Once again, the blue light shines in the back galley, indicating that a passenger needs our assistance.
An audible grunt leaves my lips. I just made myself a grilled cheese. It’s perfectly melted, and I’m only a few bites in.
Indy laughs. “Looks like your boyfriend needs you again.” She motions towards the exit row, where the light above Zanders’ stupid flawless face is lit up. “I’d go check on what he needs, but we both know he’s going to ask for you once I get there.”
I roll my eyes, stretch my neck, and try to plaster on my best bullshit flight attendant smile as I step out of the galley, but as I do, Tara hurries her way to Zanders, which is fine by me. If someone else wants to take care of the diva himself, I’ll gladly pass on the responsibility.
“Tara’s got it,” I inform Indy as I step back into the galley—our safe haven.
“Twenty bucks she comes back here and tells you that Zanders wants to see you.”
“I don’t make enough money to be throwing it away on losing bets. This is the third trip of the season, and not a single flight has gone by where he’s spoken to another one of the girls.
Tara clears her throat as she stands in the space between the galley and the aisle. “Evan Zanders needs something from you.”
“Do you know what he wants?” I ask with caution. Regardless of the fact I’m not actually fraternizing with the guy, his obvious task at making my job a living hell this season might be gaining too much attention around Tara, and I need to be careful. Well, Zanders needs to be careful.
“Nope. He said he needs something that only you can get.” Tara’s lips are pressed in a hard line as she turns away, walking back to the front of the airplane where her workstation is.
I can’t quite tell if she’s frustrated that I’m getting attention or if she’s upset it’s not her, which sounds ridiculous as I say it. Anyone who would want the attention Zanders is giving me, making my job way harder than it needs to be, is out of their mind.
“Go take care of your boo,” Indy teases.
“Shut up.”
The entire team is busy scarfing down their dinners as I walk through the aisle, so thankfully, no one is paying attention to me as I make my way to the exit row.
“Need something?” I ask Zanders in my sweetest tone, which isn’t all that sweet. Sweet isn’t really a word I’d use to describe myself.
“I don’t like my dinner.” He looks down at his plate where his perfectly cooked filet mignon remains mostly untouched.
“Okay? Can I get you something else?”
“Can you make me a grilled cheese?”
“Really? You eat that kind of stuff?”
“Aw, sweetheart. You’re watching out for my diet?”
“Actually, no. I don’t really give a shit,” I state with honesty as Maddison almost chokes in startled laughter next to him. “Just curious. But you could’ve asked the other flight attendant to make you one when she came over here, you know.”
He glances towards the front of the airplane, where Tara’s perfectly thin frame is standing, watching us.
“Yeah, but something tells me when it comes to food, I trust your opinion more than hers.”
What the hell does that mean? Is that his way of judging my body? Is that his way of saying he knows I eat that kind of junk on a regular basis and can probably make a good one? I mean, he’s not wrong, but still.
I harshly swallow, suddenly feeling claustrophobic on this airplane. The space is too small. I’m exposed in the exit row for everyone to see. I don’t want anyone to look at me in my embarrassment. My uniform hugs my body, and I feel it digging in at my hips, my chest, and under my arms. Everyone can tell that it doesn’t fit me correctly. I know it. The first thing they see is a body that carries a few more pounds than I’d like it to, and I was an idiot to think maybe these guys wouldn’t judge me for it.
I was wrong, and my mask is completely off at this point. I hate feeling this vulnerable.
“Stevie?” Zanders says with amusement in his voice. “You going to do your job and make me a grilled cheese or what?”
Snapping out of my trance for a moment, I nod my head in silence before taking off towards the galley, needing to hide.
“Stevie?” Zanders questions as I hurry down the aisle, but I don’t turn around.
I make his sandwich, but I don’t bring it out. In fact, I don’t go out into the aisle again until we land in Chicago and everyone else is off the airplane.