Tetris in Red

10: Tetris in the Plane

10: Tetris in the Plane

Rhys

If someone tells me I'll be sitting in a private plane across Holland earlier this morning, I'll be laughing my ass off, thinking no fucking way, that's impossible. I'll give everything not to be in the same room with the guy.

But God save me if I am feeling the warmth of rich leather against my skin right now.

A heavy sigh escapes my lips as I watch the chicken man underneath my lashes. Muttered curses and grumbling aside, riding in a luxurious plane and having any food and drinks you'll ever want at thirty thousand feet above the ground is a dream come true.

The plane has a low overhead with a nude palette coloring the interior—from the beige wall-mounted fluorescent light to the brown carpeted-floor. There are six tables surrounded by creamy leather sofas, each has walls separating one from the other. No other passengers aside from Holland and I, the pilot and one female flight attendant who's attending the wet bar at the corner occupy the plane. The latter has been giving sly glances toward Holland's direction, which makes me wonder if they had a thing. Not that I care, of course. Holland hasn't look twice her way since we took off, at least not while I'm looking.

Holland waves his hand to signal the woman who happily, albeit slowly walks toward us. "What can I get you, Mr. Mayhem, Ms. Posziel?" she says, still looking at him.

I watch the exchange in amusement as the woman tries so hard to paste a smile on her face. Holland continues typing on his phone, not sparing her a glance. "Two plates of pancakes and two glasses of water, please."

Her forehead scrunches up in annoyance as his typing becomes frantic. "Right away, sir."

When she left, I cock a brow at him. "No wine?"

He snickers, "I'm a beer man, Blocks. Wine is for sissies."

I gasp in mock horror. "You're offending the billionaire population. They make the world go round, Chicken man."

"I beg to disagree. We—" he points him and me, his other finger still moving across the screen. "—the lowly humans make the world go round. We help create their product to gain money, only to spend said money on their product, giving back what they lost. A vicious cycle, but a fact nonetheless."

I snort, hating that he makes sense. "Good point."

"I try to make lots of them," he says pointedly.

My whole expression shuts down as I keep silent.

When he knocked on my door two hours ago, I didn't think he'd give me a deal in exchange for the royalties I didn't receive. I always knew Alec stole them when I accidentally left my notebook on that bar one night. The mere realization that he sent Holland to fix his fraudulence completely nullified the English boy I knew. I had to admit it stung, but I'm also annoyed at myself as I remember how he easily captivated me with that charm.

I was sitting on a lone table in a darkened corner, observing the bar scene that night, when words flashed in my mind. It was one of those times when they came in a rapid, continuous strike that I couldn't keep up. I knew if I let it pass, they would be forever lost and not in ink. So I turned and whipped out my notebook and pen out of my duffel bag to write them with the blasting music and buzzing, rowdy conversation behind me.

The lively atmosphere inside the bar continued as I quietly wrote the third poem... until he casually slid on the stool beside me.

"Why's a pretty lady writing all alone in this crowded bar?" I turned at the voice. He had a British accent going on, and I was such a sucker of the accent that it immediately made me smile. He grinned back, which made me completely forget what I'm writing and give my full attention to him.