White Skies (A Completed Steamy, Romance)

London

"Welcome aboard flight 1742 en route to London's Heathrow Airport. I'm your pilot today, Captain Hal Bartley. I'd like to remind you, that our lovely flight attendants Isabella and Georgia will be going over some safety procedures. Isabella is known for her classic beauty, and Georgia is known for crop-dusting up and down the aisles. I feel for you folks."

She was devastated, but I laughed at her initiation. She's lucky that many don't know crop-dusting means farting while walking.

"You may notice the other two beauties in the back, David and George, please refrain from groping George, he doesn't like that much, but David is always game.

Please listen to them carefully, just in case our aircraft becomes a flotation device. Also, ladies and gentleman, please keep your arms and legs inside the ride at all times."

The look on Georgia's face is priceless, as this is her first flight out with Hal, and his comedy act can be a bit too much at times.

I always take a breath of relief when the passengers laugh, and I don't have to deal with Hal sending them into hysterics. Yes, our airline is known to be lax and the flights a little more entertaining.

I've flown several legs with Georgia now. She just came from another airline after a merger, so as she learns new faces, I also get that treat.

I have the pleasure of working in first class for the next eight hours. Not!

I'd take coach any day. I can do screaming babies and drunks much better than snotty businessmen. They're all the same, boring.

Their faces are usually in a magazine or laptop, other times they have outrageous demands. Most don't make eye contact with me, then you've got the ones that think they have some kind of ownership over my body. Assholes.

"Excuse me, sir, are you ready to order your dinner?" I asked the handsome man on row three, he doesn't even look at me. His eyes are glued to whatever is on his laptop which is sitting on top his menu.

"What are my choices?" He asks without even looking at me. What does he think this is, a private jet?

"Yes or no?" Was my answer, and I saw his lips curl up just a tad before finally looking at me. Wow! He must be a model or actor.

"I meant, what is being served?" He glared at me.

I cleared my throat. "You get two choices. Four-cheese ravioli with red and yellow beets, sauteed leeks and lemon vinaigrette, served with a spinach salad with grape tomatoes, black olives, and mozzarella cheese, a bread roll and white chocolate raspberry cheesecake for dessert, or an Appetizer course with smoked duck and lemon-dill potato salad, salad course with arugula, watermelon and feta served with warmed premium bread, followed by grilled salmon with coconut red curry, ramen noodles, and baby bok choy, and a signature ice cream sundae with a choice of toppings for dessert."

He chuckled. "Wow, that's a mouthful."

My jaw dropped and his eyes shot up, and he cleared his throat. "I mean, you didn't even take a breath, that was a lot of words."

Is it getting hot in here?

"Yeah, so yes or no?" I ask.

Is he ready to order or not?

"Umm, what was the question again? Sorry."

I thought businessmen were smart.

"Are you ready to order your dinner, sir? I can come back later if you're not ready." I try to be polite.

"Oh, yes, umm..you pick." He brushes me off, and his eyes land back on his computer screen.

"Okay, Italian it is then." I smile, but he doesn't even look at me. Jerk.