by Aly Martinez
“Yes. Play,” he sneered.
I stirred my drink. “Let me get this straight. I’m offering to fly her out in a private jet, feed her dinner at one of the best restaurants in the city, and put her front row at a concert that has been sold out for over a year. That doesn’t seem like a play to me. It sounds like I’m trying to do something nice for a woman I was rude to earlier.” I casually leaned back in my seat. “My conscience doesn’t ‘play’ when it comes to apologies.”
“Right. Well, maybe you should have a chat with your conscience, because she looks like she just won the date of a lifetime. Meanwhile, you don’t even like women.” He stalled, no doubt looking for just the right word to express his disgust without sounding like a bigot. Judging by his gentleness when we’d taken off, he wasn’t the type of guy to go for the fag bomb.
I watched him intently, excited to see how he was going to handle this.
“You’re gay.”
I frowned at his lack of creativity. “Not that it’s any of your damn business. But I’ll have you know I love women.”
It wasn’t a lie. I adored women. Especially Levee and Robin.
I just didn’t like pussy. Meh. Semantics.
He gaped. “You’re bi?”
“And I’ll repeat: None of your damn business. But yeah. Do you have a problem with that?”
Again, it wasn’t necessarily a lie.
Was I bisexual? Fuck no. My cock was in no way an equal opportunity employer.
I was somewhat bilingual though. I knew how to ask for a blow job in English and Spanish. I pretended that was what he meant.
Chupame la verga.
He shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sorry. I, uh…didn’t know.”
“It’s cool.”
He blew out a loud sigh. “I don’t like seeing people getting fucked around with. That’s all.”
“No fucking around.” Unless it’s with you. I lifted my fingers and swore, “Scout’s honor.”
He blinked rapidly as his face contorted in disbelief. “For fuck’s sake, that’s a Vulcan V.”
I shrugged and glanced at my hand. “Hm. Okay, well then… Live long and prosper.”
He sat stoically for several beats before a huge grin split his handsome face.
My eyes dropped to his plump lips, but it was the sound of his deep, carefree laugh that really transfixed me.
He cleared his throat, dragging my attention up from his mouth. His eyes danced with humor, and for a split second, I could have sworn there was some other indefinable emotion mixed in there as well.
And that was when the alarm bells started blaring in my head.
They weren’t in warning.
No. These were the sounds of a casino slot machine screaming after a jackpot.
The landing went much like the takeoff. The moment our pilot announced our descent, I doubled over struggling to breathe. Evan folded over beside me, uttering nearly apologetic explanations for every bump. He finished with a countdown that ended when our wheels safely hit the pavement. He didn’t even bat an eye when I once again anchored my hand to his thigh—only removing it when we came to a complete stop.
I would have liked to have left it there longer. I could’ve made it a sexual joke about wanting him.
But I was too preoccupied lying to myself that I wasn’t actually interested in this guy to even get that far.
Carter, along with Macy, met us in first class and escorted us off the plane and then through the airport. Numerous travelers stopped us to ask for an autograph or a picture. And, for the most part, I obliged. Evan was happy to volunteer as cell phone photographer.
I actually loved that part of my job. It never got old. But that wasn’t why I smiled for each of those pictures. It had more to do with the fact that, since we were back on solid ground, my senses had fully returned and they were all currently honed in on a broad-chested, blue-eyed pilot with dark-brown hair and a cock-hardening grin.
Once outside, Carter ushered me through a sea of paparazzi and into the back of an awaiting limo. Macy slid in beside me, quickly followed by Carter, and then before I knew it, we were pulling away.
“Wait. Where’s Evan?” I moved to the window and searched through the crowd of dispersing photographers. “We can’t leave him here!”
Carter quirked an eyebrow. “His boss sent a car to get him.”
“Why? We could have given him a ride home?”
Carter let out a knowing groan. “For fuck’s sake. The pilot, Henry?”
“What? He’s gorgeous,” I stated as my answer.
“He really was,” Macy cooed, finger combing her hot-pink hair. “Please tell me he prefers women.”
I smirked and shot her a challenging expression. “Yes, but only for a little while longer.”
She laughed.
Carter cursed under his breath. “So I guess he’s not an infant anymore?”
“Nope. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try to breast-feed him.” I waggled my eyebrows.
“Dear. God,” he mumbled, cracking a rare grin.
I gasped, clutching my heart. “Did you just smile?”
His face fell. “Don’t start with me.”
“You did!”
Macy leaned in close and whispered, “It’s because you said breast. But I’m not sure if it’s because he’s hungry or horny.”
He glowered at us.
“Hungry,” I replied. “Carter’s asexual. Best I can figure is he’s some sort of robotic super soldier gone wrong.”
“You got it,” he replied, opening a magazine. “I was a failed prototype. My punishment was being sent here to work for you.”
“You want me to give him a lap dance? See if it sparks anything?” Macy offered, digging through her bag before applying a thick coat of lip gloss.
“Nah. I’ll go first.”
Carter’s head shot up, and he leveled me with a death glare.
I threw my hands up in surrender. “Easy there, big man. It was a joke.”
“He’s scary,” Macy whispered as if he couldn’t hear from three feet away.
“That’s why I keep him. Well, that and because he’s so good to me.” I smiled. “Hey, Carter. I need the pilot’s cell phone number.”
He didn’t look up when he casually replied, “No.”
“Okay, great. Just text it to me whenever.”
“No.” He absently turned the page.
Macy desperately tried to stifle a giggle.
The corners of my mouth tipped up. “See? He adores me.” Shooting her wide eyes, I mouthed the word robot at her.
“I heard that,” Carter told his magazine.
Macy and I both burst into a loud round of laughter. And, while I couldn’t be certain, I swear I saw Carter’s lips twitch as well.
“Fine. No phone number, but I want him on my payroll as my new pilot.”
Now that got Carter’s attention. After abruptly closing the magazine, he tossed it on the seat beside him. “You’re seriously going to trust the kid to fly you just to get him in the sack?”
“Who said anything about flying? I don’t have to be on a plane again for several months.”
He crossed his thick arms over his chest. “Exactly. Why would you hire a pilot now? Do you have any idea how expensive that’s going be? Even part time is going to cost you a mint.”
Lifting a finger in the air, I corrected him. “Full time. I’ll find other duties for him to do in his downtime.” I winked.
“I’m pretty sure that’s called prostitution.”
“Po-tay-toe. Pa-tah-toe. Besides, I only need the time with him. All extracurricular activities will be performed off the clock.”
Unless I could help it. In which case, the line between work and pleasure would be seriously blurred.
Macy piped up. “I think this is a fabulous idea. But, if he doesn’t bend to your will and stays on the lady train, I want first dibs.”
“Deal.”
“What is wrong with you?”
Carter spat. “Why can’t you just sleep with groupies like everyone else?”
I curled my lip in disgust. “Uh, I believe you answered your own question. Nasty ninths aren’t exactly my thing. Besides, why do you care?” It wasn’t like this was the first time he’d ever seen me trying to seduce a man into my bed. And, honestly, I’d gone through far greater lengths than just hiring someone in order to make it happen.
He rolled his eyes. “I only care because we all know how this is going to end. You have to stop trying to convert the straight guys. It’s always a train wreck, and by the looks of Evan, this isn’t going to be any different.” He scratched the back of his head. “Shit. I really wish you would just find a nice gay guy and settle down.”
I gasped, dramatically slapping my hand against the seat beside me, the other clenching my heart. “Did you hear that, Macy?” I whispered, never tearing my eyes off him.
She sucked in a shocked breath. “You’re right. He totally adores you.”
Batting my lashes, I allowed false tears to pool in my eyes. Then I made a show of quivering my chin. “I…I love you too, Papa.”
“Jesus fucking Christ. Forget I said anything,” he grumbled.
“What, no hug?” I pouted.
“Fuck off, Henry,” he returned.
He wasn’t mad. That was just how we worked.
The other way we worked was that I knew with an absolute certainty he’d ensure Evan Roth was added to my payroll no matter the cost.
“’SUP, MAN!” SCOTT said, clasping my hand then pulling me in for a one-armed hug.
I closed my front door behind him. “Not a whole lot. Want a beer?”
He looked around my house. “Where’s Nikki?”
Good fucking question.
We hadn’t spoken since our fight two days earlier. Was that a fight? Breakup was more like it. I wasn’t ready to admit that yet. I’d called her at least a dozen times, but I’d only allowed myself to leave six messages. Clearly, that was the magical number that toed the line between concerned ex-boyfriend and stalker douchebag ex-boyfriend. She would probably disagree as she deleted them all without even listening though.
Her stuff was still at my apartment. Bobby pins still strewn over my sink and her toothbrush still sat cozied in a cup next to mine. The pajamas I’d stripped off her during our last night together were still in my laundry hamper and the book she’d been reading was still on the nightstand. She hadn’t been back while I was gone, and a part of me was almost relieved. I hated it though. I wanted to talk to her, but I had resigned myself to accept that that conversation wasn’t going to have some grand outcome. It was still going to end with her being gone and hopefully moving on with her life. Leaving me alone with the impossible task of finally figuring my own out.
“Nikki and I broke up.” There. I’d said it. And it’d sucked every bit as much as I’d anticipated.
Scott blew out a low whistle. “Was that mutual or more of a crash and burn?”
I swayed my head from side to side. “Debatable. Honestly, the whole relationship was a crash and burn from the start.”
“What? I thought you guys were good together.” He settled on a barstool. “She was a cool chick. And one hell of a cook.” He moaned and rolled his eyes back in his head. “That bacon cream cheese shit she made last time I was here. Damn. I’m gonna come just thinking about it. Hey. Can I get her number?” he joked.
I made my way to my fridge to retrieve a couple of beers. “Shut the fuck up, dickhead. I made that bacon cream cheese shit.” I twisted the top off, passed him a bottle, and then propped my hip against the counter next to him. “You want my number? I’ll slather that shit all over my balls for you.”
“Fucker.” He clinked the bottom of his beer on the mouth of mine, causing it to foam out of control.
I quickly moved it to the sink. “Come on, man. Seriously?”
“Don’t joke when it comes to food.”
I rolled my eyes. “Right.”
“So, now that you’re single, I think it’s only fitting we hit the bars.”
Scott’s desire to go out had nothing to do with my relationship status. Regardless if I was with a woman or not, his visits always consisted of the two of us going out, getting wasted, and then grabbing a cab home. He’d crash in my guest room until we’d slept the booze off, and then we’d spend the following day miserable while our bodies reminded us that we were in fact thirty-one and not twenty-one anymore.
However, minus the hangover, it’d pretty much been the same thing we’d done when we had been twenty-one.
I’d met Scott Dalton my first day at the Air Force Academy. He hadn’t changed much since then. He was bigger than the eighteen-year-old kid he’d been when we’d met. And the tattoos covering his arms were definitely additions, but besides that, he was still that same guy with the buzzed, brown hair and a wicked glimmer in his pale, green eyes. We’d been close at school. But we were closer now. He was one of the few who’d kept in touch with me after I’d left the Academy the summer before my junior year.
Eventually, we’d been stationed together at Travis Air Force Base and picked right back up where we’d left off. He was a pilot too, but unlike me, he was a lifer. The Air Force was going to have to force him into retirement before he’d ever agree to take the uniform off.
During the first few months after I’d gotten out of the service, Scott had made the ninety-minute trek from Travis to visit me nearly every weekend. He’d never admit it, but I think he was secretly worried about my transition into the civilian world. He’d seen how hard it had been for me almost a decade earlier when I’d transferred from the Air Force Academy to the University of California. I appreciated the fact that he cared enough to check up on me. I didn’t need it though. My decision to get out of the Air Force wasn’t even remotely similar to when I’d left the Academy.
This time, it had been my decision.
I’d spent months planning every last step to make it as smooth of a transition as possible. I’d taken my VA loan out, bought a house, and threw myself into making sure all of my licenses were up to date. It wasn’t long before I’d lined up a job with an airline. With as fickle as the economy was, it was a dream come true.
And short-lived.
Three days before I was released from the Air Force, the airline went belly-up.
I scrambled, but it was as though I were drowning in quicksand. The harder I fought, the more impossible finding a job became. There were more than enough desperate pilots searching for work without adding me into the mix. Scott was the only one who saw the hell I was going through. His answer was to ply me with alcohol every weekend to keep me distracted. That’s what best friends do. Even assholes like Scott Dalton.
Scott went to a lot of trouble to lead people to believe he was a douchebag. It allowed him to distance himself from serious issues even with his closest friends. It was a trait I’d loved in him when we’d first started hanging out and probably the only reason we’d been able to remain friends after everything had gone down. In reality though, Scott had the biggest heart of any guy I’d ever met—as long as you didn’t call him on it.
He was the one who finally convinced me to bite the bullet and ask my stepdad for help in finding a job. He was also the one I’d called two days later when Jackson had formally offered me a job piloting charter flights. It was only part time. And it wasn’t ideal. But Scott still celebrated with me as though I’d won the lottery.
While his visits were much less frequent now, something my liver appreciated, we still got together as often as our crazy schedules would allow.
“Sooooo?” he drawled, drumming his hands on the top of my bar. “First round’s on me.”
“I’m not sure I feel like drinking tonight.”
His eyebrows lifted so high they were nearly in his hairline.
After pushing to his feet, he prowled forward. “Oh, I think you do.”
I had him by a few inches and at least fifty pounds, but that
didn’t stop him from getting up in my face.
Typical Scott.
He wasn’t serious. I knew this dance well. If I said no again, he’d spend the next hour calling me various combinations of bitch and pussy in an effort to goad me into going. And, if I still refused, when he ran out of creative insults, he’d resort to begging.
“Let’s just stay here and drink. I do not feel like fighting a crowd tonight.”
He groaned, dropping the tough-guy act. “Come on, Roth. I need a night out. Work has been hell. I haven’t left the base since Shannon’s wedding, and let me just tell you—” He suddenly stopped, but the damage had been done.
And we both knew it.
My body froze as his slipup seared through me. It had been over ten years. I was in no way still haunted by the past. Hurt and anger no longer ruled my days.
But a pain like that never truly left you.
It had changed me.
Actually, it had changed the trajectory of my entire life.
“Dude,” he whispered in apology.
Shannon’s wedding.
Fuck.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Evan.”
Yeah. Me too.
Suddenly, a drink sounded like exactly what I needed.
“You know what? You’re right. Let’s go out.”
Getting up to take a piss at bar number three was the last thing I remembered. But, somehow, I’d managed to wake up in my bed the next morning. I was scared to look at my bank account to see the damage I’d done. If the pounding in my head was any indication, it was going to be extensive. I’d been doing shots—my personal drink of choice when trying to forget that an amazing woman was avoiding me because she loved me and I couldn’t return her feelings and also that my ex, the only person I’d ever loved, and eventually hated, had recently gotten married. Fucking awesome!
I winced. And it wasn’t because of the way my stomach churned as I rolled out of bed. My phone was lying on the ground, the screen cracked right down the center. Shit. Add that to my expenditures from the evening and I wasn’t sure I could afford to hang out with Scott again until I got a full-time gig.