Uncaged (Corps Security 3.5)
Page 10
Hate. I hate onions. I hate Ohio drivers in the winter. I hate anything sparkly-vampire related.
I hate a lot of things, I really do, but it’s a strong emotion I only use when thinking about trivial things. My husband, though? Never, not once, have I ever felt hatred towards him, and it tore me in two to hear him say those words. And what’s worse is that I’ll never hear him say anything again.
We never did make it to Chicago. I don’t remember much about that accident. Actually, I don’t remember the accident at all. A car accident. I used to think that was so cliché. Couldn’t life be a little more creative? And now, here I am, widowed at twenty-six because of a damn car accident I have no memory of, only splotchy nightmares that just give me snippets of what happened.
The eye witness and police reports say that a young college student was running late to get onto the Purdue campus for his early afternoon classes. He cut us off, clipping the front end of our car. We ended up spinning into oncoming traffic where we were hit by an SUV on the driver’s side. He was killed instantly. I was knocked unconscious. When I woke up the next day in an Indianapolis hospital, I knew.
“Mrs. Tate, I wish we could have done something, but he was killed on impact. Take solace in knowing that he felt no pain…” The doctor continued, but his words were drowned out in my mind, replaced by others.
I fucking hate you sometimes.
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Excerpt from PUSH THE ENVELOPE by Rochelle Paige
Flowers…check.
Chocolates…check.
Champagne chilled and ready to go…check.
Noise-canceling headphones so I didn’t have to listen to whatever noises were going to float up from the rear cabin…check.
This was so totally not the normal pilot’s checklist. When I talked to Dad over the summer about offering Mile High Club charter flights so we had some extra money coming in to cover my room and board at college, I had no idea how the idea would take off. I’d figured I would take a couple flights out each month so Dad wouldn’t have to scrimp on anything so that I could live on campus. He really wanted me to get the whole college experience, especially since I had chosen to stay in town for school.
Who knew there were so many middle-aged housewives looking to spice up their marriages? I usually had three to four flights booked each week now. At a cool grand per booking, we made enough to cover my room and board and maintenance on the planes, and we even had money left over to pay off my student loans and to cover my tuition for my next two years. I guess they’re right when the say sex sells!
Since the flights were offered in the evening, they didn’t interfere with my classes. Dad wanted as little to do with this venture as possible. He had told me that this was my idea, and he expected me to run with it. Talking about anything connected to sex with his daughter wasn’t really high on his list of things to do. I figured I was lucky that he was willing to let me use the Cherokee for the flights. I just had to make sure I booked them when I was able to be in the pilot’s seat. The last thing I wanted to do was screw my grade point average over because I was skipping too many classes to pilot the flights I was only offering so I could pay for school in the first place.
Today’s flight was due to depart in about thirty minutes, so the lucky couple should be here any minute now. I needed to get my butt in gear so I would be ready when they arrived. The plane was set up for their romantic rendezvous. I was dressed in my charter pilot gear of loose khaki pants and a Hewett Charters polo shirt. I’d pulled my long brown hair back in a low ponytail. This appearance seemed to help the wives feel more comfortable with the idea that their pilot was a twenty year-old girl. Add into the equation that I am passably attractive and I could have a problem on my hands with my paying customers. So I did what I could to make sure I presented myself as a capable pilot and nothing else.
I know it’s crazy for some people to picture me piloting a plane, but I started flying with my dad before I ever got behind the wheel of a car. He lived to fly and taught me to love it as well. I had my permit when I was sixteen, earned my private license when I was seventeen, and got my professional license when I turned eighteen. Some days it felt like I spent more time during my life up in the air than I did on the ground.
Yet another reason Dad wanted me to live on campus this year—so I could hang out with girls and act my age. Dad and I had been two peas in a pod forever, and now he worried that I needed to have a normal life with girlfriends, parties, and boys. I admit that my upbringing wasn’t exactly orthodox, but I was happy with the way things were. I just wished Dad would understand that.
Damn, it sounded to me like my housewife of the day had gone all out for this trip based on the click of her stilettos hitting the tarmac. I didn’t understand how women could walk on shoes that looked like skyscrapers to me. Guess that was just the tomboy in me, much to my best friend’s dismay. Time to get my head in the game so I didn’t scare off the paying customers.
“Welcome to Hewett Charters,” I greeted the middle-aged couple as they made their way towards me. “You must be Mr. and Mrs. Williams?”
“Yes, that’s us,” tittered the platinum-blond woman as her husband looked at me quizzically. I guessed that she hadn’t used their real name in the hope that they could keep their trip private. She needn’t have had that concern since I offered complete confidentiality.
“Thank you for booking your flight with us today,” I said. “Everything is all set, and we can be in flight as soon as you are ready to go. Did you have any questions before we board?”
“Ummmm, are you our pilot?” asked Mr. Williams.
“Yes, I’m Alexa Hewett. Don’t worry. You’re safe with me. I’ve been doing private sightseeing tours for a couple years and have had my pilot’s license for almost three years. I might be a little young, but I grew up with my dad in the cockpit of a plane. I can assure you that I am fully qualified to take you up,” I answered.
“And how does this work exactly?” he questioned.
I couldn’t help but smile at the question. It seemed that the wives always booked these flights, and the husbands always seemed uncertain once they got here. I even had flights where the husband had no idea that his wife had booked the tour with the sole purpose of getting it on mid-flight. The expressions on their faces when they saw the bed in the cabin were priceless. It kind of cracked me up since I always figured guys were less shy about sex. Which may still prove to be true since I hadn’t seen a single guy yet turn down the opportunity offered by my special charter flights.
“If you will follow me this way, you can see how we’ve set the Cherokee up so that you will have plenty of room in the rear cabin. Once we are in flight, I will draw the privacy curtain and wear noise-canceling headphones during the flight. I will be able to communicate with the tower but won’t be able to hear anything from the cabin. Any of your activities while on board will be as private as possible.” They both nodded and looked at each other while blushing.
I walked the couple towards the plane, showed them the bed area we had fashioned by removing four of the seats, and asked them to sit in the rear-facing seats during takeoff for their safety. If the hot looks they were flashing each other as they buckled up were any indication, they were ready to go.
“Enjoy the refreshments, and I will let you know when it is safe to move about the cabin,” I said as I got settled into the cockpit.
As I prepared for takeoff, I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself about the irony of me helping couples to spice up their sex lives. I wasn’t exactly qualified to do so except for piloting the plane. I couldn’t really be described as very experienced in the bedroom. Yet, I have turned my beloved Cherokee into the equivalent of a by-the-hour hotel room.
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