The Wager (The Bet 2)

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?