Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
They’ve been at it since they sat down. Arguing about sugar packets and the in-flight entertainment system. Marcia scolding Harold for asking for a gin and tonic. Harold making loud, animated gagging sounds at her overwhelming perfume that he swears she bought just to aggravate his allergies and kill him.
I’m so glad Tuck and I don’t fight like that. Hell, we don’t fight at all, although my friends have differing opinions on that. Carin thinks it’s a good thing, that it means our relationship is a cut above the rest. Hope, meanwhile, insists it’s not normal for couples not to fight. But, really, what can I do about it? Tucker is the most chill man on the planet. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen him lose his temper.
“A big round booty,” Harold says proudly. A flight attendant’s head snaps up from making coffee in the galley to stare at him, alarmed. “That’s what I like and you know it. If I’m looking at another woman, it’s not her shoes, Marcia.”
“Are you saying my butt isn’t big enough for you? Are you calling me skinny?”
“Would you prefer I called you fat?”
She snarls like a feral cat. “You think I’m fat?”
Tuck leans closer again. “Women, amiright?”
I press my face against his shoulder to smother a laugh. I’m not sure I can survive four more hours of the Harold and Marcia show. Might need some more champagne.
As I glance toward the galley, hoping to catch the attendant’s eye, I catch a whiff of smoke. It sneaks up on me in the wake of the man in 3E lumbering down the aisle. I saw him chain-smoking at the curbside check-in when we dropped off our luggage, and either the guy has the runs or he’s sucking on a vape every five minutes in the lavatory.
“If we get turned around because of that guy, I’ll be pissed,” I mutter to Tucker.
“Don’t worry, I think the flight crew is on to him.” He nods toward the two attendants in the galley doorway, who are whispering to each other while pointedly looking at 3E.
When the male attendant notices us watching, he glides over and offers that plastic service-industry smile. “More champagne for the newlyweds?”
“Please,” I say gratefully.
“Coming right up.”
Just as he’s moving away, Harold’s beefy arm thrusts out to stop him. “Another gin and tonic, please.”
“Don’t you dare,” Marcia warns. “Peter and Trixie-Bell are picking us up when we land in St. Maarten.”
“So?”
“So you can’t be drunk the first time you meet our son’s fiancée!”
“She’s a damned stripper, Marcia. Her name is Trixie-Bell! With a hyphen! You think I care about impressing the exotic dancer our stupid idiot boy met two weeks ago at a Caribbean dance club and got it in his fool head to marry?”
It’s Tucker’s turn to bury his face against my shoulder, trembling with silent laughter. The poor flight attendant stands in the aisle like a deer frozen in a hunter’s sights, unsure what to do about the gin and tonic.
“Sir?” he prompts.
“Gin and tonic,” Harold says stubbornly.
Except his impassioned speech about their idiot son must’ve gotten to Marcia, because she raises a hand laden with gold costume jewelry and mutters, “Make that two, please.”
Wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, my husband looks over. “Wanna buddy watch a movie?” He gestures to our respective screens, open to the in-flight menu.
“Sure. Give me a sec, though. Just want to log in to the Wi-Fi and see if your mom messaged.”
I pull my phone out of the purse at my feet and follow the browser connection instructions. Once the Wi-Fi kicks in, my screen fills up with emails.
“Your inbox is blowing up,” Tucker teases.
I scroll through the notifications, but there’s nothing from Gail. “Yeah. HR at Billings, Bower, and Holt keeps sending stuff.” I scroll further. “Ugh. Fischer and Associates emailed too.”
“When do you have to give them an answer?”
“When we get back.”
“Are you leaning more one way or the other?”
“I don’t know,” I sigh.
“Would you stop fiddling with the screen!” Marcia is chastising her husband again.
“But the movie isn’t loading,” grumbles Harold. “I want to watch the Avengers, goddammit.”
“It won’t load if you keep pressing all the buttons!” She huffs. “Look what you’ve done. Now it’s frozen.”
“Why don’t you mind your damned business and focus on your own screen, woman.”
Luckily, our champagne arrives. I take a much-needed sip as I mull over the options for the thousandth time. After graduation, I got a job offer from the number two law firm in Boston. A dream job, as far as a foot in the door goes. It was a no-brainer that I’d take it, until I got a call from a small civil defense firm that now has me considering how my priorities have shifted the last few years.