Page 36

“Aren’t you gone yet?” She’s lacking the fierce wit she previously had.

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell that sound was.”

“I didn’t get a chance to eat after the show, okay? Now will stop bothering your passengers and get us out of here so I can.”

Her voice quivers, but it’s when her head snaps back to mine that my throat swells, seeing how embarrassed she looks.

“You’re telling me you just danced a three-hour show and haven’t eaten?”

Is she fucking serious? Does she know how many calories she burned out there? Her body needs fuel.

“That’s what I said, dipshit. Now, can you go.”

We’re not going anywhere until she eats.

Leaving her side, I walk briskly to where Hannah’s rearranging some of the trays of food. Her bright eyes dim when they notice how stern mine are.

“What’s got you all riled up?” she flirts, but I don’t give a fuck.

Not when I can still hear the echoes of Fia’s stomach growling through my ears.

“What food do we have on board?” I rush out faster than my mouth will let me.

I’m furious—frantic, even.

“Just some snacks, energy drinks, water, and a few different types of fruit,” Hannah tells me.

Damn it, she needs more than snacks and fruit.

Leaving Hannah unanswered, I head to the cockpit where my bag is stowed.

“Ready to go?” Brent asks, but I hardly hear him.

I unzip my GA embroidered backpack, pulling out the foot-long turkey club I made right before boarding.

“Yeah, just give me a second.”

I always keep some sort of meal in my bag when I am flying, just in case. Delays sometimes take hours, and the last thing you want is to be stranded and hungry.

Taking the perfectly wrapped sandwich and bag of cheesy chips out of the insulated pocket of my backpack, I turn on my heel, heading directly back to her.

The lights have dimmed when I step inside, with Brent likely preparing the remainder of our setup so we’re sitting on go when I return.

The majority of passengers are either asleep or in their own world, given the time, which makes my tip-toed attempt to Fia just as discreet as I need it to be.

“Here.”

I slap the meal on her lap and turn a cold shoulder, unable to hide my annoyance.

“I don’t want—” she begins to protest, but I snap my head over my shoulder.

With a sharpened stare, my eyes give her no mercy, even through the darkened aircraft.

“I don’t give a fuck what you want. Eat the damn sandwich, Sofia.”

CHAPTER 10

FIA