Rachel Dyken: The Wager

“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 tsk ed 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.

Jake’s gaze was literally burning a hole into the back of her head. Lucky for her, every time she turned around the Jake she was used to seeing was puffy and sweaty—totally ruining the sex-on-a-stick mentality she’d always associated with him.

She waved her fingers in his direction.

His eyes narrowed as he jerked against the seat again. Char sighed and twisted around her right shoulder, to see Beth sitting in her seat, happily sleeping. Had she really missed that entire drama? Worst. Sister. Ever.