out he’s a big shot detective. I consider smacking him and reminding him that I know him, and have known him, my entire life. That accent coupled with his striking red locks and baby-blue eyes make Brad the poster boy for Southie.
I try to wiggle out of his grasp and lament that the only reason I threw myself into his lap was to stop them from smacking my brother. James is momentarily mistaken and believes I was acting out of sisterly devotion rather than a strong desire to avoid airport jail. I don’t bother to correct him, but he picks up on my base motivation when the security guard approaches and strongly urges us to settle down.
I suddenly feel like I’m back in middle school and I’ve been implicated in James and Brad’s cherry bomb prank. So what if I lit the fuse? It wasn’t my idea.
“What time is it?” Brad stretches, arms still around my waist; and yawns, his breath blowing in my face. I grimace. He really needs a toothbrush, or a breath mint. Maybe a routine cleaning wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
I look at my watch, “It’s four.” I sigh. After this morning’s flight delay we were upgraded to first class, but only after being informed that we wouldn’t be flying out until six this evening.
“Let’s get those drinks, shall we?” I squirm out of Brad’s grasp and move towards Darla, Lindsay, and Adam, who are already heading to Boston Beer Works just down the terminal from us.
“Great, I need a beer,” Brad says, letting off a small belch at the end. With his accent, it sounds like he’s saying beah. Whereas I’ve spent countless hours trying to eliminate my accent, Brad’s seems to have gotten thicker with age.
Brad stands up and blatantly adjusts himself for all to see. He is worse than my two-year-old nephew when it comes to touching himself in public. At least Alex has an excuse; he’s a toddler. Brad, however, skirts the boundaries of indecency every chance he gets. Working-class or not, some things are just inappropriate in public. He catches me looking and gives himself a little honk and he raises his brows. I will have to remember to ask Darla why she invited him.
We crowd around a rectangular table at Boston Beer Works and down our overpriced lagers. I’m onto my third and Lindsay and Darla have just finished their second and first, respectively. Empty glasses and three mostly empty pitchers crowd our table—the boys have spent a lot. Airport beer is not cheap.
We hear the pre-boarding call for Flight 1128, non-stop to Las Vegas, and Adam pays the bill. He won’t allow me to see it. I graciously thank him and try to ignore James’s dismay with the bill. He and Brad are formulating a plan to arrest whoever set the prices so high.
Finally, we board the Airbus A320, and get ourselves situated in first class. The plane has one aisle with two seats on each side. Our group takes up half of the first class cabin. Lindsay and Adam occupy seats 1A and 1B. James and Darla sit across the aisle in seats 1C and 1D. James is thrilled about the leg room, as he actually has some. Brad and I sit directly behind James and Darla.
The thing about first class is that you wait forever for everyone to board. While it provides for some excellent people-watching, the downside is that you also find yourself being watched. Brad sits in the aisle seat, and all of the female passengers who pass by offer him their best flirty smile, even the women who are old enough to be his mother. I do my best to ignore them, but it’s no use. I am strangely intrigued by their gawking at my Brad.
Okay, so he’s not really mine in that way, but he is my childhood best friend, so he is more mine than he is theirs. I sit and watch the various women who board the plane. Brad’s only real specification is that they have a curvy top half.
One woman who boards is particularly attractive—curvy and put together. Her dark hair hangs down her back and her light brown skin practically glows. She appears to be no older than late twenties. Her lips are full and pouty and I admire her smart business suit and the way it hugs her body. I notice Brad admire her as well, and when I look to her face to see if she’s