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I hated it when he didn’t play along.
“Absolutely. You’re actually funny when you’re drunk. Hell, inebriated you is almost human.”
He winced. That one had gotten to him.
Hit scored. Point for me.
I made another sweep through first class, and a quicker one through coach.
Dinner flights were nonstop busy, and I’d never been more happy about it than I was on that one.
I passed him again on my way up to the front galley. He was nursing his glass of gin and nothing.
That wouldn’t do.
I made him another, delivering it to him with a smile that was all teeth.
I set the second drink next to the first.
He glanced at them, then at me.
“Oh I’m sorry. Did you need me to put a nipple on that?”
He laughed.
“You used to drink like a man,” I told him, undeterred.
He finished off the first one, eyes on me all the while.
That was another thing about him. He rarely backed down from a challenge.
I wish I could say it was one of the many things about him that I hated, but frustratingly it wasn’t. It had saved me when we were kids. Who knows what added hell I’d have gone through without his cursed stubbornness.
I took the empty glass away, intending to refill it immediately.
When I returned, the second drink was nearly finished.
I set down a third without a word.
I kept an eye on him, delivering a fourth as he was finishing up the third. And then a fifth. And so on.
“You did this on purpose,” Dante said to me. Even when he was blitzed, his speech was barely slurred. But I knew the signs. He was trashed in the extreme.
Hit scored. Another point for me.
I stayed busy for the duration of the flight, and Dante stayed drunk.
We were deplaning when I realized he might not even be able to make it off unassisted.
Everyone had deplaned and he was still swaying in his chair.
“What should we do with him?” Demi, the youngest of our crew, asked. She was a sweet little thing, and somehow on her, sweet didn’t annoy me.
The cabin crew was up near the door, ready to go, the pilots waiting for us in the jet bridge.
All that was keeping us was The Bastard.
“He’s hot,” Farrah, who worked the back galley, added. “Like, fuckhot hot.”
