Page 6 of Sweetest Sin
2
Peyton
Today has beena day from hell.
It started with my now ex–best friend from college, Sara, messaging me to let me know that I should get tested. She’d found out that Brent, my ex-boyfriend—who cheated on me with Sara while I took some time off from college to move back home to take care of my sick mom—had given her chlamydia. Because she apparently cares so much about me, she wanted to make sure I knew in case he had given it to me as well.
I had already been tested after I found out he’d cheated, and thankfully, everything came back clean. But after her call, I scheduled a doctor’s appointment because I wouldn’t stop thinking about it until I knew for sure that the asshole hadn’t given me one last parting gift before I dumped his ass and then blocked him.
After receiving that wonderful message, I arrived at work, only to be accosted by Dale the Douche. He’s one of the pilots on my route who has decided that I’m his new conquest.
Gag.
At first, when Dale had asked me out—swearing he only wanted to get to know me on a friendly basis since we’d be working together—I’d agreed, thinking it would be nice to make a friend, until I learned he was married with three kids and did this shit to all the new hires, hoping to get laid.
What is it about me that attracts all the assholes? I swear it’s genetic.
My mom fell for a cocky professional boxer’s charms, let him in her pants and into her heart, and he promised her the world. For a short time, she thought they were forever, until a few years after they had me—when she found out he’d been cheating on her. From there, things went downhill.
Instead of keeping the violence in the ring, he started to take his temper out on my mom, and she knew she needed to leave him. It took her a few years to get out of the abusive situation, but she did.
I read somewhere that kids who come from abusive homes are more likely to continue the cycle, and while I want to be, like,fuck that, the fact that I keep meeting cheating assholes feels like I’m dodging bullets left and right. If the cycle is trying to continue, it can eat shit because it’s not getting me.
But I digress …
Where was I?
Ex-boyfriend and ex–best friend with chlamydia …
Cheating pilot douche …
Oh yeah, my day from hell.
The pilot is pissed because I won’t sleep with him, and now, he’s determined to make my life miserable. Like, he thinks if he harasses me enough, I’ll get so fed up that I’ll give in and spread my legs. That’s not happening.
On top of all that, my mom’s doctor has requested our presence in her office to go over her test results. And everyoneknows that the only time a doctor forces you to come in is when they have bad news.
Despite all this going on, I was trying to focus on getting the flight ready—because I need this job—but my head was all over the place, and I wasn’t watching where I was going when I ran smack into a passenger. A ridiculously handsome—with his chiseled jaw, gray eyes, perfect amount of scruff—business-class passenger.
It shouldn’t surprise me. I’m the least coordinated person you’ll ever meet. Honestly, if it wasn’t for a friend of mine pushing me to get a job as a flight attendant, I never would’ve considered this as a career. Planes sway and dip, and my hand-eye coordination is not good. The number of times I’ve tripped and stumbled while the plane was in motion is embarrassing.
Too bad I couldn’t use that as an excuse when I ran into the good-looking man since the plane hadn’t even left the runway yet.
Thankfully, he was nice about it—because the last thing I need is to be reported. With Dale on my case, it wouldn’t take much for HR to fire me. And I need the money from this job to support my mom since she can’t work, and her disability isn’t anywhere near enough to cover our expenses.
Once I was no longer perched on his lap, I introduced myself and offered to get him a drink. He ordered an old-fashioned—a drink I haven’t heard of in years—and I was immediately brought back to my childhood, sitting on the floor, playing with my toys, while my dad demanded my mom make him an old-fashioned.
I loved him so much, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a daddy’s girl, but he didn’t know how to keep his temper limited to the ring and his dick in his pants when he left the house. And when he drank, it only got worse.
He never hurt me, but I witnessed him hurt my mom on several occasions, and when she threatened to out him to the media—having enough evidence to prove that he was abusive—he agreed to let us go if she walked away without a dime. He thought she would choose the money over our safety and stay, but my mom was stronger than that. With my hand in hers, she walked away and never looked back.
“Unfortunately, we don’t carry Kingston on this flight,” I choke out, pushing the memories of the past aside, “but I can make it with Maker’s Mark.”
Mr. Antonov agrees, and I head to the galley to make the drink. Aside from him ordering an old-fashioned, I noticed that he preferred Kingston Limited liquor. I’m not a huge drinker, but I know a lot about liquor, thanks to years of working as a bartender, and that’s an expensive one.
“For the record,” I tell him when I set his drink down, without thinking about what I’m saying, “I prefer Kingston as well. It goes down smooth.”
The moment the words are out of my mouth, I immediately regret them. I never flirt, especially on a flight. The fantasies men have about fucking flight attendants to earn their Mile High badge is a real thing, and I never want to lead anyone on.
