Hostile for the Holidays

1. Stella

ONE

STELLA

I don’t know why people complain about traveling during the holidays. I love the hustle and bustle of the crowds, the anticipation of fellow travelers who are excited to reunite with family and friends, and of course, the festive décor and music in the terminal. It’s the most wonderful time of the year after all.

For me, everything has gone smoothly this afternoon.

Traffic to LaGuardia was light, I checked my bag with plenty of time. I was even able to snag the last Cobb salad at the Grab N’ Go station for a light lunch. Now, I’m at the gate and ready to board, so I can relax.

My eyes scan over the waiting area. There’s a couple whose two kids are playing a game of cards across the open seat in one of the airport seating banks. An elderly couple looking at a phone screen together and talking. It’s calm. It’s chill.

Everything is going according to—oh my god. My eyes snag on a familiar face waiting in the boarding line, then I do a double-take because it’s not possible. He’s not supposed to be here .

But sure enough, it’s him .

Thick, wavy copper-brown hair attached to a face with obnoxiously perfect bone structure. I mean, whose jaw is that sculpted? And why are his cheekbones perfectly proportioned to his sharp nose and full lips? Also, the dark-framed glasses he’s wearing aren’t giving nerdy tech guy at all.

Glancing down at his phone, he moves forward with the line. He’s wearing dark jeans and a crocheted red holiday sweater with a snowflake on it that I wish looked silly on him but unfortunately the color compliments his warm skin tone. And the worst of it is he looks good. Better than good. Downright delectable.

I make an effort to clear my dry throat.

He shifts the wool coat from one arm to another and tucks his phone into his back pocket.

A moment later his head swings in my direction, and I instinctively slip behind a large round column next to the trash receptacles.

I think he saw me. We only locked eyes for a half a millisecond, but that’s all the time I need to confirm that it is, without a doubt, him. I’d know those hazel eyes glinting with intensity anywhere.

Jasper Jensen, my childhood rival, and nemesis, is boarding my plane.

What’s he doing in New York? He’s supposed to be hidden away in his gated Silicon Valley mansion with all the other tech nerds creating ground-breaking technological advances.

I don’t keep tabs on Jasper, but I’d have to be living under a rock to not know about his successes.

Jasper is the CEO of his own company, Jensen Innovations. It’s some cutting-edge VR/AR technology that is used for corporate training and education. That’s right. He’s a tech billionaire and he’s gorgeous. And he’s making that god awful holiday sweater with a large snowflake on it look good. How many guys can say that?

With my back pressed to the hard concrete post, I take stock of my body.

Beneath my cashmere cardigan sweater my heart is racing a mile a minute. My palms are sweaty, making it difficult to keep a grasp on my leather travel bag, and beneath the waistband of my designer jeans, my tummy is tingling with an edgy, anticipatory buzz.

All the ease I was feeling earlier has been chased away by Jasper’s sudden appearance.

It’s worse than seeing an ex. Coming face to face with my childhood rival is like going to battle in The Hunger Games and I was not prepared for that today. I’ve got nothing in my arsenal. No witty comebacks or one-upping stories. In the rush to get out of my apartment earlier, I don’t even think I put on deodorant.

The unnerving thing about this moment? I have all the boxes of a successful life checked. I was just promoted to creative director at the lifestyle brand I work for, East & Ivy. I’m the youngest creative director in the industry right now, and my branding ideas have sent sales and advertising skyrocketing. I have an apartment in the trendy and vibrant Chelsea neighborhood, and my social calendar is filled to the brim.

Or at least it’s filled with first dates that amount to nothing more because finding a man to date in New York City is like trying to find a lost sock at the laundromat. It’s an impossible feat. I’m never going to find the match.

And while logically I know I have time to meet the man of my dreams, there’s something about the fact that my younger sister is getting married in less than two weeks that has caused my brain to hyper fixate on the fact that I’m still very single, and nowhere close to finding the one.

But other than my relationship status, I’m living my best life.

Because I’m an overachiever. I always give everything one hundred and ten percent effort.

It’s the reason for Jasper and my rivalry. Since that fateful day in second grade when he told me boys were smarter than girls, a modern-age battle of the sexes began. Nothing was off limits. We competed for top grades, top honors, and generally aimed to outdo each other in everything we did. In fifth grade when we selected instruments for band, I desperately wanted to play the clarinet but I was sick the day instruments were assigned and I got stuck with Jasper on the drums. To my parents’ dismay, I practiced day in and day out to hone my rhythmic skills on the drum line.

Then, we both made drum major our senior year in band, but Jasper and I had differing opinions on how things should be run, so poor Mrs. Jones, the band director, had to break up our arguments more than a handful of times. There was the famous half-time show where half of the band followed my direction, while the other half went along with Jasper. It was complete chaos and Mrs. Jones required us to take turns each game directing the band to avoid another mishap like that.

But I’m an adult now. I can choose to not let Jasper Jensen get under my skin. I’m going to march right over to the line and get on this plane without saying a word to him. Without giving him the satisfaction of knowing that seeing him today has rattled me.

But first, I’m going to peek around the post to make sure the coast is clear.

For a moment, I think about taking another flight, but that won’t work.

My sister, Sadie, would kill me if I didn’t get to Cedar Hollow today. She’s been texting me for the past two days about all the wedding stuff that needs to be done. How stressful it is going to be to fit Christmas and her wedding into the next ten days.

I resisted the urge to tell her that Christmas was already scheduled, so it’s not like it came out of nowhere when she picked New Year’s Eve as her and Tom’s wedding date.

Knowing I can’t avoid getting on the plane, I set my leather travel bag on my carry-on and stealthily make my way to the gate. As I board the plane, I put on my oversized sunglasses hoping they will act as an invisibility cloak and make it impossible to recognize me.

I’m certain Jasper will be in first class, so I just need to make it past that section of the plane and then I’ll be in the clear. I pull the latest issue of Vanity Fair from my bag and discreetly hold it in front of my face. I’m moving quickly through the aisle, refusing to make eye contact with anyone, and just when I’ve cleared first class, I slam into the back of the person in front of me, dropping my magazine.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize as I reach down to grab the magazine. As I stand, my eyes lock on the man in the red sweater in front of me. In my attempt to avoid Jasper, I ran straight into him.

What the hell? Why isn’t he seated in a cushy oversized chair and being served a glass of champagne?

His full lips offer up a sly grin. “Stella St. James, as I live and breathe.”

I swallow hard at the sound of his deep baritone, but refuse to let the husky charm of his vocal cords affect me. Or that perfectly arranged smirk that is somehow both enigmatic and friendly at the same time.

But there’s nothing friendly between me and Jasper.

“Jasper Jensen, please die and decay,” I mutter.

“Glad to see you’re still keeping things interesting.” He laughs, nodding at the sunglasses I’m wearing. His laugh is the sound of my childhood and teenage years, only a few octaves lower now that he’s a full-grown man.

I ignore him, focusing on the passengers in front of us loading their carry-ons into the overhead bins and taking their seats, but his presence puts me on edge. I’d expected him to stop in first class, you know, the whole billionaire thing, and now I’m wondering why he’s even on a commercial flight. He must have a company jet.

My curiosity overrides my instinct to not engage with him.

“What are you doing on my plane?” I ask, my tone accusatory.

“This is your plane?” He turns around to smirk at me. “Stella Skyways? I had no idea.”

“You know what I mean. Why are you in New York? I thought you lived in LA.”

“Keeping tabs on me, Stell?” His smile is so confident, I want to smack it right off his face.

The shortening of my name sends a rush of adrenaline through my veins.

Stell from Hell is the nickname that Jasper gave me in middle school. He used it whenever he thought I was being dramatic or over the top, which in his opinion was often. In turn, I called him Jasper the Disaster , but it didn’t have the same effect of riling him up like his nickname for me did, because truth was, he wasn’t a disaster. He was a straight-A student, all-star athlete, and popular guy who excelled at everything he did.

“You wish.” I barely refrain from sticking out my tongue, because it doesn’t matter that I’m twenty-eight years old, Jasper makes me feel like I’m seven and I’ve got to hold my own on the playground.

“I was here for a business meeting, and now I’m flying home for the holidays. Is that okay with you, Stell?”

I wait for him to add from hell , but it doesn’t come.

We move forward down the aisle, and I wait for him to stop at his seat so I can pass.

He doesn’t stop. He keeps moving. And as we get closer to the back of the plane, my stress level is peaking.

With his proximity my initial flight instincts shift into full-on fight mode.

“By the way, your sweater is ugly.”

“Thanks.” He turns back to smile at me. “My ninety-year-old grandmother crocheted it for me.”

I reconsider my comment because that’s really sweet but Jasper doesn’t deserve an ounce of kindness from me. He made sure of that our senior year in high school when he spread a rumor that I was in training to become a nun and going to join a convent after graduation. I didn’t find out about it until I was dateless for prom and asked Jamal Lancaster to go with me. He declined because he said he actually wanted to have fun and not be going with a nun.

“This has been a super fun reunion, but I’d like to get to my seat so if you could move it along.”

“My seat is right there.” He points in front of me to row thirty-three where next to an older gentleman, there are two unoccupied seats.

All the color drains from my face.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He shows me his phone. Thirty-three D. He has the seat next to mine.

How is that possible? Of all the airports in the city, of all the flights and seat assignments, how the hell did I end up next to Jasper Jensen on this four-plus-hour flight?

A flight attendant wearing a reindeer antler headband with red and green jingle bells and a cheery smile approaches us. “Please find your seat so passengers behind you can pass by.”

Jasper motions for me to claim my middle seat but I’m not ready to give in that easily.

I ignore him and turn my attention to the flight attendant. “About the seat situation, is there a chance I could move to an empty seat?”

“I believe it’s a completely full flight, so I’m afraid all the seats are taken.”

“Maybe I could switch with someone? Anyone?” I plead, looking around me, but nobody wants a middle seat toward the back of the plane.

She gives me a placating smile, then motions for me to take my seat.

“Fine,” I growl, defeated. I don’t plan to talk to him anyways. I’ll put on my headphones and listen to one of my friend Pippa’s romance novels on audiobook.

Jasper has already placed his carry-on overhead, and is waiting in the aisle for me. I attempt to shove my carry-on suitcase under the seat, but the flight attendant stops me.

“Miss, that will have to go overhead.”

“Sure. No problem.” That’s what I say, but I know lifting this overloaded carry-on is going to be a challenge. Lift with the legs, engage the core. The suitcase doesn’t make it past my knees. It’s clear from this demonstration of my weak muscles that I need to start working out.

“If it’s oversized, we’ll need to check it,” the flight attendant warns me, the bells on her headband jingling ominously with the shake of her head.

“I—” I start to protest because this suitcase is important. It’s got all the new design concepts I’ve been working on as well as my sketch book, presents for my family, and my bridesmaid dress.

“We’ll make it fit.” That’s Jasper as he easily lifts it above our heads and into place in the overhead bin. I’m a statue as his body curves over mine, his broad chest and that gawdy sweater of his brushing against my back. I get a whiff of his cologne and damn it, he smells great, too. Meanwhile, my deodorant-less armpits are dripping sweat.

Jasper winks at the flight attendant and she blushes.

“Get a room,” I hiss when she’s gone, then take the middle seat.

“I was being nice,” he says, dropping into the seat next to mine.

“You were flirting while she’s trying to work.”

“Do you even know what flirting looks like?” he asks.

“Excuse me?” I scoff. The comment feels like a direct dig at my relationship status. That being single and alone and most likely to be eaten by my cats if I had cats. Which is why I will not be adopting any cats, for any reason, ever. “I have plenty of experience with flirting and men flirting with me.”

“Sure.” He nods. He’s agreeing with me but it’s his tone that gets to me. It’s the one that tells me he’s placating me, which from Jasper is like putting a match to gasoline. It’s what Jasper does. He riles me up then brushes off a conversation that I was winning as not a big deal. Well, it’s a big deal to me.

“For your information, I am a prolific dater. I have been on plenty of dates with highly desirable suitors.” I push my leather travel bag under the seat in front of me and buckle my seatbelt.

“Yeah?” His brows lift, and it’s unfair how attractive he looks making that quizzical face. “Are you currently in a relationship?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. I haven’t found the right guy to commit to.”

“And these dates you’ve been on, how many of them were second dates?” he asks.

My hackles rise, wondering what he’s inferring.

“What does that have to do with anything?” I snap.

“Can’t start a relationship without a second date.” He smirks.

I think back to the dates I’ve been on this year and other than the doctor that had to leave in the middle of our date so we rescheduled, there haven’t been any second dates.

I find Jasper staring at me, a peculiar look on his face that has me going on the defensive.

“That doesn’t mean anything. And you’re one to talk. Where’s your girlfriend?” I motion to the empty space around us to prove my point.

“Don’t have one.”

“Ha!” I exclaim, shooting my finger in the air like I’ve solved an age-old mystery.

The woosh and subsequent shifting of the plane lifting off has me reaching for the arm rest. However, it’s not the plastic arm rest my fingers grip, but Jasper’s warm, muscular forearm.

I hadn’t even realized we were taking off.

“Excuse me.”

“You’re excused,” Jasper says, leaning back into his seat.

“That’s not what I was referring to. You need to move your arm.” I nudge at his forearm with my elbow. “Everyone knows the courtesy is to give the person in the middle seat two arm rests.”

“Nobody knows that. You’re making it up.”

“Well, they should. It’s the way to balance out the discomfort of being the middle seater.”

“Aren’t you going to tell him about this policy?” Jasper lifts his chin toward our row companion.

The man’s large frame is sprawled out, his forearm taking up the entirety of the arm rest between us. His mouth, which is covered by a thick brown mustache, is gaping open because he’s already asleep.

I open my mouth to argue with Jasper, but that’s what he wants so I snap it closed and decide to ignore him for the rest of the flight.

Leaning forward, I reach into my travel bag for my noise cancelling headphones. They were a gift from Sadie last Christmas and I’m thankful today more than ever for them.

Jasper makes me cranky and moody. And my stomach hurt.

That’s a new one.

Ignoring my body’s reaction to Jasper, I power on my Bluetooth headphones, then start playing my audiobook where I left off last night. It was right in the middle of a tension-filled sex scene. That’s exactly what I need to distract myself from Jasper’s presence. And I love the fact that I can listen to this sexy audiobook and he has no idea. It’s my little secret.

I wait for the audiobook to start, but nothing happens. I reach down to hit play again, but it says it’s already playing. I can see the seconds ticking down on my screen. That’s odd.

A hand lifts the side of my headphones. Why can’t he leave me in peace? Also, why is this audiobook not playing?

“What?” I ask sharply.

“Your audiobook is playing out loud.”

I yank my headphones off and immediately hear the male narrator describing in explicit detail how he’s going to make the female character come. My hands fumble for my phone and try to hit the pause button, but I accidentally swipe the volume and the groan of the narrator’s voice gets louder.

Beside me, Jasper takes my phone and hits pause like a person with steady fingers can.

I glance up to see the woman in front of me giving me a scolding glance over her seat.

“Sorry,” I whisper, wanting to sink underneath my seat.

“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 ahead are 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.

But he’s not fast enough. And I know I’m not going to make it.

I reach for the hem of my sweater to make a makeshift bowl or bag or anything that is going to catch what is coming up.

Then, I let it all go.