“You’re going to want to look hotter than that,” Sarah informed her conspiratorially.
“What?” Jamie looked down at herself, slightly breathless from running to catch the flight. “Why?”
“Check out Mister First Class.” Sarah waggled her eyebrows, and Jamie frowned. They did not often have a Mister First Class, a man for whom first class seats were not enough and who therefore bought out the seats surrounding him for a buffer zone. Mister First Class was usually super gross. Like, really gross. The grossest. She peered down the aisle to see who she might mean.
“Oh.”
“Yes. Oh.”
He was gorgeous. He was beyond gorgeous. He was so gorgeous that Jamie almost had trouble looking at him. He looked like he’d been photoshopped, somehow, with a soft glow filter and everything.
“His eyes are like… like… cheap margaritas.”
“I was going to say ’emeralds’, but yours is good, too.”
Jamie tried not to keep staring. “Are you sure you don’t… you know…”
Sarah snorted. “Even if I wanted to cheat on my husband—and Lord knows, he’d understand if I showed him a picture—there’s no way I’d have a chance.” She took Jamie by the shoulders, her gaze intense. “Do it, Jamie. Do it for all of us. Live the dream.”