The Jacket Snatcher

Chapter 4- The Battle of the Armrest

After a while of ignoring Luke next to me and listening to music, I look up to find the seatbelt light still lit up. That's strange. I feel like by now the stewardesses are usually walking around handing out drinks and passengers are usually relaxing without the dang seatbelts sitting tight across their hips.

I fiddle with mine, loosening it slightly and rolling my hips so that I am in a more comfortable position. I can feel Luke staring at me, but I continue to ignore him like I have been since he refused to be a gentleman and let me have the armrest. He sighs loudly, but I still don't look.

Even now, the ache in my elbow, from sitting with my arms tucked tightly against my sides, strengthens my resolve to continue the cold-shoulder treatment.

Just then, the plane jolts and bounces. Instinctually, I reach to steady myself against the armrest and only succeed in grabbing onto Luke's hand. Once the plane settles again, I tear it away and back into my lap.

"See. I knew you wouldn't be able to resist for long." I don't even have to look to know that he's smirking--which is good because I still refuse to look at him.

"Gross," I say to myself, taking my hand and dragging it across my jeans a few times as if scrubbing it clean from the touch of his diseased skin.

He lets out a real laugh. And honestly, it's a nice sound. So nice that I have to consciously restrain myself from turning to see if his eyes are lit up or what his genuine smile might look like. Out of my peripheral vision, I can see him lean forward, trying to catch a glimpse of my face. I angle my chin slightly, just enough to deny him access to my features.

He lets out a frustrated noise. A smile breaks out across my face in triumph. I have finally been able to agitate him as much as he has been ruffling me since I met him. I know that someone like him feeds on attention, and he seems to be used to getting it. But I am starving him of it, and he can't stand it. The feeling is exhilarating.

"Are you seriously going to ignore me this whole trip?" he whines.

I don't answer.

"It's eighteen hours!"

My smile gets wider.

"I can tell you're smiling," he huffs. "I can see your dimple through your hair."

Good. He can eat his heart out.

"Come on, Steph." I almost flinch at his use of my nickname. "I'm so bored."

He's actually like a child.

"The boys made me sit by myself, and now you're being just as mean as they are."

Yep. Just like my four year-old cousin.

He sighs when he realizes I haven't cracked one bit. I notice as he pulls his arm from the rest between us and drops it into his lap. Is this his olive branch? I pause for a beat before placing my arm across it.

"Will you talk to me now?" he asks, hope in his voice.

I decide that his moment of humility deserves at least some recognition. I glance over at him and give him a cheeky smile, but I don't say a word. He waits in expectation, but when I don't say anything, he sighs again, crosses his arms, and closes his eyes, leaning back onto the chair with a shake of his head.

I also take this opportunity to lean my head back and rest, but after some time, I start to shiver, even with Brett's hoodie on. I reach up to twist the air off, but my vent is already closed. That's when I remember my extra jacket in my carry-on. I always bring an extra for flights like this one so that I can use it as a blanket for my lap.