Disclaimer : I do not own hackers, Angelina Jolie or Jonny Lee Miller (unfortunately)
He sat, facing the window, squinting his eyes against the glare of mid-morning sun, trying desperately (yet obviously failing) to catch a glimpse of the city he was so near to. Yet, this moment, out of all the other moments Jonny had experienced the fates decided it was appropriate to drop a surprise into his lap.
"Oh shit! God, I am so sorry are you ok?" was the exclamation that followed a rather heavy rucksack (possibly filled with bricks?) smacking the bleached boy on his left temple. His hand automatically flew to his, now slightly swollen head, and he grimaced in pain, hardly noticing the person standing over him now continuing their efforts to shove the bag into the overhead locker above his seat. Slightly annoyed at this rather rude passenger, Jonny asked himself why on earth they were loading a locker when the plane was a mere 15 minutes from landing. It was then that he decided to confront this person and his eyes flew toward the offending passenger. She was a girl. A petit, slim girl wearing a black tee shirt that was scrawled with the name of a rock band he didn't know. Her belt was also black, but the buckle was of the well known Superman sign and inadvertently Jonny smiled on the inside at her choice of such a belt buckle. Her jeans were a faded grey colour, obviously worn regularly and they fit her legs tight like a second skin. The chair arm restricted his view of her feet but this was irrelevant as his eyes had already wandered up past her rounded breasts and further up toward the polka straight locks of dark brown hair that cascaded down to about mid-chest. This view was then followed by a perfectly proportioned chin, a supple pair of what seemed to be a pair of pretty life boats attached to her real mouth, a daintily pointed nose and some moss green doe eyes that were at this very moment… staring into his own.
"Do you mind if I sit here, the guy at the back kept staring at my tits."
She was blunt. But he liked it. Don't ask me why.
"Uhh...sure ok. Do you need some help with your bag?"
For a moment, her reply was paused as she seemed to be delighted at the sound of his British accent. However, she did not falter for long and replied shortly after.
"No." Slightly rude?
"...thanks, but I got it." Appologetic.
Her accent on the other hand was most definitly american; californian perhaps?
And he liked her. Don't ask me why.
For some, unknown reason he seemed to find this self-assured young woman to be rather endearing. She stretched out her body, arms above her head, clasping the rucksack with both hands and shoving it brutally through the stupidly small gap into the locker. As she did so the vintage looking tee shirt wriggled up her abs and exposed a peak of smooth alabaster skin to the interested young man and for some reason the small diamond in her belly button did not surprise him. Nor did the dainty butterfly tattoo that must have been right above her panties surprise him when she lowered herself into the seat next to him, her jeans lowering just enough to intrigue.
And He liked her. Don't ask me why.