Sky High (Three Contemporary Novella's) (10 page)

“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—

“Well, you’ve always made such a disgusting show of it. It’s hard to miss,” she muttered shakily, taking another sip of her drink. She was into number two now. So was he. Sydney was finally loosening the reins a little. And she was very studiously not looking at him. A suspicion began to niggle around the edges of his rum-addled brain. She did seem awfully hung up on who he fucked. Contrary to her assertions, he wasn’t obvious about who he slept with and it didn’t happen
all
that frequently. If she hated him so much, why would she be so aware of who he was hooking up with? Unless…

“You wouldn’t see it if you weren’t watching,” he murmured. Her long, slender throat worked as she swallowed. He reached up and very lightly dragged the knuckle of his finger down her arm. Her blouse was thin and he could feel the warmth of her skin under the fabric. “Do you watch me, Syd?”

She rolled her eyes and took a long pull on her drink. “God, your ego really is astounding.”

He smirked. Maybe. But he was pretty certain there was no way Sydney was unaffected by this little interlude. She could snark and roll her eyes all she wanted to, but when he’d touched her, goose bumps broke out across her chest. “Mmm-hmm, so you’ve said,” he said, picking up a lock of her hair and wrapping the ends around the tip of his finger.

She swatted his hand away. “Cut it out. I told you, it’s greedy to insist that every woman adore you, Jesse. You’re just going to have to accept that one woman isn’t going to fall for you.”

“One woman?”

She threw back the last of her drink and finally looked at him. There was a slight flush across the tops of her cheekbones, probably from the alcohol, but maybe because of him, too. “Me,” she said, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

“See, I’m starting to think maybe you don’t hate me as much as you say you do.”

“Why would you think that?”

He leaned into her personal space a bit more. “Because of the way your eyes glaze over when I do this. And the way you stopped breathing when I touched your arm. I saw the goose bumps, Syd.”

He stared straight into her eyes, a silent challenge. “Y-you’re deluded,” she said, but there was no snap to her words. She said them on a breathy exhale.

He shook his head slightly. “I don’t think so.” He reached for her wrist, turning it slightly and brushing the pad of his thumb over her pulse. “Feel that?”

Her eyes darted to his hand and then back to his face. She looked like a cornered animal, but something was brewing behind her eyes, something that set his entire body on alert. He closed his hand around her wrist. “Sydney…”

She snatched her hand back. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“What?”

“Get up. I need to get out.”

“Syd…”

“Now!”

Jesse sighed and motioned to the nice old lady in the aisle seat, who was watching
Breaking Bad
on her iPad. She shuffled to her feet and Jesse slid out of his seat and into the aisle. Sydney was on her feet instantly, pushing past him.

“Sydney, don’t…” He reached for her, but she didn’t look at him as she hurried down the aisle toward the back of the plane.

The lady on the aisle motioned to his seat, but he shook his head. “I’ll stand.”

“Seems like maybe you should check on her,” the woman said with a shrug as she sat down again. He pondered that, staring at the glowing red “Occupied” sign over the bathroom door where she’d vanished. Then he started down the aisle.

He was only checking on her, he told himself. She drank a lot, really fast. Maybe she was sick. Outside the bathroom, he stopped and listened. A little running water and then silence. She didn’t come out. Tentatively, he tapped on the door.

“Syd, it’s me. Are you okay?”

Still no response.

“Sydney?”

Then he heard the lock disengage. She slid the folding door open and met his eyes, making no move to exit the tiny room.

“Syd—” he began, but then she reached out and fisted her hand in the front of his shirt, yanking him forward into the bathroom with her. “What—?” His question was cut off when she grabbed the back of his head, pulled his face down to hers, and kissed him. He reeled for a moment, trying to make sense of what the hell was happening as the door slid closed behind him, but then her mouth moved under his and instinct—hot, feral instinct—kicked in. He kissed her back, and it was
so
good.

Years. He’d been imagining kissing Sydney for
years
. He’d fantasized about it, jacked off to it… Well, when he jacked off, he’d been imagining more than kissing, but whatever. The point was, Sydney Bishop had been playing a starring role in his sexual fantasies since he was nineteen, and in all of those years, he’d never gotten it quite right in his imagination. The reality of her was better than any fantasy. She tasted sweet and spicy, the rum and Coke still on her tongue. And her tongue… Jesus.

“Sydney, what…” he murmured when they momentarily came up for air. She fisted her hand in his hair and pulled his head down again.

“Shut up, Jesse.”

“Okay.” What the fuck ever. He wanted this—her—too much to question it. Fumbling behind himself, he slid the lock closed on the door. It was so small inside that there was no option other than to be plastered against each other, so he pulled her close until they were pressed tight from thigh to lips. Then, for good measure, he reached for her hip, sliding his hand around to her ass, and pulling her even closer. His other hand tangled in her hair, cupping the back of her neck, and yes, her hair felt every bit as good as he’d imagined it would.