I Do (Hate You) by Sienna Blake

James

The whiskey was so good I sipped it, savoring the taste as it burned down my throat. Meanwhile, Logan and Rhys threw theirs back like teenagers doing their first Jell-O shots, while Lane had poured his over ice and water.

Rhys looked startled as he watched me hold up the shot glass and study the color. “What’s up, mate? I’ve never known you to go slow when it comes to liquor.”

“This is so good that it needs to be enjoyed slowly, like a fine woman…”

Logan and Rhys immediately faked dead and Lane pulled out the newspaper and buried his nose in it. I guess I’d given this lecture before.

I rolled my eyes. “Fine.” I threw the shot back while they shouted their approval.

We were taking Logan’s private plane to his sister’s wedding and I was in a terrible mood. I just wasn’t sure why. I was there with my two best mates, just minutes from touching down on the world’s most beautiful set of islands and in a few hours, we’d be at a bachelor party doing God knows what.

And I was really, really good at God knows what. Usually.

I was also glad that Lane was along. He was Logan’s butler and something like an uncle to him. To all of us, really. If we got too out of line, all he had to do was raise an eyebrow or say something in his proper accent and we’d feel like such morons that we’d straighten up.

The pretty young air hostess came by our chairs that were around the small table and told us we were about to land on Skye Island so we should buckle our seatbelts. She leaned in close and filled my empty shot glass then stumbled into me, her boob brushing my arm.

“Oh, sorry. We must have hit a little air pocket,” she said with a smile.

I smiled back at her and took a small sip of the whiskey before she walked off. Then I looked out the window until Rhys asked, “Mate, are you feeling okay?”

“Perhaps he has nerve damage in his arm?” Lane offered up.

It took me a few moments to realize that they were talking to me and not Logan.

“What, me? I feel great. Why?”

Logan and Rhys smirked at each other, then Logan asked, “Rhys, did you feel the plane hit an air pocket just now?”

“No, I did not. Didn’t even slosh the whiskey,” he said emphatically.

More smirks.

“Alright, what are you two smug bastards getting at?”

“The air hostess just faked like there was turbulence so she could pretend to stumble and rub her double-Ds all over your arm and you didn’t even notice,” Rhys said, looking around to make sure she was out of earshot.

Logan added, “Yeah, the last time you rode in this plane, you convinced another air hostess to give you a blow job in the toilet. Pretty bold, since that time there actually was turbulence.”

I didn’t admit it to them, but I’d had sex with so many air hostesses on so many planes that I couldn’t quite remember the incident.

“Are you sure that was me?” I asked.

“Yes,” Logan said, stifling a laugh. “Because she was the pilot’s fiancée and you told him that she had given you some of the best service you’d ever had.”

“Oh, yeah. That was pretty shitty of me. Maybe I’ve reformed,” I said half-heartedly.

“God, I hope not. Now that Rhys and I are old married men and Lane is just old, we’re counting on you to drink too much on our behalf and end up in bed with a stripper,” Logan said, and my two friends clinked their shot glasses together and downed their whiskey while Lane took a sip of his whiskey and water. After a few seconds, they made faces as it burned its way down their throats.

“At least you won’t have to get the shotgun out and use it on James like you thought you’d have to,” Rhys said.

“Shotgun? What’s that all about?” I asked indignantly.

Lane hid behind the paper again, while Logan and Rhys shared a look.

Finally, Logan shrugged and said to Rhys, “You tell him.”

“Fine. We thought something might have happened between you and Shell and since Logan knows what a, um…” Rhys paused as he searched for the right word.

“Womanizer, philanderer, scumbag,” Logan supplied with enthusiasm.

“Don’t forget playboy, rake, philanderer,” Lane added.

“Let’s go with ‘playboy.’ Since Logan knows what a playboy you are, he was worried that you might try to, uh, ‘date’ his sister, and he thought that was a bad idea.”

“Why would you think that?” I asked, trying not to sweat under their scrutiny.

“Since Talia and Logan’s fake wedding, we’d spotted a growing, uh, I guess you’d call it ‘chemistry’ between you and Shell,” Rhys said.

“And that would be a problem?’ I asked.

“Yes, mate. That would have been a huge problem because we know how much of a ratbag player you are, and if you two had hooked up, I was going to have to play protective big brother and kill you.”

“And I would have to bury the body,” Lane added.

Rhys jumped in again. “But now that Shell is getting married to a normal guy, we don’t have to worry about that. You can find some stripper or air hostess or waitress or…”

“Bikini model or beach volleyball player or…what was that last one when we took that long weekend down in Victoria?” Logan asked.

“Sommelier. Remember when her boss caught James bending her over that wine barrel? Shit, I thought he was going to pull a shotgun out on us for sure,” Rhys said as he and Logan laughed and snorted at the memory.

“Is that why you had me order twelve cases of their wine?” Lane asked Logan.

“Yeah, that was how I convinced him not to shoot James,” Logan responded.

I half-heartedly chuckled along with them, but I was secretly miffed. I’d definitely had a few women in my time. Okay, a lot of women. And they weren’t always single. And I didn’t always call them in the morning, but I wasn’t that bad of a catch, was I? Compared to boring Rupert Wilson, anyway.

Rhys and I knew Rupert from the financial world in Sydney; he was also a financier and investor and very successful, but he always looked like he had a stick up his ass. Plus, he was so paranoid about his safety, he had this creepy bodyguard who followed him around like a pit bull. What was that all about?

“Are you seriously saying that you want Rupert Wilson for a brother-in-law? That’s the guy you want to see at Christmas dinners and family reunions and kids’ birthday parties for the rest of your life?” I asked. “He is the definition of a stuffed shirt.”

Logan sat up straighter in his chair and shook his head. “No. Oh, hell no. He is boring as dirt. I would rather spend time making small talk with a potted plant than Rupert, but any man would choose a stuffed shirt over a player who would break his sister’s heart. Safe and boring is just better than fun and sketchy.”

We all laughed again. Logan, Lane and Rhys with deep, throaty laughs and me with a faked “haha.” This was not an argument I could win. Logan and Rhys had suspected that Shell and I had growing “chemistry” that didn’t go anywhere. But I knew it was chemistry that had turned into some of the hottest, dirtiest sex I’d ever had.

To my horror, I could feel myself getting hard just thinking about the taste of Shell’s—

“Passengers, this is your captain speaking. If you look to your right, you will see Skye Island, we should be touching down on the private runway in approximately two minutes. Please take your seats and fasten your seatbelts.”

I looked out the window at the clear turquoise water, the white beach and the lush green of the vegetation that covered most of the island. There were two other planes parked down there and I wondered if Shell was on one of them. I immediatelythought of her wavy auburn hair, that perfect skin, that perfect body.

I really had to stop this nonsense.

Thirty seconds later and the pilot had made a perfect landing and we came to a gentle stop at the end of the runway. He made a little “welcome” speech over the P.A. system, but all I heard was “blah, blah, blah” because I had spotted Shell getting off a jet that was parked on the tarmac.

It felt like a punch to the gut.

The sun hit her hair and picked up the highlights that were the color of honey. She looked like she had a tan too, which made me think of her in a bikini…which made me think of her naked…which made me think of…

Instead of finishing that thought, I tore my eyes away from the window to look at Lane and my idiot friends as they stood up to get their bags from the overhead compartment. They asked the air hostess if she was sticking around the island tonight and told her they were married and Lane was old but they had a friend who was single. Subtle, mates. Very subtle.

I looked back out the window and saw Shell’s face light up as she looked around, taking in the beautiful scenery. I knew she loved this place, so it was a natural venue for her wedding, even if she was marrying a tool.

Almost as if the thought of him had somehow conjured him up, I spotted Rupert walking over to the plane and Shell greeting him with a kiss. If you could call that a kiss. If she were my fiancée, I’d have trouble not ripping that silky little dress off her body right there. Just the sight of her perfect tits barely poking out the top of her outfit was enough to make me want to jump through this window.

The shatterproof glass of the plane window made that impossible, of course, but so did Rupert’s bodyguard Clive, who was lurking behind him. He scanned Shell’s group of friends like they might try to attack his boss.

Clive reminded me of a gorilla with a facial scar. I spent at least an hour a day in the gym, but I’d still hate to meet that guy in a dark alley. I wondered how big the man must have been to be able to knife him in the face. Shell looked past her fiancé at the bodyguard and her expression made me think that she agreed with me.

Logan interrupted my thoughts when he elbowed me in the shoulder as he walked down the aisle. “They just opened the door, James. Let’s roll.”

“Coming,” I said, getting one last look at his sister. I couldn’t help but feel regret over Shell, but I did wish her the best. If Rupert was the best, then I’d be happy for her.

And I’d really try not to stare at Shell in front of him.