Page 13 of The Bro-code

“Ma’am,” the flight attendant’s tone is annoyed, but she’s trying to sound polite. “I personally checked this gentleman’s boarding pass, and I can confirm he’s in his assigned seat.”

Oh my God. Is this really happening?

“You just literally checked mine, too, at the door, not two seconds ago,” my voice goes up a notch. “And my boarding pass says one A.”

The smile fades from the flight attendant’s face. “That’s impossible. Now, if you wouldn’t mind taking your seat, we’ve just closed the aircraft’s doors, and we’re about to commence taxiing to the runway. So please, I need you to find your seat and sit down asap.”

“I found my seat,” I almost yell. “This asshole is in it; that’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

I really, really should have known better. A part of me feels really ashamed about raising my voice and swearing in front of someone who’s just trying to do their job. But this guy… God.

“Ma’am,” the flight attendant’s tone totally changes. “Swearing and disorderly behavior won’t be tolerated on my aircraft. I suggest you calm down or you’ll leave me no choice but to inform the captain and return to the gate, where you’ll be met by the police. That would result in a delay that will cost the airline thousands of dollars. We’ve recently begun taking people to court to pay that money back when delays are the direct result of disruptive behavior.”

Fuck me.

This is a nightmare. “Look, I’m sorry, but?—”

“Cinnamon is right,” Ryker intervenes. “There must be some kind of mistake because her boarding pass says one A, but so does mine.”

He passes his own boarding pass to the flight attendant.

“Huh,” the lady frowns. “This is odd. Let me check my manifest, and let’s find this lady’s seat.”

The fact that she assumes that I’m in the wrong seat annoys me to no end, but after the last exchange I had with her, I keep my mouth shut. Tomorrow is moving in day for last year’s sophomores, who now, as juniors, get the right to live in the Zeta house; as the sorority president, I need to be there to welcome them.

“Ok,” the cabin crew says. “There must have been a misprint or some kind of system error. My manifest has Mr. Moore in one A and a Miss Woods in two A. So ma’am, this is your assigned seat.” She points at the seat next to Ryker’s with a flourish.

I don’t miss the satisfied smile on her face, no doubt at the fact that I was wrong.

“But I need to sleep, I need a window seat, I?—”

The crew’s smile disappears. “I’m sorry, ma’am. The flight is fully booked. To the point that we’ve upgraded several passengers to first class,” she points toward all the other pods, occupied by the soldiers who stormed the lounge not long ago. “This is the only seat we have today.”

God, give me strength. I know in the grand scheme of things, it is a small inconvenience. Those pods are comfortable, and the seats go all the way down, almost turning into beds.

But a window seat always seems to provide some extra privacy, and I was glad Luigi took that into account when he had reservations made.

“I always book the window,” Ryker rises from his seat. Jeez, he’s so tall and his shoulders are so big, they make the aircraft cabin look much more confined. “But if the window seat is so important to you, I don’t mind swapping.”

As if the offer had been made to the flight attendant, she squeals in delight. “Oh sir, that’s so kind of you,” her hands are on her chest in surprise as if Ryker had just rescued a puppy from a ditch or something. “Now, ma’am, I must ask you to take your seat. We’re going to take off as soon as I inform the captain that the cabin is secure, and you’re the only one who isn’t seated.”

I don’t even try to hide my eye roll at her back as she goes back to her station.

“Let me help with your bag, Cinnamon.” Ryker offers as he moves to vacate his seat.

“I can manage to store my luggage by myself.” I bite out, demonstrating that I’m not some damsel who needs the help of the first Neanderthal that crosses her path.

If Neanderthals were as hot as sin, that is.

I shake my head at the voice in my head that sounds a lot like my twin sister, Lakyn.

As the flight attendant reminds us to fasten our seatbelts in preparation for takeoff, I feel observed. “Yes?” I ask, finding Ryker’s ice blue gaze on me. “What do you want?”

That barely there, sardonic smile makes an appearance. “I believe the words you’re looking for are ‘why, thank you, Ryker.’”

I know he’s right. He didn’t have to give up his seat for me.

And yet… call it pent-up frustration for the anger I’ve been holding onto for the entire summer. Call it retribution for the less than stellar interactions between us from the moment he ruined my makeup at the check-in desk; I act like a total bitch.

---