Sky High (Three Contemporary Novella's) Page 7

  “So glad I measured up,” he replied smoothly. “Most girls find that I do. In fact, the ladies usually find that I exceed their wildest expectations.”

  “Ugh, you’re as depraved as always.”

  Now he grinned at her, his wide, toothy grin that he knew she hated. “Depraved can be fun. You should try it some time, Syd.”

  “Hmmm, better not. I haven’t had all my shots.”

  He laughed in spite of himself. Sydney was sharp-witted, he had to admit, and wicked smart. She’d be kind of perfect if she weren’t such a witch.

  Just as she got herself settled, a sweet-faced elderly woman stopped at Jesse’s elbow. “I’m in the middle, but would you two like to sit together?”

  “Yes,” Jesse found himself replying, just as Sydney shouted, “No!”

  He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to agree in the first place, but now he was going to sit next to her just because she didn’t want him to. Plus, it would be the polite thing to do to let the old lady have the aisle seat, and he was nothing if not polite.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said to the woman as he moved over to the middle seat. “That’s very kind of you.”

  “Wouldn’t want to keep a couple apart.”

  “Oh, we’re not a couple,” Sydney insisted.

  “She doesn’t really like me,” Jesse stage-whispered to the woman as she sat down.

  “Well, it’s a long flight to Mexico, son. You’ll have plenty of time to work on her.”

  See? Even the little old lady in their row found him charming, but not Sydney Bishop. Nope. No way. He snorted in laughter and looked over his shoulder at Sydney, who glared back. Win her over? Yeah, that would happen on the twelfth of never.

  Settling back in his seat, he watched in amusement as Sydney sorted herself out for her flight. Magazines—four of them—tucked in the seat-back pocket, along with a fresh bottle of water, iPhone and headphones in her lap, purse stowed properly under the seat, but at just the right angle so she could reach inside without stretching.

  “Jesus, I bet your apartment looks like a hospital room.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He waved his hand at her preparations. “I’ve just never seen somebody be so insanely organized about sitting still for four hours.”

  “I just like things the way I like them. What are you going to do for four hours? Chew gum with your mouth open and count all the words you don’t understand in the airline magazine? Oh, wait… I forgot you can’t count that high.”

  He sneered at her. “I see your personality is as sunny as it ever was.”

  “For you, it is.”

  “Why me?” he asked, perking up with interest and turning slightly to face her. “Why do I bring out this particularly scathing side of you? I know you’re not like this with everyone, since you have friends. At least, I assume you do.”

  “We’re going to the same wedding in Mexico. For our friends. Of course I do. I just…” She looked mildly uncomfortable as she hooked her hair behind her ear and rearranged her magazines to her liking. “I’m not charmed by this thing you do the way everyone else is.”

  “What thing do I do?”

  “You know very well. The big, smarmy grin, the hair, the slacker attitude…”

  “What’s your problem with my hair?” Self-consciously he ran a hand through it, blond, carefully tousled, a little on the long side. Most girls loved his hair.

  “This whole chill surfer boy thing you do.”

  “I do not!”

  She laughed. Her laugh always took him by surprise, because she so rarely did it around him. It was low and throaty, kind of lusty, not a laugh he’d expect Sydney Bishop to have. And that laugh always, always made him imagine what she’d sound like in bed, and that annoyed him because he sure as hell was never going to find out.

  “Sure,” she said sarcastically.

  “I’m not a slacker,” he protested. “I just got a promotion at the agency. After only a year at the job.”

  “I never said you were a slacker, just that you act like one, which is even more annoying.”

  “Just because I don’t act like a—”

  She raised one eyebrow, a perfectly curving slash of mahogany brown over her deep, dark eyes. “Go ahead. Say it.”

  “What?”

  “Whatever nasty thing you were about to say about me. Just say it.”

  “That would be ungentlemanly.”

  She chuckled. “Yes, because you’re such a gentleman.”

  “Okay, maybe I’m not a gentleman—” She laughed. “But…I’m not the asshole you make me out to be.”

  “I guess it’s all in your perspective.”

  “What?” he demanded. “What did I ever do to you? I’ve known you for five years now, and you still don’t like me.”

  “Why do you care if I like you or not? Seems like plenty of girls do, if your bragging is to be believed. Why do you need one more?”

  “I don’t brag.”

  Sydney cleared her throat. “And I quote, ‘the ladies usually find that I exceed their wildest expectations.’”

  “Okay, fair point, but I only said that to piss you off.”

  “I know you too well by now for that trick to work. Look, Jesse, it’s pretty much true. The ladies do seem to fall all over themselves for you, for reasons I can’t begin to fathom. So just be happy that your boyish charms are appealing to so many of them and quit sweating it that one girl doesn’t go for it. It’s greedy of you.” With that, she plucked a magazine from her tidy stack, flipped it open, and started aggressively reading it. There was no other way to describe the ferocious way her eyes fastened on the page, shutting out everything around her, especially him.

  She was right. He never lacked for female companionship if he wanted it. Not every girl was into him, but plenty were. He didn’t need Sydney’s approval, he told himself, still feeling annoyed and irritable. When he realized she was still absorbed by an article on gel manicures and he was still stewing in silence over their exchange, he wanted to strangle himself. Here he was, tied up in knots by Sydney Bishop the second he spent any time at all in her presence, just like always.

  But not like always. He could remember, way back when they’d first met as college sophomores, she didn’t hate him. Not outwardly at any rate. They’d had a class together, he, Sydney, and her friend, Marin, who he already knew because she was dating his friend, Wyatt. It was a long time ago, but he remembered getting along fine with her in the very beginning. The three of them shared notes and studied together once for a test. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, even if tortured, but he’d nursed a wicked crush on Sydney back then. Her beauty and reserve had intimidated him, so he’d never gotten up the nerve to ask her out. Probably for the best because, before that semester was out, she’d decided she hated him, and that was that. There had been plenty of other fish in the sea, so he hadn’t exactly mourned the loss back then. He’d even dated Sydney’s roommate for a hot second, if a few ill-advised, late-night hookups constituted dating. It had been a sad attempt at distracting himself when it became clear that his crush had been one-sided. He couldn’t even remember that girl’s name anymore.

  Anyway, some part of him suspected Sydney would have chewed him up and spit him out when he was a nineteen-year-old idiot. He couldn’t have handled her back then. Now was a different story, but now was clearly never going to happen. Which was too bad because the other thing he wouldn’t admit, even under torture, was that he still nursed a wicked crush on her. She might hate him, but that didn’t keep his brain—and every other part of his body—from going haywire every time he was in her presence.

  The drinks service came by and Jesse ordered a beer because, fuck it, this was a vacation, no matter how it was starting. He was stuck next to Sydney with all his inconvenient attraction and all her rampaging hatred. He deserved a drink to take the edge off. Sydney cast him a judging glare. “Drinking at this hour?”

  “It’s a we
dding. We’re on a vacation. I know the concept is totally foreign to you, but sometimes people relax. You should try it sometime. I promise, you won’t break.”

  “I relax,” she said huffily.

  “Prove it. Order a damned drink in the middle of the day.”

  “I don’t need to drink just to prove something to you.”

  “Oh, don’t hide behind that one, Syd.”

  “Don’t call me Syd. And I’ll drink if I want to, Jess.”

  “Fine, so drink.”

  “I will! I’ll have—”

  “A rum and Coke,” he supplied for her.

  “How do you know that?”

  He rolled his eyes. “We’ve been hanging out in the same bars with the same friends for five years. You think I haven’t noticed what you drink? You were like, the only girl in college who ever ordered that.” He’d noticed a lot of things about Sydney, far more than he’d wanted to.

  “Shut up. I just like rum.”

  He held his hands up defensively. “Hey, no offense. In fact...” He turned to the flight attendant, who was starting to look both amused and annoyed by their argument. “Forget the beer. Two rum and Cokes. See? I can be polite.”

  “You bully me into ordering a drink and call that polite?”

  “Trust me, you’ll thank me for it. And I’m buying. You’re welcome.”

  “I’m not saying thank you, because you’re a bully. Just hand me my damned drink.”

  He passed hers across to her, watching as she took a long, appreciative sip. She noticed him watching and huffed. “Okay, fine. I admit it, it’s good.”

  “See? Before you know it, you might actually start enjoying yourself.”

  “Because enjoying yourself is all that really matters in life, right, Jesse?”

  “You know, I do work for a living.”

  “For a sports agent.”

  “And your point? Oh, wait, maybe you’d better finish that article on lip fillers before you answer. Do you even write yet or are you still getting coffee for the people writing about lip fillers?”

  He knew he’d pressed about a million of her buttons at this point. He could tell from the way her eyes had gone cold and her lips were pressed into a hard line. Her jaw worked as she clenched her teeth. Damn, she really should not look so hot when she was furious. He took a sip of his drink to cover his own agitation and was taken aback by the kick of alcohol. It tasted like the flight attendant emptied two of those little bottles in there. Not that he was complaining, since airplane cocktails were usually so weak there wasn’t even a point in drinking them. Jesus, the two of them must have been sniping at each other so hard that the woman had double dosed them to shut them up.

  “Slow down,” he said to Sydney as she slammed back half her glass. “These are really strong.”

  “I can take care of myself, thanks.”

  “Okay, fine, but you get to explain it to Marin when you’re too drunk to manage the rehearsal dinner tonight.”

  “I can’t believe they’re getting married,” she said abruptly.

  “You don’t like Wyatt?” Jesse braced to get defensive, since Wyatt had been one of his closest friends since freshman year.

  “No, Wyatt’s fine. I just… Who gets married at twenty-four? We’re so young. I feel like I’m just starting my life, and Marin’s getting ready to promise forever.”

  Jesse eyed Sydney’s almost-empty glass. That had to account for the sudden shift into soul-bearing. Generally Syd didn’t speak to him unless forced, and she certainly didn’t share.

  “Well, this is Marin we’re talking about.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she bristled, ready to jump to her friend’s defense.

  “Just that she’s the definition of a free spirit. Making a ten-year life plan isn’t something anybody expects her to do. Spontaneously deciding to get married on a beach in Mexico is.”

  Sydney shrugged. “I guess that’s fair. This is different, though. She knew it would be Wyatt the minute she met him, and we were just nineteen. She’s never committed to anything in her life except Wyatt.”

  Jesse chuckled. “Guess it’s true love. Most people are completely clueless about what they want at nineteen. I know I was.”

  Sydney’s eyes flickered to his and then away, so fast he almost didn’t catch it. “Yeah, I know,” she muttered.

  What the hell was that about? Was she talking about him or herself? And why did it make something seize up in his chest? He was about to press her for answers when the intercom overhead crackled to life with an announcement.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m afraid we have some bad news out of Mexico City. They’ve had some volcanic eruptions this month, and it appears the one just outside the city is kicking up a fuss today. At present, Mexico City has closed their airspace to all air traffic. We’ve been rerouted back to JFK. We should have you back on the ground around three p.m. local time. We’re sorry for this inconvenience, but sometimes Mother Nature just doesn’t want to cooperate with our plans.”

  Jesse and Sydney stared at the ceiling, as if that might change the situation in some way and they’d hear better news from the speakers.

  “This is not happening,” Sydney murmured.

  “A fucking volcano? Are you kidding me? In what universe does this happen?”

  Sydney closed her eyes and dropped her head back on her seat. “We’re going to miss the rehearsal dinner. We’ll probably get there just in time for the ceremony, if we’re lucky.”

  Jesse raked his hands through his hair. “Fuck. Guess we’d better rebook.”

  Sydney sighed and dragged her laptop out of her bag. Jesse went to work on his phone. There was nothing else today. The best he could do was a flight the next day, late morning, also connecting through Mexico City.

  “Done,” he said, pocketing his phone. “I’ll get in just in time for the wedding.”

  “You didn’t get on the direct flight to Cancun?” she sniffed, closing her laptop. “Too bad. I’ll have enough time for a nap when I get there.”

  “You got on a direct flight?”

  “Guess I got the last seat.”

  “Lucky you,” he snapped. The flight attendant was back, the same one, a friendly-looking woman in her thirties. She was pushing the drinks cart again.

  “Sorry for the inconvenience, folks. Something to take the pain away?”

  “Hell yes,” Jesse said, pulling out his wallet. He was one hundred percent done with this day, this flight, Mexico, and Sydney. If he was going to end up spending a whole day crammed in a center seat fighting with her, he was getting himself properly liquored up in trade. “Another rum and Coke,” he said. “Make it two.” Then he glanced toward Sydney just as she uncrossed and recrossed her legs. Her tight black skirt slid an inch up her thigh. “Make it four, two for her and two for me.”

  “What…”

  “Just drink, Sydney,” he warned. “Maybe if you do, you’ll stop wanting to kill me.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” she grumbled, but she didn’t argue. As the flight attendant handed across two drinks, Sydney leaned over Jesse to retrieve them. Her hair—long, silky and sable brown—fell across his chest. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. Fuck, she smelled good. And that hair… He bet it would feel good wrapped around his hand. He opened his eyes just in time to see her blouse gape open as she leaned. There was a brief, maddening glimpse of pale skin, the swell of a gorgeous breast, a hint of black lace against the fullness… He bit back a groan. Goddammit, he was getting a fucking hard-on. Over Sydney Bishop’s hair. And her breasts. The breasts definitely deserved a hard-on, just not here and now, with her right next to him, sipping her drink and watching him over the rim of her plastic cup. He slammed back half of the first cocktail in one swallow. This was going to be one long return trip.

  “Sorry you’ll miss all the ass-chasing in Mexico tonight,” she said innocently.

  “Huh?” All that blood rushing southward was making him
slow-witted.

  “Your phone call when we were boarding. Wasn’t that the plan? Chase some ass in Mexico and get laid?”

  He winced. Fucking Kyle and his big mouth. “It wasn’t a plan. Just a thing that could happen.”

  She snorted a laugh and sipped her drink. “Okay.”

  “What about you?” he asked. He was desperate to turn the conversation away from who he might bang, because it wasn’t helping the hard-on situation.

  “Me?”

  He shrugged. “You’re young, single, reasonably attractive—” Hot as hell. “You could hook up with some guy at the wedding. It wouldn’t be unheard of.” He’d wanted to turn the conversation, but why the hell had he turned it in this direction? The last thing he wanted to hear about was Sydney’s sex life.

  She made a face. “Uh, no. Random wedding hookups aren’t really my scene.”

  “Why not? You got a boyfriend back in New York?” That was an unpleasant thought. He didn’t think she did. Surely he’d have heard if she were with somebody. But maybe not. They encountered each other once every month or two over drinks with their mutual friends. There’s no reason anyone would have felt the need to let him know she was seeing somebody. It was none of his business. Really none of his business. Which didn’t explain the relief he felt when she shook her head.

  “Nope, no boyfriend. Being single in New York sucks. It’s impossible to meet people.”

  “I don’t know, I never seem to have a problem.”

  She side-eyed him. “Yeah, we’ve already established your manwhore credentials.”

  “Hey, that’s a little bit of a stretch.”

  She laughed. “I’ve seen you in action. It’s a perfect fit.”

  He leaned in closer, close enough that his breath ruffled her hair. “You seem to be paying a hell of a lot of attention to who I’m fucking.”

  Saying that word was like setting the air on fire around them. It hadn’t been his intention. He’d only meant to goad her a little bit. But being so close to her, alcohol swimming pleasantly in his head, the word “fuck” hanging in the air, made something between them ignite. Her eyes closed and she drew in a deep breath through parted lips. He glanced down at the swell of her cleavage, and lower, to her pale thighs contrasted against her dark skirt. He wanted to reach down and slide that skirt higher, to move his hand—