Norah & Daniel

Chapter-32

Hi!

A little late than I wanted it to be but nonetheless it's here. And by the way do you guys like the new wattpad profile? I know I don't. I miss the old wattpad!!

But anyway, here's the chapter. Not the most exciting one but the next one will be better. I promise.

Play the song on the side. It's not relevant to the story but the feel of the song is correct to the last part of the chapter. I was listening to it on repeat while typing.

Read away!

Enjoy ♥

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"Goodbye, New York!" Nathan pressed the tip of his nose against the window of the plane. "I'll miss you."

I scrunched up my nose. "Ew, gross."

Rolling my eyes, I fell back on my seat.

"Sir, please put on your seat belt," a young blond flight attendant informed Nathan in her professionally polite voice.

Nathan's lips immediately tilted up in a flirty smile, his eyes connecting with the pretty attendant's. "If I don't, would you do it for me?"

I stifled the giggle at the creepy way he said it, but judging by the tight look on the flight attendant's face, she was not at all amused.

"Please fasten on your seat belt, we're about to take off," she said in a recorded like way. "Thank you."

And then she strutted off to attend another passenger.

"Burn!" I chuckled, leaning towards him.

Nate sneered. "Whatever, she was too old for me anyway."

"Or maybe you're just losing your game." I flipped through the glamour magazine that came with the seat.

"Oh, please, chicks dig me. I'm what the love child of Fernando Colunga and David Zepeda would look like. Beyond perfect," Nathan boasted with a proud smile.

"Who are these people?"

Nathan's widened his eyes like it was a huge blasphemy that had just came out of my mouth. "You did not just say that!"

"Oh, shut it, drama queen." I shook my head at his exaggerated behavior.

"No, seriously, you need to get hooked on these Mexican telenovelas. You've no idea what you're missing."

"You watch soap operas?" I asked, wording every syllable with a little more pressure.

"Uh-uh telenovelas," he corrected. "It's different from soap operas."

"Nathaniel Congreve, I'm worried you're turning into your mother," I spoke in a grim voice.

"Well, taking into consideration that turning into my mom means cooking and eating quesadillas anytime I want, yelling at your family like a crazy Mexican hippy chick and getting paid for just listening to people talk all day while I can doodle pictures of my dead Tamagotchi, is it really such a bad thing?"

I threw my head back on the head rest. "Sometimes, it's like I can't even try to keep up with what comes out of your mouth," I remarked, discouraged. "And by the way, your mom is a grief counsellor. It's not just sitting and listening to people talk."

"Yes, it involves the doodling part too. You missed that," Nathan added, and I gave him a steely side glance and then pulled out my phone.

"It's on flight mode," Nathan informed, his eyes closed and voice calm. "No cell reception ergo no chances of arrival of that text you've been waiting for."