Fall

by Callihan, Kristen

Slowly, I nod. “I believe you.”

  Her answering nod isn’t exactly easy, but her shoulders aren’t as stiff. “That leads me to the second thing. I know I should have asked long ago, but it would have ruined the surprise. Are you comfortable with me taking you up?”

  “Are you shitting me? I can’t wait to see you fly.”

  Pleasure lights her blue eyes but she doesn’t smile. “This isn’t going to be like a commercial flight. It’s going to be a bumpy ride. Do you get airsick? Tell the truth, because barfing in a small plane won’t be fun. No judgment.”

  I snort but look her straight in the eye. “Teflon stomach, babe. Cross my heart.”

  She lets out a relieved breath. “Just let me know if you’re feeling sick.”

  “Believe me, I’m not into getting sick either. I’ll tell you.”

  With that, Stella reaches into the tiny back and pulls out two thin packs with four-point harnesses.

  “Flight parachutes,” Stella explains. “Pretty comfortable, all things considered.”

  “Parachutes?” I can’t deny that I’m a little shocked and a wee bit unnerved. Because it’s just us. I certainly don’t want to skydive alone. “Are you expecting me to jump out of this plane?”

  Her laugh is bright. “No. No jumping. I promise.”

  “Then why the parachute? ’Cos I gotta admit, I’ve been in a small aircraft before, and I’ve never been asked to wear one of these. I trust you not to crash. Honestly.”

  Stella grins wide, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, thank you, John. I’m relieved. We’re putting them on because it’s the law if I take a passenger up. Now, will you put on the parachute and stop asking questions?”

  I’ve never heard of this law, but okay, I’ll humor her. Holding my tongue, I put the chute on, not even cracking a joke when she bends near my crotch to help me with the clasps.

  Did I say Stella was sexy when she checked her plane over? That is nothing—nothing—compared to seeing her do her inside preflight check. Or when watching her taxi to the runway and talk to the tower to get the okay to take off. I swear I have stars in my eyes by the time she hits the throttle and we hurtle down the runway in this tiny-ass plane with a cockpit so small, my shoulder brushes hers.

  And though I’ve been in a small plane before, the experience of lifting off with Stella, the ground simply falling away as we swoop up into the blue sky, is breathtaking.

  She turns and gives me a grin when I laugh. “All good?” she asks, her voice crackling over our headsets.

  “Beautiful.” The Atlantic stretches out wide and dark blue to my right. Manhattan is behind us, while below is the pale strip of the Long Island beaches.

  We gain altitude before Stella speaks. “Okay. About the parachutes—”

  “I swear to God, Stells, if you tell me we’re bailing, I will tie you down and find a way to fly this thing back myself.”

  She laughs, the sound small in the headsets. “You never wanted to skydive?”

  “Already done it.” She shoots me a surprised look, and I shrug. “It was during my thrill-seeking days.”

  “Hmm … Well, at least I know you’re not going to freak out on me. But, no, that’s not what I’m talking about.” She turns the plane, the movement graceful and efficient. “Here’s the thing. I do aerobatics.”

  “Like stunts?” And I’m getting hard again. “Are you shitting me?”

  Her expression is careful, almost worried about my reaction. “Yeah. You up for some?”

  Holy hell. My girl has taken me flying and wants to do stunts for me. I grin so wide, the headphones practically fall off. “Oh, fuck yes.”

  Her answering grin is filled with giddy glee. “We’ll start off with a hammerhead. Then do a couple of rolls and a loop. Nothing too crazy.”

  “Nothing too crazy, eh?”

  The corners of her eyes crinkle. “I’m tempted to show you crazy but we’re not in the proper aircraft for advanced stuff. This plane is for the basics.”

  I’ll take her word for it. No need to tell her I’m hard as a freaking plank, that I find her so fucking sexy right now, I’m having trouble concentrating. Why the hell did I tell her we’d take it slow?

  A cool calm settles over Stella and it is a sight to see. With deft moves she takes us up into the sky; we’re totally vertical and climbing. It’s a strange sensation, gravity pressing me into the seat back, nothing but blue sky in my field of vision. Up we go until it feels like we’re slowing. Everything seems to stop—a moment of eerie stillness. The engine is clearly running hard but it’s as if we’ve stalled.

  It’s kind of terrifying. Yet Stella’s concentration is complete, and I feel safe as houses.

  Then suddenly the plane pitches to the left, a total ninety-degree drop-off. And we’re falling, diving straight down. I can’t help it, I whoop like I’m on a roller coaster. The ground is rushing toward us, and then it isn’t. We’re going back up, rolling, ground and sky a blur. My insides are being rearranged, the muscles on my neck strain, and my head feels like a bowling ball. It is fucking brilliant.

  Stella takes the plane back up toward sky. Up, up, up … and over. Her hair is on end. My stomach is in my throat as the plane does a loop. I’m yelling again, laughing, utterly alive in this moment.

  She levels out, and it takes a minute to get my bearings. My head spins and my blood is pumping but I’d happily stay up here with Stella and watch her do loop after loop.

  “I take it you like this,” Stella says, her voice small and crackling in my headset.

  “Like it? I love it.”

  “Me too.” Her face glows with happiness as she flies us along the pale strip of beach that makes up Long Island. “I feel free up here, literally being away from the world. But competent too. I’m in complete control in my plane. Doing the maneuvers requires perfect precision. I don’t have time to focus on anything else. And that’s freeing too.”

  “I get that. It’s how I feel about music. It pulls me into the moment and there’s nothing else. I don’t feel like a fuckup because I know I’m good at it.” I glance at her. “That probably sounds conceited, huh.”

  “No. It sounds like the truth. You are good. False humility is way more annoying and conceited.” Her nose wrinkles. “Nothing worse than someone pretending they think they aren’t any good just so you can gush about how good they are.”

  “Most musicians I meet know they’re good but still want you to gush. We’re arrogant that way.”

  “You want me to sing your praises, Blackwood?”

  “Tempting. Depends on what you’re wearing while doing it, though.”

  Stella snorts. “That will have to wait for later. There’s a storm moving in faster than the weather had predicted.” Dark clouds are on the horizon and coming closer. “Let’s head back.”

  I watch as Stella does her thing, talking to air traffic control, maneuvering the plane toward the runway. But when we’re on final approach, and she gets clearance to land, she turns to me. “You want to take us in?”

  “What? Me?”

  “Yeah. Take the yoke. Put your feet on the pedals.” She grins at my stunned face. “It’s okay. You’d be doing this your first time up if this were a lesson.”

  I do what she says, slightly nervous I’m going to kill us, but trusting Stella knows her business.

  “Pedals connect to the rudders, which turn the nose of the plane left and right. The yolk controls the pitch and roll. Up and down, side to side. Pull the yoke back a bit. We want the nose up more. Good. Now, a little pressure on your left rudder to counteract the wind.”

  Under my clumsy moves, the plane wobbles, then steadies. Stella messes with flaps and throttle, all the while giving me instruction with her smooth voice. My palms sweat, my heart beats faster.

  “Steady. A little back on the yoke. Little more. Hold it.”

  Although we’re slowing, it still looks as though the ground is rushing up to meet us. Then we’re floating for a second, suspen
ded in time. The wheels hit with a small bump and jolt. Stella takes over, braking. And like that, we’re taxiing on the runway.

  It’s surreal the way it feels to be on the ground again, like we’d been something else entirely up there and now we’re back, slightly changed. Or maybe I’m the one who is changed. I don’t feel like the same guy who started the day. I’m altered—something within me has shifted or cracked. I don’t know which, but I know I’m not the same anymore.

  I keep quiet at Stella parks her plane. I keep quiet as she does her postflight check and ties everything up. I keep quiet until she turns to me with a wide but slightly wobbly smile on her pretty face. “All done. You ready?”

  Yes. Yes, I am.

  That’s when I pounce.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  John

  Stella’s eyes widen, her pink lips parting as I stalk up to her. My legs feel like rubber, and I don’t know if it’s from being in the plane or because I’m so completely undone by Stella that I can’t contain myself. Either way, I’m practically shaking by the time I stand before her, my hands cupping her smooth cheeks, fingers sliding up into the silky strands of her hair.

  My forehead rests against hers, and for a second, I just breathe her in. She carries the scent of her beloved plane, the leather of the jacket she wears, of sweat and sunshine and warm woman. It isn’t comforting, her scent. Not by a long shot. I can’t call it comforting when she makes my heart pound and my mind race with all the ways I want her. The scent of Stella doesn’t comfort; it kicks me into high gear.

  “Stells,” I rasp, because my voice isn’t all there yet. “You’re always surprising me. Always making me so fucking happy just to be with you.”

  I want to tell her more, tell her how glad I am that I found her, and the thought of losing her scares the ever-loving shit out of me, but I can’t say any of that now. I have to taste her.

  Her mouth is soft and plush, a sweet peach of a mouth. I groan like a man dying of thirst and finally tasting the rain as I slide my tongue in her warm, wet heat to get another taste. God, she’s delicious, addictive.

  Kissing Stella is a full-body experience. She moves with me, her lips surging against mine, her little tongue a slick, sly tease. I feel it at the base of my cock, in heated flutters along my abs, raking up the backs of my thighs. I’m floating, and only she can ground me.

  My hand finds the smooth satin of her back where she’s slightly damp and warm. The curve of her waist fits my palm perfectly, and I stroke here there, loving the way she shivers, the delicate little squeaks of want she makes in her throat.

  I know, honey, I want it too.

  I press closer, sliding my thigh between hers, when a loud voice cuts right through my haze of lust.

  “We got kids here, Stella,” a man says gruffly. “And they didn’t come for a show.”

  Stella jerks as though pinched and steps back from my embrace. But she leaves a hand on my chest. It’s a simple, proprietary act that has me biting back a smile. Though it probably wouldn’t be a great idea to sport a shit-eating grin right now. An older, weathered man is glaring at me like he knows exactly where my mind was and he does not approve.

  “Hank,” Stella says, a little breathlessly, “I didn’t see you there.”

  “No doubt, as you were otherwise occupied,” Hank says drolly. He might be fifty or sixty. It’s hard to tell. Deep crinkles fan out from the corners of his eyes and run down the crests of his cheeks. A veritable paragraph of frown lines ripple along the dark-brown skin of his forehead. I don’t know if they’re always around or forming because of his scowl, but I’m betting the former.

  Stella laughs, her cheeks going pink. “Yes, Hank. I was.”

  He proves no less immune to her smile than I am, and his furrowed brow smooths a little. “Have a good flight?”

  “An excellent one.” Her palm glides down my chest and centers over my heart. “This is my friend John.”

  Hank’s eyes narrow. “Friend, eh?”

  “Good friend,” Stella amends, completely unfazed and adorably happy.

  Since Hank is just standing there, glaring a hole through my forehead, I step forward. “Good to meet you.”

  He takes my hand and gives it a death squeeze. But I’ve played guitar since I was a kid, so my hand is too strong to crush. We end our standoff with Hank letting go and giving me a nod before turning to Stella. “Saw you up there. Your pitch was off by a degree on the hammerhead.”

  Stella’s nose wrinkles. “I know.”

  “Stella could compete if she wanted to,” Hank says to me, and despite what Stella seems to think about Hank not being the fatherly type, the man is clearly proud of her. “Or be an instructor. Just a matter of getting a license.”

  Stella blushes. “Then flying wouldn’t be just for me anymore. It would be tied to expectations and work.”

  “If you love it, it isn’t work,” Hank states.

  He’s right, and he’s wrong. I love making music, playing my guitar, and singing. I couldn’t wait to dive headlong into being a star. But it has become work. Expectations and the stress of fulfilling endless commitments take a toll. Suddenly the thing I love isn’t pure anymore. It has a life of its own, and it can drain me if I’m not careful. So I get why Stella doesn’t want to turn her passion into her work.

  My hand cups the back of Stella’s neck in a silent show of support. But she doesn’t need it. Stella shakes her head softly and laughs a little. “That would be a great argument, Hank, if I hadn’t heard you complain about students on a daily basis for years.”

  Hank laughs, a wheezy crackling sound, like he doesn’t do it very much. “True that, Stella girl.”

  The wind kicks up, rushing along the ground and whipping at the tops of the low-lying trees surrounding the airport. It’s getting darker, the sky leaden with gray clouds.

  Hank glances up, frowning. “You going back to the city?”

  “That was the plan,” Stella says.

  “We’re not going to make it.” Even as I speak, it begins to rain a light sprinkle. It’s going to be much worse any second now. I glance down at Stella. “We’re on a bike. Trust me, you don’t want to ride in a rainstorm.”

  She studies the sky. “We’ll have to hunker down at a restaurant for a while. Do you mind?”

  “I don’t have any place to be but with you.”

  She pinks at that, but Hank clears his throat, sounding fairly disgusted. “Why don’t you come over for dinner? Corinne would love to see you.”

  “Oh … I …” Stella’s eyes dart to me, as if she’s worried about putting me out.

  Honestly, I’m probably in for a night of getting the side eye from Hank, since he hasn’t stopped glaring at me since he showed up. But he clearly cares about Stella, and he’s obviously important to her.

  “Sounds good to me,” I say, just as the skies open up for real.

  * * *

  Stella

  “How far away is Hank’s house?” John asks over the pinging rain as we get on his bike.

  Hank has jogged off toward his pickup, and we’re preparing to follow.

  “About five miles. I don’t mind getting a little wet.” A boom of thunder has me jumping.

  John grunts and hands me my helmet. “Riding in a thunderstorm isn’t something I want to risk with you. Rain like this isn’t going to feel good. Tuck your head against my back.”

  John starts the bike, and we head out onto the highway behind Hank’s truck. Rain pelts us, and I rethink my carefree stance about getting wet. Rain hitting you at sixty miles an hour is not fun. I feel for John who is taking the brunt of it, and snuggle closer to his back.

  It gets colder and wetter, and by the time John turns the bike onto Hank’s street, I’m shivering. The sight of Hank’s green-and-white ’50s split-level is a relief. Hank opens his garage and motions for John to park his bike next to the truck.

  As soon as John turns off his bike, Corinne opens the kitchen door and waves us in. “Co
me in, come in. You must be freezing.” She beams at me as I walk up. “Hello, baby girl. It’s been too long since I’ve seen you.”

  “Hey, Corinne.” I kiss her smooth cheek and draw in the familiar scent of lilac soap. “I’ve missed you too.”

  No matter the time or place, Corinne is always put together. Today her lips are glossy coral, her steel-gray hair cropped close to her head. Gold bangles jangle on her arm as pats my shoulder and then smiles over at John. “I see you brought a friend.”

  John steps into the kitchen hall. “John Blackwood. Thank you for having me, ma’am.”

  “Oh, pish on ma’am. Makes me feel old. Do I look old?” she teases.

  John’s cheeks flush. “Not at all, ma’am—er—”

  “Call me Corinne,” she says, putting John out of his misery. She leads us into a big, cheery kitchen that they renovated last year with dark wood cabinets and green granite counters. And though I’d never say so to Corinne, a part of me misses the older kitchen with its ’80s laminate cabinets, butcher-block counters, and gray tile floors. Only because I’d spent so much time here as a teen.

  The new kitchen is gorgeous, and completely Corinne’s style, but it doesn’t feel like home the way the other one did. Even so, it smells the same, warm and inviting, the scent of pot roast making my mouth water.

  John and I take off our jackets and Corinne tsks. “Both your pants are soaked. Let’s see what we can do about that.”

  Despite our protests, Corinne marches us off, John being sent to the guest bath and me to their daughter Lucille’s room. Soon, I’m wearing a pair of hot-pink yoga pants she left behind when she went off to college. I meet John in the hall and grin. He’s wearing Hank’s old Air Force Academy sweatpants, and they are a wee bit tight.

  “Sexy,” I say, glancing at his bony ankles exposed by the too-short pants.

  “Wait till you see my ass,” he whispers, walking a little down the hall like he’s a runway model.

  The sweats are indeed hugging his ass like a lecher. But he works it. I wolf whistle, and he glances over his shoulder to wink before coming back to me. Despite my fear that he’d hate visiting, he appears relaxed, happy even. But his eyes search mine, and the humor in his fades. “You told me you didn’t have any family.”