Yes, he has the audacity to fucking smirk.
“Can I...” My damn voice comes out ten octaves too high. I clear my throat again as Zanders’ chest heaves in a laugh. “Can I get past you? I need to get to the back of the plane.” And away from you before I have a heat stroke from staring at your annoying gorgeous body.
“I’m almost done,” he tells me, not breaking eye contact as he swiftly undoes his belt.
I swallow. Audibly. Like I’ve been without water in the desert for too many days.
Who knew my job would come with a personal striptease?
His long fingers unfasten the zipper of his pants, allowing them to drop and pool at his ankles.
His too-tight black boxer briefs are the first thing I see, right before my wide eyes are drawn to the giant bulge in the front. I’m not kidding. It’s huge. And he’s not even hard. It’s no wonder girls are throwing themselves at him. This thing should have its own area code.
“You enjoying yourself?”
“Hmm?” I mumble, entirely entranced by the literal anaconda in his pants.
“You like what you see, Stevie?”
“Yes,” I state in a daze. “What? No. Absolutely not.” I quickly turn to face the side of the airplane, staring at the emergency exit window, which is looking more and more appealing by the second.
Zanders’ evil laugh echoes through my ears, and I can’t seem to keep my eyes from finding his body once again.
I start at his ankles, noting the black swirling ink that takes up his entire left side. It wraps around his leg, traces his ribs, and covers his arm. The black ink doesn’t contrast too much against his rich skin tone. Instead, it complements it. It looks right on him. I don’t know how else to explain it.
“Want to try that answer again?” Zanders asks, making no real effort to put his sweatpants and T-shirt on. His naked body takes up the entire aisle and his hands rest on the headrests on either side, caging me in. “You like what you see?”
I plaster on my most smug expression, having no plans to inflate this man’s ego more than it already has been. There’s only so much oxygen on an airplane. I don’t want his ego to suffocate the rest of us.
You know, safety and all that shit.
“Ehh,” I say with indifference, crossing my arms over my chest, my stare unyielding as it locks with his.
“Sure thing, sweetheart.”
Zanders slips his white tee on over his head, his observation only breaking with mine for a second when the fabric covers his face. Then he steps into a pair of gray sweatpants as I try my very best to keep my focus away from the snake in his briefs.
And gray sweatpants? Come on, man.
“You got a little...” He wipes the corner of his mouth, trying to tell me I’m drooling from looking at him.
I’m ninety percent sure I’m not, but I also wouldn’t be surprised if I am. However, I refuse to check.
He’s stupid pretty.
His hazel eyes challenge me, holding my attention, daring me to swipe at my lip and check for possible drool.
“I hate you,” I remind him, attempting to hold my ground, which makes him fall forward in arrogant laughter, holding his chest.
When Zanders stands up straight again, I move to slip past him, needing to get out of this fucking aisle, but he stops me by holding on to the seat across the way, his arm blocking me in.
“I’ll take a sparkling water.” His deep rasp sends a shiver up my spine.
Swallowing, I turn my head towards him, playing with fire. His face is only inches from mine, and it’s fine as hell. I can practically feel the warmth of his lips from here. Or maybe that’s the temperature from his burning gaze.
“There’s a cooler in the back for you to get it yourself.” I push his arm out of the way to move past him, maybe a little harder than necessary, but he’s making me flustered, and I don’t like it. I don’t like when my confident mask is taken off.
“Extra lime, Stevie Sweetheart!” he calls out with a satisfied laugh as I roll my eyes.
But I can also feel the blush heating my cheeks.
I got him the damn sparkling water.
I’ve also gotten him a refill, a pillow, and a bag of chips—all of which he could’ve easily grabbed himself. We leave them accessible for a reason.
My only hope is that the flight attendant call light above his head burns out and stops working. With the rate he’s pressing it, I wouldn’t be surprised.
Once again, the blue light shines in the back galley, indicating that a passenger needs our assistance.
An audible grunt leaves my lips. I just made myself a grilled cheese. It’s perfectly melted, and I’m only a few bites in.
Indy laughs. “Looks like your boyfriend needs you again.” She motions towards the exit row, where the light above Zanders’ stupid flawless face is lit up. “I’d go check on what he needs, but we both know he’s going to ask for you once I get there.”
I roll my eyes, stretch my neck, and try to plaster on my best bullshit flight attendant smile as I step out of the galley, but as I do, Tara hurries her way to Zanders, which is fine by me. If someone else wants to take care of the diva himself, I’ll gladly pass on the responsibility.
“Tara’s got it,” I inform Indy as I step back into the galley—our safe haven.
“Twenty bucks she comes back here and tells you that Zanders wants to see you.”
“I don’t make enough money to be throwing it away on losing bets. This is the third trip of the season, and not a single flight has gone by where he’s spoken to another one of the girls.
Tara clears her throat as she stands in the space between the galley and the aisle. “Evan Zanders needs something from you.”
“Do you know what he wants?” I ask with caution. Regardless of the fact I’m not actually fraternizing with the guy, his obvious task at making my job a living hell this season might be gaining too much attention around Tara, and I need to be careful. Well, Zanders needs to be careful.
“Nope. He said he needs something that only you can get.” Tara’s lips are pressed in a hard line as she turns away, walking back to the front of the airplane where her workstation is.
I can’t quite tell if she’s frustrated that I’m getting attention or if she’s upset it’s not her, which sounds ridiculous as I say it. Anyone who would want the attention Zanders is giving me, making my job way harder than it needs to be, is out of their mind.
“Go take care of your boo,” Indy teases.
“Shut up.”
The entire team is busy scarfing down their dinners as I walk through the aisle, so thankfully, no one is paying attention to me as I make my way to the exit row.
“Need something?” I ask Zanders in my sweetest tone, which isn’t all that sweet. Sweet isn’t really a word I’d use to describe myself.
“I don’t like my dinner.” He looks down at his plate where his perfectly cooked filet mignon remains mostly untouched.
“Okay? Can I get you something else?”
“Can you make me a grilled cheese?”
“Really? You eat that kind of stuff?”