Flight A2783

Chapter 1

"Oh shit, I don't think I can do this," I hiss to Lucy, rubbing the ends of my hair. "You know I don't fly well."

"Brandy," Lucy says flatly, giving me a stern look. "You'll be fine. Plus, you're in first class. You should be fine. A 12 hour flight will go by just like that." Lucy snaps her fingers for emphasis.

"Oh my god, its twelve fucking hours I can't do this!" I hiss, freaking out again.

"Brandon Nicole-Marie Edwards," Lucy says, sternly annunciating my full name.

Yes, my name is Brandon. My parents were drunk or something when they named me.

Just kidding.

They very badly wanted a guy, but they got stuck with me so they named me a guy name without any thought. Thanks mom. Thank you so fucking much.

"You will make this flight." Lucy glares at me. "You are a white woman in America-"

"Please do not go all White Chicks on me," I say, rolling my eyes but cracking a small smile.

Lucy laughs. "Aw, Brandy you'll be fine. I promise. Find yourself a nice guy to talk to on the flight."

I scoff. "I'm in fucking first class, Lulu. All the guys will be old and rich."

"So?" Lucy says, grinning mischievously. "You can be a sugar baby."

"That is so gross."

"Yeah I know. Their dicks must be all wrinkly and warty or something-"

"Ew, shut up!" I say, trying to get the images out of my head. "Just stop." Lucy just laughs, smirking when I glare at her.

"Flight A2783 to London is now boarding."

"Shit," I say, pulling up my carry on bag. "Oh god-"

"Brandy. Shut up. You will be fine. I promise," Lucy says, pulling me into a tight hug.

"Bye Lulu," I say quietly, giving her a sad smile before walking off to get in line. I was third.

"Thank you for flying with Britain International," the stewardess says warmly, her British accent very apparent. Man, I want of those.

I take my ticket back and walk through the little hallway, my anxiety building with every step. "Shit," I mutter under my breath. I desperately think of different excuses to go back outside. Can't think of any plausible ones. Fuck.

I bite my lip as I reach the end of the hall and the entrance of the plane. I go left and into first class, eyeing the spacious seats and rows warily.

"What row?"

I jump, almost keeling over and dying, that's how startled I am. I look over at the smiling stewardess waiting for my response.

"Uh-um. A4," I stammer, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. She smiles and walks over to the third row and takes my carry-on bag and places it in the compartment above us. "Thanks," I mutter, settling down in the window seat.

I look down at the seat beside me, hoping that an old guy doesn't end up beside me.

As more people board the plane, I grow even more anxious, if that's even possible.

I close my eyes and begin muttering under my breath. "I'm fine. I'll be fine. I'm fine."

"You're not insane, are you?" A deep, husky voice asks, beautifully accented with the British accent.

My eyes snap open, and I'm pretty sure the pupils of my Dobby-the-elf-like aquamarine eyes dilated to twice their size. "What?" I snap, and then immediately regret it because the owner of the voice was a chestnut-curled emerald-eyed GOD.

"Uhhh, I dunno. You were talking to yourself so I made the assumption that you were insane," he replies slowly, sitting down in the seat beside me.

I gave him a flat look. "Don't judge a book by it's cover."

"So you haven't made any snap judgements about me in the last two minutes?" He asks, cocking an eyebrow.

"Other than my assumption that an angel must've carved your face?" I ask. His eyes sparkle with amusement. "Nope."

"Well," He says, "you're very kind."

"You know traditionally, people give compliments back to the person who complimented them first," I say pointedly, my grip on the armrest still extremely tight.

"And you want me to compliment you?" He asks, smiling slowly.

I shrug. "I don't know. Maybe."

"Well you-" he begins, but he doesn't finish because I stand up suddenly and walk up to a stewardess. I can't deal with this shit. Nope.

"Can I get some alcohol? I'm not a good flyer and I need something to calm down," I say, running a hand through my waist length light blond hair. Natural and all real. Just saying.

She smiles and nods. "Of course. What would you like?"

"Coke and rum. Heavy on the rum," I reply.

"Okay. I'll bring it back to your seat for you."

"Cool. Thanks," I reply.

I go back and plop down at my seat.

"It isn't polite to walk away when someone's talking to you," he says when I sit down.

I shrug. "Yeah, except I don't know you."

He looks surprised, his eyebrows raised. "You don't know who I am?"

"Should I?" I reply, cocking an eyebrow.

"Maybe. Most girls your age do," he says, shrugging.

I raise my eyebrows. "How do you know how old I am?"

Now the stewardess brings my drink. "Rum and coke, heavy on the rum." She smiles and walks off as soon as I take the drink from her.

"You're at least twenty-one," he says, watching me as I take a gulp. "You do realize its only nine in the morning right? Are you an alcoholic?"

"Make more snap judgments, are we?" I ask drily, draining the rest. Slightly less anxious now. Not much. "I'm scared of flying."

"Probably," he says thoughtfully. "Explains why you were telling yourself you were fine when I came." I flush slightly. "I'm Harry."

"Brandy," I reply, jiggling the plastic cup around and tip the cup back to catch the last dregs.

"Brandy," Harry repeats. "Like the alcohol?" He asks, his eyebrows.

"You're a judger, aren't you?" I say, setting my cup down and pulling a hair tie off my wrist and pull my hair up into a messy ponytail. He watches as I do this. "My full name is Brandon Nicole-Marie Edwards." I smirk at his surprised look. "So you can call me Brandon if you want," I say, only half serious.

"Please fasten your seatbelts. We will be lifting off shortly."

My eyes widen and my grip on the armrests increase. "Shit shit shit shit. Oh my god. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck. Holy-"

Harry smirks. "This'll be fun."