Page 5 of Hostile for the Holidays

“I’d ask what you were reading, but I think the entire plane heard it.”

“Oh, zip it.” I put the malfunctioning headphones back in my backpack. “I don’t care what you think.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t intriguing. And now I’m on the edge of my seat wondering if Wyatt is going to make Rosie come.”

I stare at him in shock. This isn’t happening. I’m not going to discuss my spicy romance audiobook with Jasper. There’s no way in hell.

My stomach gurgles.

Then hisses. And then there’s an unsettled roil.

With one hand on my stomach, I pause.

I can’t be hungry. I ate that salad only an hour ago.

I’m not prone to motion sickness and there hasn’t been any turbulence. It’s probably my stomach revolting at being near Jasper. A physical response to being in the presence of my arch nemesis.

Then a familiar wave washes over me.

Not the orgasmic kind. That kind of wave is typically self-induced by my vibrator after listening to a particularly spicy scene.

It’s nausea. My skin goes clammy and my body sways as I reach to the seat in front of me for support.

Oh, no.

“Jasper, I need to get up.”

“What? Why?” His brows pinch down, meeting the bridge of his glasses in concern.

But he doesn’t move.

“I need you to move. Now!”

He’s going at a sloth’s pace. Before he even has his seatbelt unbuckled, I’m climbing over his lap. Once I’m in the aisle, I make my way toward the lavatories, but both signs are illuminated in red with an X over them.

I hover outside hoping someone will come out soon, but I quickly realize I’m not going to make it.

I clamp a hand over my mouth and with maximum effort to hold everything in, I reverse direction. The lavatories up aheadare green, but the flight attendants have the drink cart blocking the aisle.

Oh, no. The contents of my stomach are bearing down on me.

I can’t throw up next to strangers.

I have to get back to my seat.

I need one of those bags.

A vomit bag.

Oh, god.

When Jasper sees me coming, he smirks.

“Back already?” he asks in a mocking tone.

Panic grips me.

“I need a bag!” I yell, but Jasper’s eyes only narrow in confusion. It’s a moment later when he sees me holding a hand over my mouth that he springs into action, reaching forward into the seatback pocket for the airplane-provided sick bag.

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