”“You ain’t flying are you?” Johnny asked. “Holy shit, mate, don’t you know that musos and planes are a bad combination. Surely you know just how many musicians have been killed in plane crashes; not just Buddy Holly and the other two back in the late fifties, but there’s been stacks of other.”“Arrgh, that’s just bullshit, mate,” Ray said.“No, it isn’t,’ he replied. “There was Otis Redding and his backup band, in December 1967, Patsy Cline and some of her band members back in ‘63, Jim Croche and his band back in ‘73, I’m telling you, you don’t want to get in a plane.”“So, you silly fucker, why is it that you fly with us around the country?” Ray replied.“I’ve got me grandad’s lucky rabbit’s foot,” he said, pulling a furry object from under his shirt, where it was attached to a chain around his neck. “He had that when he was in bombers, flying raids over Europe in the war. He did stacks of missions, and only once was their plane even hit. He swore the rabbit’s foot kept them alive.”“It. ”“No fucking way am I lying for you to have that cock. No way!”“Awww, Amy. Come on, like you were lying there last night, wrapped in your duvet like goody two shoes. I bet you masturbated while looking at his cock?”Amy turned away from her friend as a red smudge crossed her face.“I'm right, aren't I?”Amy remained silent. She fidgeted with her hands, turning a ring around and around while she contemplated a response. The only response she could come up with was the one she was most afraid of.“Come with me – if you’re that concerned. I'm sure he wouldn't mind.”Amy's eyes rolled in her head and she was also sure that he wouldn’t mind two for the price of one.“That's impossible; we'll never get away with that.”“Yes we will. I'll say I'm staying at yours and you'll say you're staying at mine for the night. As long as our parents don't talk to each other it will be a fun night.”Amy thought about it, a little too long in fact. She turned to face Jen, her smirk evident.“What time on.
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