try not to think about what was in that picture he sent me.
“S o I have you sitting economy, Miss Jones.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Cooper says, clasping a hand on my shoulder and frowning apologetically. “I didn’t want to give you any special treatment, like you said.”
“So you’re all sitting business class, and I’m in economy?”
“Yep. If I recall you didn’t even really want to be here, did you?”
“Is there a problem? We still have a few seats left in business class. If you’d like, we can easily upgrade you for an extra fee.”
“No, she’s good in economy,” Coop says, eyeing the attendant’s name badge. “Thank you so much for your help, Carly.”
“You’re very welcome, Mr Ryan. Can I just say how much of a big fan I am?”
“Really?”
“I loved your first album, and I’ve pre-ordered the next through my local record store. I wish I’d known I’d be seeing you today. I would have brought something in for you to sign.”
“I wish you had too, though I’m happy to get creative if there’s a bathroom nearby?” Cooper says, and my mouth drops open as I glare at him and shake my head.
The attendant, Carly, actually just squeaks. It’s like any common sense she has just flies out the window and her snatch takes over doing the thinking for her. Yeah, okay, I can’t say I really blame her. The man who has been eyeing her suspiciously from behind the counter—probably her supervisor—leans into her space and asks, “Do we have a problem, Carly?”
“No, sir, everything is fine.”
Cooper appears to take pity on the girl and he reaches over the desk, grabbing a piece of paper and signing his name along with an impersonal “thanks for your support”.
I grab my ticket from the desk and take my bag through to security while the rest of the band talk to over-eager fans. We clear customs, and once we’re seated at the gate I pull out my phone and stare at the blank screen. I’m hit with a wave of sadness as I realise I don’t have anyone to text. I think of Grams, and how proud she would be of me seizing this opportunity, and I think of Brad and send out a little triumphant fuck you to wherever he is. The truth is I don’t miss him. In a sense, I feel like it was a wonder I hadn’t caught him cheating sooner. The last time we’d had sex was three months before our friendly neighbourhood stripper moved in. What man doesn’t want sex in three months? And it wasn’t for lack of trying. I’d tried repeatedly to get him to face our intimacy issues, but he was always too tired, or he just didn’t feel like it.
I’d felt like it a lot in those first weeks when he’d begun turning me down, but there’s only so much rejection a girl can take before she turns to her hand and then implements of vaginal destruction in the form of silicon penises. After a while, it just became the norm. I didn’t ask for sex, he didn’t offer it, and instead I found my solace in a vibrating nine-inch replica of porn star James Deen’s dick, who never left the seat up, never complained about how many orgasms I was having, and who was ridiculously girthy.
I don’t notice how lost I am in my thoughts until someone sits down beside me. Cooper. I don’t have to glance at him because I’d know his scent anywhere. It’s the smell of entitled arsehole, with a little bit of sexy-as-fuck thrown in.
“Who you calling?”
“Isn’t that the million dollar question?”
“Can I see that?” he asks, holding out his hand for my phone.
“No.”
“Give me the goddamned phone, Ali.”
“I don’t want to.” I glare at him and he yanks it off me anyway. He removes the back, pulls out the sim card and pockets it, then he stands and throws my phone in the bin.
“What are you doing?”
“I got you this earlier,” he says, handing me a brand new shiny smart phone. “Your old sim won’t work in it, and your shitty phone won’t work overseas. This way I’ll always know where to find
“S o I have you sitting economy, Miss Jones.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Cooper says, clasping a hand on my shoulder and frowning apologetically. “I didn’t want to give you any special treatment, like you said.”
“So you’re all sitting business class, and I’m in economy?”
“Yep. If I recall you didn’t even really want to be here, did you?”
“Is there a problem? We still have a few seats left in business class. If you’d like, we can easily upgrade you for an extra fee.”
“No, she’s good in economy,” Coop says, eyeing the attendant’s name badge. “Thank you so much for your help, Carly.”
“You’re very welcome, Mr Ryan. Can I just say how much of a big fan I am?”
“Really?”
“I loved your first album, and I’ve pre-ordered the next through my local record store. I wish I’d known I’d be seeing you today. I would have brought something in for you to sign.”
“I wish you had too, though I’m happy to get creative if there’s a bathroom nearby?” Cooper says, and my mouth drops open as I glare at him and shake my head.
The attendant, Carly, actually just squeaks. It’s like any common sense she has just flies out the window and her snatch takes over doing the thinking for her. Yeah, okay, I can’t say I really blame her. The man who has been eyeing her suspiciously from behind the counter—probably her supervisor—leans into her space and asks, “Do we have a problem, Carly?”
“No, sir, everything is fine.”
Cooper appears to take pity on the girl and he reaches over the desk, grabbing a piece of paper and signing his name along with an impersonal “thanks for your support”.
I grab my ticket from the desk and take my bag through to security while the rest of the band talk to over-eager fans. We clear customs, and once we’re seated at the gate I pull out my phone and stare at the blank screen. I’m hit with a wave of sadness as I realise I don’t have anyone to text. I think of Grams, and how proud she would be of me seizing this opportunity, and I think of Brad and send out a little triumphant fuck you to wherever he is. The truth is I don’t miss him. In a sense, I feel like it was a wonder I hadn’t caught him cheating sooner. The last time we’d had sex was three months before our friendly neighbourhood stripper moved in. What man doesn’t want sex in three months? And it wasn’t for lack of trying. I’d tried repeatedly to get him to face our intimacy issues, but he was always too tired, or he just didn’t feel like it.
I’d felt like it a lot in those first weeks when he’d begun turning me down, but there’s only so much rejection a girl can take before she turns to her hand and then implements of vaginal destruction in the form of silicon penises. After a while, it just became the norm. I didn’t ask for sex, he didn’t offer it, and instead I found my solace in a vibrating nine-inch replica of porn star James Deen’s dick, who never left the seat up, never complained about how many orgasms I was having, and who was ridiculously girthy.
I don’t notice how lost I am in my thoughts until someone sits down beside me. Cooper. I don’t have to glance at him because I’d know his scent anywhere. It’s the smell of entitled arsehole, with a little bit of sexy-as-fuck thrown in.
“Who you calling?”
“Isn’t that the million dollar question?”
“Can I see that?” he asks, holding out his hand for my phone.
“No.”
“Give me the goddamned phone, Ali.”
“I don’t want to.” I glare at him and he yanks it off me anyway. He removes the back, pulls out the sim card and pockets it, then he stands and throws my phone in the bin.
“What are you doing?”
“I got you this earlier,” he says, handing me a brand new shiny smart phone. “Your old sim won’t work in it, and your shitty phone won’t work overseas. This way I’ll always know where to find
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