Sky High (Three Contemporary Novella's) (9 page)

She waved her boarding pass at him irritably. When he glanced at his own, Jesse could see she was right. He was 17C, not 17A.

“Sorry about that,” he said, gathering up his stuff, taking his time and purposefully dropping a few things, just to piss her off. As she waited in the aisle, Sydney sighed dramatically, crossed her arms, and turned her head to the side. With her eyes not on him, Jesse took a second to appreciate the view. She looked better every time he saw her, which wasn’t as often as when they’d still been in college. They shared the same friends, so they still encountered each other, but it had to have been at least a month since he’d seen her.

She was dressed in a tight black skirt and blouse today, like she’d come straight from work, which would be just like her. He’d heard through the grapevine that she was working at some high-end fashion magazine. It looked good on her. She’d been cool and sophisticated even in college, when all the other girls her age had been giggly idiots. Now that she was a professional, she looked sharp enough to cut glass. She’d worn her long, dark brown hair down today, which he appreciated, even though there was no way on earth that she’d done it for him. Sydney Bishop hated his guts.

She turned to look at him again. “Are you almost done? People are trying to get by and I’m blocking the way.”

“Yeah, sure.”

He stood and slid out of his seat. She tried to back up to let him out of the row, but there was a wall of people behind her who weren’t budging. So he was forced to shimmy past her as she held up her hands, leaned back, and tried not to touch him. When their faces were just inches apart, he smirked and winked. She scowled.

With a huff of annoyance, she slipped into the row as soon as he was clear of it. “Careful,” she muttered. “Wouldn’t want you to get too close and catch a chill.”

He groaned as he dropped down into his new seat. “Sydney, I’m sorry. That was an asshole thing to say.”

She gave him a brittle smile. “It’s okay; I expect nothing less from you.”

And
there
she went. Jesse was generally a laid-back guy, everybody said so. Friendly, outgoing, fun-loving. He very rarely got angry, but when he did, it always seemed like Sydney Bishop was the cause. It got under his skin, her relentless disapproval of him, which was dumb since it shouldn’t matter what she thought of him. Except it always kind of had, and he hated that. He hated that she held any kind of power over him. He thought that once they’d graduated and they didn’t see each other every day, he’d stop feeling irritated by her distaste, but it was always there, even if they didn’t cross paths for months. He’d tell himself to leave her alone, let her hate him if she wanted. Then she’d make some snide quip and instantly, he’d find himself rising to the challenge, shoving back at her just for the satisfaction of pissing her off.

“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 wedding. 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.