The Consequence of Revenge

“Impressed?” Rex gave me a funny look, then took a sip of his drink. “I wouldn’t go as far as to say that—I mean, at first he was a bit confused.”

“Confused?” I leaned forward. “Well, that’s what every man wants to hear from the doctor who held his balls in the palm of his hand—literally.”

Rex chuckled. “Oh, not that, he just found it curious that you were going on a dating show when you already had a partner.”

Well, crap.

“I see.”

“That is another rule.” Rex pointed to the stack of papers and sniffed. “That boyfriend of yours isn’t serious, is he?”

“Oh, hell.” Was Jason seriously going to haunt me even when he wasn’t with me? “No. It won’t be a problem.”

Rex turned red and pulled at his shirt. “Yeah, well, the doctor said you two were pretty chummy and you know that’s a breach of contract to—”

“We broke up!” Holy shit. What was I doing?

Rex’s face fell. “I see, so this must be such . . . great timing.” He waved his hand around as a girl teetered her way down the aisle toward us and promptly puked in the seat to my left.

I jumped out of my seat and moved to the window seat while a stewardess walked by and started cleaning up.

“I’m sick,” puke girl whined.

I gagged and stuffed my fist in my mouth as I tried to lean far away from the fumes. Rex’s face went back to looking an orangey-purple. “Lola, take a minute, then tell me what’s wrong.”

Lola? What the hell kind of name was Lola?

She nodded and then plopped down onto a seat and put her head between her knees. Her stomach heaved again—this time making it into the nice little paper bag they provided for those types of things.

It needs to be said. I didn’t have the strongest stomach. I wasn’t the type of guy who could hold your hair while you puked and not be affected. Did that make me the worst possible boyfriend ever? Maybe. It’s entirely possible I’d throw you a towel and run out of the room gagging.

I know it’s romantic to women—oh, my gosh, he’s so sweet he held my hair while I puked up last night’s hot dog and enough rum and Diet Coke to kill Captain Jack Sparrow!

Seriously? What do you women read? How the hell is that romantic? Give me one reason. One. Just one. I don’t even need three.

Oh, wow, silence, big shock. You wanna know why? Because it’s gross. Because if I had long hair and I were leaning over the toilet, God, you would not, ever, in your right mind waltz into the bathroom, put it in a ponytail, rub my back, wipe my mouth, and think, Wow, I really love this guy, oh, look a cracker!

Lola heaved again.

“I, ugh, gotta—” I pointed to the bathroom and ran down the aisle like I was getting chased through the Amazon. Ha, see what I did there?

“Going somewhere?” A tall figure stood in front of me.

Well, speak of the devil and she appears. Note to self: the woman is a mind reader.

“Yeah, I was going to, um, take a piss.” I said it crassly, in a way that would make her think I was the most unromantic man ever to be created. Question, if I peed on her, would she run away or find it hot?

Her eyes hooded.

In her mind marking her was probably some sacred mating ritual—I’d find myself tied to a tree on that damn island while she danced around me and pointed at my parts.

“After you.” I let her go in first.

Smirking, she leaned down. “Why don’t we go in together? Nobody’s looking anyways . . .”

“You want to pee with me?” I laughed nervously, trying to step away. Oh, shit, she moved so she was blocking me from running. I was trapped. I was sweating. Damn you, Jason!

Amazon—I’m sure she had a name but I didn’t want to know it lest I classically condition myself to pee my pants every time I heard it said aloud—eyed me up and down and licked her lips. “No, I want to play with you.”

“Ha-ha,” I chuckled. “It’s against the rules.”

“I don’t follow the rules.”

“No shit.”

She hovered near me and then, no joke, lifted me into the air, my feet dangling, her breath hot on my neck. Where was Rex? The plane wasn’t full and the curtains to coach were pulled. In that moment I wondered if this what Frodo felt like when he was fighting orcs. Helpless? Small? Afraid? Did she smell fear?

“Oh, there you are!” Becca threw open the curtains and sighed, directing her attention to Amazon. “Sherry stole your pine nuts.”

Amazon dropped me onto my feet, swore under her breath, and started stampeding down the aisle toward her seat. I was half-tempted to chase after her and yell, “Git!” But that would have suggested I had been the one to scare her off, and sadly that had been done by a pint-size barista who looked like she found the idea of serving me rotten coffee . . . invigorating.

Becca rolled her eyes and reached for the bathroom door.

“Uh, thanks,” I mumbled. “For white-knighting me like that . . . it was . . .”

“Degrading?” she offered. “Embarrassing?”

“Um.” I sniffed and tried to puff up my chest to make myself look like more of a man instead of a toddler. “I was thinking brave?”

She rolled her eyes.

“That’s twice now.” Why was I still talking? Clearly she would rather see me jump out of the plane than actually talk to her, yet there went my mouth!