Page 4 of Solace in Seven
My suitcase wheels rolled against the pavement as I shuffled through the airport, trying to get through checking my bags, security, and to my gate within thirty-two minutes. I nervously looked down at my watch every fifteen seconds as the minutes seemed to fly by. I couldn’t wait to land in LAX to get on my connecting flight to St. Martin. The second I stepped onto the plane and took my seat in first-class, I let out a sigh of relief. I could finally fuckin’ relax and officially start my vacation. While my girls were doing excursions with their men, I would be reading by the pool. While they were getting dicked down from sunup to sundown, I would be getting a Swedish massagefrom a male professional masseuse, and if I was lucky, he’d be something worth looking at. I meant what I said to Lauryn; I was going to make the best of my trip, come hell or high water.
During the plane change from LAX to St. Martin, I walked onto the smaller aircraft feeling better than better. The edible I’d eaten on my way to the airport had finally kicked in mid-flight, and I was feeling too good. I plopped down in my window seat and turned up the volume on my phone as Beyonce’sPartyblasted through my AirPods. Just as I started to bob my head and sway in my seat, I heard a familiar voice that instantly made my stomach churn.
“Yo, you in my seat.”
I looked up just as the owner of that voice stationed himself in the aisle in front of me. There he was, both hell and high water in human form, Hendrix “The Tomb Raider” Croft. He tried his best to be inconspicuous with a black hoodie draped over his freshly cut fade, and sunglasses shielding his almond-shaped, cognac-brown eyes as to ward off the paparazzi or any screaming basketball fans hounding him for his autograph. He was a three-time NBA all-star and the bane of my existence since we were in high school.
My forehead puckered as I pulled my sunglasses away from my eyes. “What?”
“Seat 6A is mine. I got the window.”
“Hendrix?”
“Oh shit, Cassidy? Cassidy Stokes? Is that you? You’re the last person I expected to see here.”
Time stopped, but he didn’t. As much as it pained me to admit it, he looked better than words could describe. Just staring at the full licorice-colored beard covering his chin was enough to suck all the air out of my lungs down to the very last puff.
“It’s a free country.” I shrugged as I took a big gulp of the water bottle clutched in my hand.
“That’s debatable. And you still in my seat though.”
I rolled my irritated eyes. “Can you just let me sit here? I’m already buckled in.”
“Nah, I need my window.”
“Fine,” I said, unhooking my seatbelt and switching over to theaisle seat. I pulled my knees in tight as he slid past me to sit by the window. As soon as he sat down, he closed the window shade. I quickly rolled my eyes. “Can you at least open it so I can see?”
“No.”
My brows drew together. “Why not?”
“The fuck you need to see clouds for? This your first flight or somethin’?”
My eyes rolled toward the ceiling. “No, I just like to look. You got a problem with that?” I bit back.
“Nah, I don’t. Maybe you’ll catch ‘em on your flight back,” he said, sarcasm ringing deep in his voice.
I sat and stared at him in awe as he bared his straight, white teeth in my direction before
sliding his black and gold Beats by Dre headphones over the sparkling gold diamonds in his ear as a not too subtle attempt to tell me he was done talking. His smile was fuckin’ lethal. Ihatedthat I loved it.Nope, don’t look. Fuck these niggas, Cass. Fuck these niggas!I chanted over and over inside my head. For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why everyone kissed his ass, no matter how good it probably looked.Hmph, it’s probably just as bronzed and toned as the rest of his chiseled ass body,I thought.As easy on the eyes as he was, I could tell he was going to be a menace to sit beside on a three-and-a-half-hour flight.
From the moment he was born, he was donned the Prince of Inglewood. Everyone who was anyone knew exactly who he was because his father, Jude Croft, was the king of the city and one of the biggest kingpins in Cali. So naturally, he was used to everything and everyone always orbiting around his ass. After his parents got divorced, him and his mom moved five houses down from me. Plus, he was Lauryn’s brother’s best friend. So even if I didn’t run into him in my own neighborhood or in the hallways at school, I would most certainly have to see him whenever I went over Lauryn’s house.
Like every other girl my age or older, I’d fallen under his spell and developed a stupid girlish crush on him. He used to give me goosebumps whenever I saw him until I heard him open his mouth for the first time. He’d made it painfully clear that he was nothing but apompous asshole, and from the looks of it, shit hadn’t changed. He was still used to the sun rising and sitting on his ass. His ass made the two years of high school went spent together my own personal hell, but it was a new day, and we were far from kids. He was going to be reminded that I wasn’t the one.
Instead of entertaining his ass any longer, I turned my attention to the aisle and caught the eyes of the first flight attendant I could find. “Excuse me, are there any other seats available? They don’t even have to be first-class at this point, I just need to switch seats. I’m willing to pay whatever.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but this is a full flight. Can I get you a complimentary beverage or some ear plugs or something?”
“Um, yeah sure—just make itstrong.”
She bobbed her head up and down. “Got it.”
Moments after we took off, he leaned his seat back. I sucked my teeth for the umpteenth time since he’d barged back into my life. The second I went to put my elbow on the armrest, I was blocked. “Do you have to take up both arm rests? There are other people on this plane besides you, you know?” I scoffed.
He sat up to pull off his hoodie. “You must’ve forgot you sittin’ next to a full-size nigga,” he said, with a hint of hood charisma laced in his voice.
His stretch allowed me to catch a glimpse of the tats on his biceps, tricepsgoddamnceps. At six-foot-four and a solid one-hundred and eighty pounds, he was built Ford tough. His sandy brown skin dripped with ink etched into his skin from his wrists all the way up to his neck. There were probably millions of women out there that would pay to be the camouflaged shirt resting against his skin, or the khaki cargo pants that didn’t help to conceal the imprint of his dick laying lazily against his inner thigh.
