The Wager

Chapter Three

Karma. Oh, how he loathed it. That’s what was happening to him. After all, a guy can only whore himself around the world so many times before God starts smiting or killing, or in Jake’s case, plaguing him with emotional women.

“I did not—” Jake cleared his throat and whispered, “Have an accident. This woman here”—he pointed to Char—“accosted me.”

The flight attendant looked between the two of them. “With what, sir?”

“Water,” Grandma answered for him. “She threw water on him.”

“Um…” The flight attendant shifted nervously on her feet. “Sir, did you, um… that is to say… did you want to report her?”

“To whom?” Char laughed. “The air marshal? What’s he going to do? Taser me for throwing water on this one’s favorite anatomical part?” She thrust her finger in Jake’s face and laughed. “Seriously! It’s not like I said ‘bomb’.”

“Oh, hell.” Jake pinched the bridge of his nose as the word “bomb” was repeated and then murmured back through several seats behind him, until like a literal bomb the plane was in an uproar.

“Ma’am!” The flight attendant raised her hands in front of Char’s face. “Calm down. I need you to calm down. Do you have a bomb?”

“What?” Char’s face fell. “Why the heck would I have a bomb?”

Good. At least she had enough sense to stop talking when—

“If I had a bomb, it’s not like I would be stupid enough to announce it anyway!”

Just kidding. No sense, no logic. How could he forget? It was Char they were talking about. She adopted blind dogs and cried during the stupid Sarah McLaughlin animal rescue commercials. Clearly, common sense wasn’t one of her strong suits.

“Ma’am! I need you to stop raising your voice.” The flight attendant motioned to someone behind her. Within seconds a man in jeans and a white t-shirt appeared. Well, it wouldn’t be fair to call him just a man since he probably ate small children for breakfast. Even Jake shifted uncomfortably and avoided eye contact with him.

“Are you the one talking about bombing the plane?” The man asked.

“What?” Char looked to Jake for help. And honestly, helping her probably would have been the right thing to do, all things considered.

But, she had thrown water on his pants and then accused him of having an accident.

And there was also that one time in high school when she’d told everyone that the reason he didn’t play sports was because he was afraid everyone would see his girl parts in the locker room.

So, yeah. Perhaps he wasn’t feeling very Samaritan-like.

“Jake!” Char smacked him on the shoulder. “Help me out here!”

With an evil grin, he opened his mouth to talk, but his grandma slammed her hand across it before any words could come out.

“Both of them. They both have bombs.” Then Grandma Nadine promptly burst into tears.

Real honest-to-God tears.

The next thing Jake knew, he was getting zip-tied and then force-fed peanuts by a man who had hands larger than Jake’s face, because the minute he was escorted to his seat he nearly passed out. Swell, a nervous breakdown. Just another thing to add to what had to have been the worst few months of his life.

Next thing he knew, Char was spouting out nonsense about how Jake needed protein. For some reason—perhaps it was the fact that the room was spinning—he couldn’t respond fast enough to say that he hated peanuts.

He was still trying to decide what was most horrifying: the fact that a man was actually trying to force-feed him something that rhymed with “penis”, or that the man’s fingers were softer than anything he’d ever felt against his lips. Which really begged the question, why were his fingers even touching Jake’s lips? And why did it feel so…

Holy shit. He gripped the armrests and cringed. Was he switching playing fields?

“No more penis—I mean peanuts.” Damn.

Char peered around the man and gawked. “Did you just say no more pe—”

“No!” Jake forced a laugh and tried to move as far away as possible from the man sitting between them. “I said ‘peanuts’.”

“No you didn’t.” Char grinned.

“I did.”

“You didn’t.”

“Can we please take these things off?” Jake said as he jerked against the arm rests. The zip ties wouldn’t budge and were making permanent marks on his skin. “It’s not like we really have bombs! My grandma’s insane, like, literally insane! You have no idea what she’s capable of.”

“That apple didn’t fall far from the tree,” Char huffed.

“Do you mind?” Jake peered around the air marshal. “I’m trying to get us out of a difficult situation. The least you could do is help or apologize!”

“Apologize?” Char’s eyes widened. “Apologize?” Her nostrils flared she leaned as far as the zip ties would allow and glared at Jake. “I’m surprised you even know the meaning of the word.”

Jake snorted. “I know what it means, but I’m not the guilty party.”

“Holy crap, I want to slap you across the face so hard—”

“Slap me ‘across the face so hard’? Who the hell talks like that? Same old Char, all bark and no bite. Besides, your hands are literally tied. I can say whatever the hell I want and you have to sit there and listen. In fact…”

He paused and turned the full effect of his megawatt movie-star smile onto Char. His perfectly straight white teeth clenched together as he slowly licked his bottom lip and leaned in expectantly. An errant wave of dark hair fell over his eye. Damn, the man was so sexually attractive it was offensive.

“Don’t you do it, Jake Titus. Don’t you dare do it! I’ll, I’ll—”

Jake yawned. “I’m waiting.”

“I’ll—”

“So it happened like this.” Jake turned to the air marshal and cleared his throat, but for some reason it wouldn’t clear. His mouth suddenly felt like he was swallowing cotton. “Thar…” His tongue felt huge. “Thar, I—”

“Holy crap!” Char yelled and kicked in her seat. “Um, Jake, um, Mister Air Marshal guy—”

“Randall. The name is Randall.” The guy held out his hand, then realizing Char was still zip-tied, chuckled. Jake was completely blocked from his view. Weird; it was almost like he was having trouble breathing? Maybe it was the altitude? He tried swallowing again. Shit. It was getting harder to breathe. What the hell?

“Jake!” Char yelled louder this time, and kicked the air marshal next to him. “Look, Randall? We’ve got a problem. You’re about five seconds away from having a death on your hands.”

“Dweath!” Jake croaked. Holy freaking shit, was Char going to murder him? Was the plane crashing? Well, it wasn’t as if he had anything to live for now that his grandmother had threatened career suicide if he didn’t straighten up. It was either death by her or apparently another scorned woman. He’d take his chances with Char any day over an irritated eighty-six year old with enough lipstick to outline his lifeless body for the police.

He could see the newspaper article now. Jake Titus, millionaire bad boy, cut off from entire family, dies in a plane crash with peanut crumbs on his face. Not that they would find the peanut crumbs, considering his body would probably be incinerated and… When had his life gotten so depressing?

He blamed his brother’s impending marriage. Everything had gone downhill since his brother had proposed to Jakes childhood best friend.

“Pardon?” The air Marshal stiffened, jolting Jake from his morose daydream—or nightmare, however one wanted to look at it.

“Look!” Char nodded her head in Jake’s direction. So was this how he was going to die? By Char’s hand—a woman scorned. Well, technically it would be by the air marshal’s disturbingly soft peanut-feeding hands. How the hell had he ended up starring in his own TV melodrama?

“Sir, calm down.” The air marshall’s eyes widened as he stood and hit his head on the ceiling, cursed and then ran away up the aisle. Jake’s eyes followed him. Damn, what was his problem? Was he really that concerned about Jake’s impending death?

“So…” Char’s eyes narrowed. “You allergic to anything, Jake?”

“Ha ha!” he croaked. “Yeah, right. What, you gonna poison me? Sorry, babe, I’m kind of on the right fide of pwerfection.”

Char’s bow-shaped mouth dipped into a scowl.“Yeah, there went my apology.”

“For what?” Jake straightened in his seat. Maybe if he moved around he could breathe easier?

With a muffled curse Char shrugged and looked away.

Was it hot in this airplane? What the hell was happening with his mouth? His hands had begun to itch something fierce. He looked down and froze, staring at his hands.

His very swollen, Mickey Mouse hands.

“HOLY SHWIT!” He jerked violently against the seat. “My wands, my wands!”

“Wands?” A lady turned around and stared at them both.

Char nodded solemnly. “Please excuse my friend. He’s under the impression he’s the tooth fairy.”

Full-on panic set in as it got harder and harder to breathe. Was he having an allergic reaction or was he just freaking out? Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. He looked up the aisle and noticed his grandma was strutting down it with some sort of object in her hands. Great. Now he was going to get knifed by his own grandma. Would flying experiences never be normal for him?

“Don’t worry, Jake!” Grandma pointed at him and nodded. “Grandma’s got this.” She raised her hand high into the air. Jake closed his eyes. Maybe this was just a bad dream? Maybe he wasn’t really zip-tied, maybe he was having a nervous breakdown and—

“Son of a bwitch!”Jake wailed as Grandma stabbed a needle through the hole in his jeans directly into his thigh. Well, if he didn’t die he would surely pass out from the pain. So many things to look forward to.

When the pressure subsided and the needle was gone—thank God—he opened one eye then two, to see Grandma standing in front of him with what could only be described as a torture device in her hand.

“He was allergic as a small boy. I wonder if the stress did him in…” She tsked and then motioned to Char. “Thank you, my dear. I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t have told Randall here that Jake was going to die.”

“You’re a hero, ma’am.” Randall’s lower lip quivered as he nodded his head and looked down at the ground.

You’ve got to be shitting me.

All eyes turned to Jake.

He would have sworn the plane around him fell into a deathly silence. To be fair it was an extremely small silence, since the flight from Portland to Seattle was less than an hour.

“Jake.” Grandma sighed. “Don’t you have something you need to say to Char?”

You’re insane? You almost killed me? I want to strangle you? Grumbling, he turned to look at her—really look at her. Damn, if she wasn’t still irritatingly beautiful. He could almost feel her silky hair as if it ran through his fingers. And that mouth? It was enough to drive any man to distraction. Even in his current condition he wanted to touch her lips and…

Where the hell had that thought come from?

Must be the allergic reaction.

Long chestnut hair fell in waves across her shoulders. Her blue eyes widened just a bit as his gaze fell to her full, pink lips. Only they weren’t widened in concern; if anything she was trying not to laugh.

“No.” Jake glared. “I think she knows exactly how I feel about her.”

Char’s smirk fell as her eyes turned icy. “He’s right.” Her gaze flickered back to Grandma. “He said all he needed to say the night after he slept with me and then left me a note on my pillow saying thank you. Isn’t that right, Jake?”

He should have seen the slap coming. But to be fair, he was still in shock that Char would air out their dirty laundry in front of God and everyone.

So when he felt the air whoosh by his ear, he did what any man would do. He ducked. Too bad his grandma wasn’t one to give up easily.

The second slap was a backhand and it burned like hell.

“I’ve raised you better than that!” Grandma Nadine thrust her finger in Jake’s face and shook her head.

With a huff she straightened her jacket and ordered Randall, the weepy air marshal, to untie Char, explaining that really, the issue was not with her but with Jake. Feeling wronged, Jake began yelling at the air marshall about Char saying bomb on the plane, only to get into more trouble for repeating the word again.

The final nail in Jake’s coffin was when Grandma looked Randall in the eye and said, “She saved his life.”

The next hour was the longest of his life.

His breathing was raspy. His face was most likely still swollen from both the reaction and his grandma; never had he felt less like a man. And it was all Char’s fault.