It seems I fell asleep after all, I think to myself as the pilot repeats his announcement of a final descent. He has a distinct way of speaking, something I am sure to make note of because I can't quite pinpoint the familiarity of it yet.

There are an embarrassing amount of glasses strewn about the area in which Beatrix and I are sitting. No doubt, the majority of them are mine.

I make a point of buckling my seatbelt to please the flight attendant that has been sending me dirty looks since my 6th martini and decide I'll just have to call my brother back once we exit the plane.

The plane lands less than 20 minutes later and I am ever so grateful for it. I'll finally be free of this complete bitch of a flight attendant once we are allowed to leave. First class is in the front of the plane, so Trix and I will be among the first people to get off. If you ask me, that and the divine beverages alone make the price worth it.

The door to the cockpit clicks open, and I sigh in relief, resting my head dramatically on my hand, propped up on the armrest. I'm tired from the long journey and I pulled quite a few expensive-looking objects as well, so I can't wait to check into the hotel and sleep. The time change between New York and L.A. isn't exactly easy to overcome, either.

The co-pilot, an older man, walks out of the small room and exchanges a few words with the flight attendants up front. Among them is the bitch.

She really pissed me off earlier, so I decided to swipe her Rolex watch off her wrist when she served me my 6th cocktail. It was fake, of course, and I knew that going in. She was just one of those people that I couldn't stand, though, and I didn't care about the financial gain so much as the sheer pleasure of messing with her. Sue me.

Lost in my reminiscent thoughts of revenge, I nearly miss the pilot's exit from the plane altogether. Thank goodness I didn't, though, because what I see makes me do a double-take.

I realize why the man's voice had sounded so familiar earlier as I recognize him almost instantly. Firstly, he isn't by any means old like his predecessor, the copilot. The "captain" is in his 20s, and as much as I hate to admit it, he is still undeniably handsome. His blue eyes catch mine and he pauses on his way off the plane. He even has the audacity to send me a wink on his way out and I'm left still sitting there, completely dumbfounded. He was taller than when I had last seen him and if I were to guess his height, using comparisons to the flight attendants around him and the height of the plane's ceiling and doorways, I would say he might be around 6' 2" or 6' 3," though I can't say for sure. I was able to take in the uniform he was wearing before he exited and despite him being covered from head to toe, I could still tell that he must be quite muscular underneath. Not much of a change there.

The man wasn't a true captain, I was certain he hadn't given up his criminal ways for the ever-interesting job of flying people across the world. No, that was Rusty Ryan, my ex-partner in crime. He was my oldest friend before the... incident. Emphasis on the was. But long after he's gone and we're given the all-clear to exit the aircraft, I still find myself thinking about him. How could he have found me after all these years and why the bloody hell was he here now?