"Sloan, I can't take you seriously right now," Chicago said, laughing to herself slightly.
I closed my mouth for what felt like the first time during the plane ride, still trying to process that her parents really owned a private plane.
Then again... her mom was a model and her dad was the owner of an esteemed celebrity agency. The real question is... why wouldn't they have a private jet?
I blinked a few times, realizing I had really blacked out most of the flight, "This is just..."
"It's a lot I know," Chicago said, sitting in the chair across from me. "Hopefully it's not intimidating or anything?" she asked, clearly wanting me to feel comfortable.
I laughed through my nose, "Of course it's intimidating—please tell me your parents aren't intimidating as well? Are they going to hate me? Oh my God, what if they send me back on the plane? Can they do that? Will they do th—"
"Woah-woah, everything's chill," Chicago cut me short clearly amused with my rambling. Why I always rambled around her will always be a mystery. "My parents are chill—I know you'll like them and they'll like you."
I tilted my head, "You're sure?"
Chicago nodded as her dark eyes darted over to the window, "But I guess you're about to find out—" she pointed to the window, "We're descending now."
I looked over to the window just as the captain came onto the intercom announcing our descent into Los Angeles.
I really can't believe this is happening.
I'm really spending Thanksgiving with Chicago and her family.
"Look, since Thanksgiving isn't until the day after tomorrow—you'll only be meeting my parents for now and we'll be able to recover from the jet lag tomorrow," Chicago said, clearly trying to reassure me, but it didn't seem to be helping.
I nodded hesitantly, "Just your parents and jet lag recovery... right."
Chicago smiled slightly, "Sloan, everything will be chill, trust me."
Chicago has never actually lied to me before—and normally when she says something will be chill... it usually is.
So I guess I'll take her word for it.
—
As soon as we landed in sunny California, Chicago shrugged her jacket off, leaving her in sweats and a t-shirt.
"My bad, I should've told you to dress in layers since the weather changes from the East Coast to West Coast," Chicago said as we navigated toward the exit of the plane.
I shook my head, knowing that it wasn't actually her fault that I wore sweats. Besides I'd change once we got to her house. "It's not a big deal," I said as Chicago placed her hand to my upper back, easily sending shivers through my body as she guided me down the plane stairs.
As soon as we made it to the bottom of the stairs, I immediately noticed three SUV's parked and waiting for us—however, I was quick to notice a woman standing in the middle of two security guards.
Her long brown hair was down and practically shining, her legs that were covered in jeans were long and toned, and her white blouse seemed to contrast against her extremely tan skin that was glistening under the setting sun. I tried to get a good look of her face, but her large sunglasses seemed to be blocking any view of it.
"Mija!" the woman called, running over to Chicago and me in her wedges—how she was able to do that, I'll never know.
I watched as the woman practically tackled Chicago into a hug, sliding her sunglasses up into her shiny hair.
