“That’s not for sale. But the pretzels are good,” she says wearily, like she’s heard it a million times from guys doused in too much cologne.
Drakkar Noir doesn’t hesitate. He fishes a couple bills from his wallet and thrusts them to her. “And a cola too.”
“Great,” she says, then hands him the goodies and continues down the aisle.
I stare wistfully at his drink for a second, then turn back to Nolan and rasp like I’m crawling across the sand in the desert, “So . . . thirsty . . .”
“Try to hold on, soldier. We’ll stop at a 7-Eleven after we land. We can review the Slurpees and pretzels there.”
“Not. Sure. If. I. Can. Make. It.” I drop my head onto his shoulder.
He pats my head.
That’s sort of nice and comforting.
What if he stroked my hair, though? Would nice and comforting level up to yummy and enticing?
“We’re about to die!”
I jerk my head to the high-pitched shriek from the back of the plane. “Who said that?” I squeak out.
There’s a squawk, then a cry of, “Man overboard!”
I crane my neck to peer past Nolan, checking out the aisle then the galley. I’m not the only one. The other passengers chatter, trying to make heads and tails of the warning.
Everything looks fine, so who’s screeching maydays? “What’s going on?”
“Get out your life vest,” the voice calls out.
Nolan’s brow crinkles, and he taps his lip. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but does that sound like a parrot?”
Ohh.
Actually, he’s dead right.
Contorting like a rhythmic gymnast in a heist flick, I swivel around and manage to peek over the top of the seat toward the back of the plane.
Turns out the metal crates contain parrots. Inside one of them, a bird with emerald feathers flaps his wings. “That’s what she said.”
A sapphire bird bleats, “A guy walks into a bar.”
I slump into my tiny seat with a groan that slides into laughter. “We’re on a flight with the punchline parrots.”
Drakkar Noir clears his scratchy throat. “It costs three hundred bucks to fly an animal in its own seat on this airline. Pretty cool, huh? I guess that’s how these seats can be so cheap.” He pats his cushion. “By the way, I’m Arnie. Those parrots are performing at my comedy club off the Strip tonight if you want to come. The Parrot Club.”
That’s a little on the nose.
“If you want to come,” a bird squawks, echoing Arnie.
“That’s what she said,” another one says.
“So saucy,” I say.
“What time is the show?” Nolan asks.
“Ten p.m.”
I glance at Nolan with a face that asks, Are we going to a parrot comedy night? The look he fires back says, Damn straight.
“We very well might be there,” I tell Arnie.
That ought to keep us busy after the party. Lord knows my brain needs busy work when I’m in close confines with my hot, funny, charming best friend, who I still want to kiss like crazy.
The ruddy man at the rental car kiosk points from Nolan to me and asks, “And are you and your friend . . .?”
The trailing question is annoying. I’m a woman traveling with her best guy friend. So there.
“She’s my nanny,” Nolan supplies.
I swat the troublemaker.
“I meant babysitter,” he says quickly.
I roll my eyes. “I’m actually his billionaire boss,” I tell the clerk. “And he’s my plucky but undervalued assistant who sends me secret hate letters that I think are sexy.”
The man stares at us humorlessly. “I don’t care if you’re pen pals or mortal enemies. I only ask because if you’re spouses, there’s a discount.”
“That seems unfair to single people,” I point out. “Does this car company discriminate against the unmarried?”
He sighs. He so utterly can’t even with me. “Lady, I don’t have time for bigger battles. I was trying to help you out. If you tell me you’re married, I’ll give you the discount.”
“Someone’s a fairy godfather,” I say, smile blazing.
“Not really. I get two percent on husband-wife signings.”
And he’s a hustler too. Gotta respect that, I suppose.
I tilt my chin up at Nolan. “Hey, hubs.”
He drapes an arm around me and plants a loud, wet kiss on my cheek. “Hey, wifey.”
“Wonderful,” the man replies, already typing it in.
Nolan keeps his arm around me as we finish the paperwork. Settle down, Nancy. We are simply friends who travel together to cities where we once kissed. And we’re even better friends for a discount.
Who wouldn’t be?
A deal is hard to resist.
We cruise down the highway toward the hotel I located on a budget travel site online. When I made our travel plans, I couldn’t find any rooms at even the cheapest hotels on the Strip. Apparently, there’s a cell phone convention in town, and those phone-makers love the City of Sin. So, we’re headed for a place a couple of miles from the Strip.
Maybe we won’t even have rooms near each other. A little distance between us when night falls will surely keep Nancy in check. Maybe.