Thomas & January (Sleepless 2)

“Good morning, sunshine,” he said sarcastically. “Have a nice sleep, did you?”

“Sorry,” I said sheepishly, averting my eyes slightly. I caught the attention of a guy two rows up from me. He mistook my blush for being caught staring at him, which I wasn’t, obviously. He winked and I rolled my eyes, making me blush deeper.

I noticed Tom eyed me carefully. “What?” I asked harshly.

“Oh, nothing, really.”

“Seriously? What?”

“You can’t help it, can you?”

“Help what?” I asked, shrinking into myself.

“That,” he said, gesturing subtly toward the idiot two rows up.

“What exactly are you implying?” I gritted out. What was it about this guy that brought out the cynical in me?

“I’m not implying anything, January. I’m simply making an observation.”

“Please, enlighten me, Tom. What exactly did you observe?”

“That men fly to you like a bug to a zapper.”

“Lovely. That’s a lovely analogy. Yes, I’m a man-eater, Tom. You’ve pegged me completely and, what, you’ve come to this conclusion all from one stupid kiss? All because I made the gargantuan mistake of pressing my lips to yours?”

“Why do you keep talking about that? I never brought that up.”

“Yes, but it’s safe for me to assume that’s where you’re drawing all your reference from since the kiss has been our only real interaction with one another.”

“You forget The Belle Jar party.”

“So you flew to me like a bug to a zapper that night, did you? From what I remember, you called me a slut.”

“I did not call you a slut, January! I said what you’d done was slutty.”

“Ha! Same thing!”

“No, it’s not, and I apologized for that already. I told you I didn’t mean any of it.” He exhaled loudly. “Besides! You weren’t exactly innocent either! You played me that night! You dragged that confession out of me! God! I was such a sucker for it, too! I had no idea I’d fallen into your web until it was too late.” He pointed at himself and said, “Bug!” Then pointed at me. “Zapper!”

I smiled smugly and crossed my arms, happily burying myself into my seat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t, femme. Sure you don’t.”

“Excuse me?” I asked. “Listen, I just want to clear this up now, although I don’t why because I don’t owe you any kind of explanation, but if it’ll make you stop being such a supreme ass with me, I’ll fess up. I am not the kind of girl who kisses strange men. It was a one-time offense and you happened to be the victim, as you so seemingly are implying. I’ve only kissed two guys my entire life and you happened to be the second. I’m sorry. I’m sorry and it won’t ever happen again. I swear on my life.”

Tom narrowed his eyes briefly before fixing his expression to one of cool indifference. “Good.”

The rest of the flight was met with uneasy silence.

Thomas

She’s only kissed two guys? I almost couldn’t believe her. She was so gosh damn beautiful, there was just no way that could be possible. I watched her. She bit at the side of her thumbnail as she argued with herself internally over whether or not her outburst was smart . It was. She put me in my place and I deserved it, not that I’d let her know that little fact nor would I let her know that her confession did a bit more than that. It made her even more intriguing, if that was possible. Get a grip on yourself, Tom.

o;Loading zones ones and two,” I heard over the intercom. That was us. I stood and she followed suit, taking a long stride for each one of mine. We stood silently side by side but her carry-on carry-on was obviously too heavy for her because she kept struggling with trying to handle the awkward bag as well as her oversized oversized purse. God, what does she have in there? Every step forward was an overexerted effort, so I took the carry-on carry-on from her without asking. She held fast to it as the line moved, but I refused to let her have it back. We stood there, silently fighting over her ridiculous carry-on until the guy behind us cleared his throat. I yanked it from her hands. She huffed and straightened her clothing, puffing her disheveled hair from her face. We boarded the plane without a single word. People probably thought we were both crazy.

Unfortunately, we were forced to sit coach because the label, although made of money, apparently didn’t like to spend it. Row eight, seat B, loomed ahead of me like a dentist’s chair. Seven hours of pure hell laid ahead of me.

“You can have the window seat,” I said, gesturing to the inside seat. “I’ll take the aisle.” Try to keep the peace.