Flying Gold

by Vanessa North

  “Let’s get married.”

  “What?”

  “If you’ll have me, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I don’t want to wait.”

  I take a deep, shuddering breath. “Are you asking for real?”

  “Marry me.” His full lips tilt up in one of his sunny smiles. “Let’s race cars and take pictures and have babies.”

  “I want that. Babies and all. But I don’t want to leave Georgia.”

  “I don’t either.” He grins at me. “Obviously I have to travel sometimes. But I’ve been thinking I should give up the apartment in L.A. and make Atlanta my home base.”

  My voice catches in my throat. “Can we start now?”

  He raises my hand up to his lips and presses a kiss to my knuckles. “How about a Vegas wedding?”

  The idea is thrilling—no planning, no waiting. Foot to the floor and pray.

  Tanner will kill you.

  My inner voice gives me pause. Would she, though? Tanner wants me happy. Tanner is risk-averse—Duke Wilson aside—but in the year she’s been back, I’ve gotten to know the other side of Tanner. She isn’t disapproving—just cautious.

  I meet Matt’s gaze over our joined hands. “If we can catch a plane out to Vegas tonight, we could be married this time tomorrow.”

  He grins and kisses me, all fierce and excited. “It’s a two-hour drive to the Atlanta airport. Bet we can make it in ninety minutes.”

  Matt

  Trent doesn’t ask questions when I text him, he just launches into action, which is how, twenty-four hours later, I find myself standing in a wedding chapel watching the woman I love walk down the aisle.

  My throat is tight, and my eyes are wet, but when she steps up next to me and places her hand in mine, I can’t help but grin.

  She glances back over her shoulder, just like on the first day we met, then looks back at me and winks.

  “You are gorgeous,” I whisper, watching her cheeks turn pink under her freckles. She’s wearing a simple white column dress and her hair hangs loose around her shoulders. I can’t believe she’s mine.

  The minister, a short redheaded woman who looks about ninety, peers up at us and smiles. “Matthew and Tiffani, welcome.”

  I take a deep breath and bite my lip as she reads the ceremony script, unable to take my eyes off Tiffani, whose hands shake in mine.

  We recite our vows in hushed, reverent tones, and Tiffani wipes a tear off my face with her thumb.

  And then I’m kissing my wife.

  I taste salt on her lips, and I realize she’s crying too, which makes me laugh, and she throws her arms around my neck and holds me like she doesn’t ever want to let go.

  That night, our first night as a married couple, we lie on our stomachs in the hotel room, eating cake in bed.

  “You know what I’m going to remember best about today?” I bump her shoulder with mine.

  “What’s that?” She licks the tines of her fork and drops it into the empty cake box.

  “You looking over your shoulder when I smiled at you.”

  “I’m going to remember you laughing when we kissed.”

  “I’m going to remember you wiping that tear off my face so the photographer wouldn’t catch it.”

  “I’m going to remember everything.” She smiles and rolls onto her back. “I can’t believe we did it.”

  “When are you going to tell your family?”

  Her smile widens to a grin. “Maybe tomorrow. I’ve got plans for tonight.”

  Epilogue

  Tiffani

  I text Tanner from bed, with Matt snoring beside me.

  So, I can’t be your maid of honor. I’m sorry.

  And then I stifle a giggle so I don’t wake my husband as I take a picture of the ring on my left hand.

  What the hell have you done???

  This time I can’t stifle the laugh, or the snort that comes with it. Matt rolls over and looks at me sleepily. “What are you doing?”

  My phone rings. I silence it, then tap out another text. Don’t worry. I’ll still be your matron of honor.

  “I’m telling the family our news.”

  “Oh.” He smiles and pulls me back down to the bed and kisses his way from my collarbone up to my shoulder.

  My phone erupts with texts. His starts ringing.

  “Someone called your mom,” I whisper, and he laughs as he picks up his phone.

  “The rest of the world can wait,” he says. “The rest of our lives can’t.”

  We turn off the phones.

  * * *

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  Stay tuned for the next book in the American Heavy Metal series, Salvaged Steel, coming in 2020!

  Loved Flying Gold?

  To read more books by Vanessa North, please visit her website at vanessanorth.com/books.

  Acknowledgments

  A huge thanks to my husband, who was a significant help on all things car related, from ignition coils to packing parachutes. It was a lot. I love you.

  Mackenzie, as always, thank you for your thoughtful guidance through edits and your help to make this story the best it could be.

  About the Author

  Vanessa North is a romance novelist, a short fiction geek, and a knitter of strange and wonderful things. Her works have been shortlisted for both the Lambda Literary Award and the RITA® Award, and have garnered praise from the New York Times, the Washington Post, and Publishers Weekly. She lives in Northwest Georgia with her family: a Viking, twin boy-children, and a pair of large dogs.

  Find Vanessa on the web at vanessanorth.com.

  Twitter: Twitter.com/byvanessanorth.

  Facebook: Facebook.com/authorvanessanorth.

  Instagram: Instagram.com/vanessanorth.

  Sign up for her newsletter at vanessanorth.com/newsletter-signup.

  Coming Soon from Carina Press

  and Vanessa North

  Read on for an excerpt from Salvaged Steel.

  Tegan

  I sit down in the recliner in my living room and open my laptop, leaving the fancy blonde asleep in my bedroom. Elspeth. A pretty name for a pretty girl. I glance over my shoulder; I can see the outline of her body under the sheets, and I wish I wanted her more.

  I open the chat window, and the familiar avatar appears. A white SuperSnake Shelby Mustang with black racing stripes. I type out a single word.

  Hey.

  The reply dots appear.

  What’s up? Surprised your online. How was the derby?

  I smile at his typo. I can you’re/your/yore at him all day long and it never takes.

  Fun. I was first one eliminated, unfortunately. But I had a good time. Met a girl.

  His reply is lightning-fast.

  Pretty?

  I mull my answer. Sometimes he gets weird and quiet when I talk about girls. When was the last time he brought someone home? I can’t remember. Before I broke up with Katie. Hell, that was almost a year ago. Poor Cal, that’s a hell of a dry spell.

  Yeah. Pretty enough. If you go for tall, skinny blondes.

  I am not tall, skinny, or blonde.

  Who doesn’t? Did you fuck her?

  I glance over my shoulder again.

  You know I did.

  He sends over a GIF of Neil Patrick Harris requesting the highest of fives and I snort. Not jealous tonight. Good. I hate when he gets jealous. I like being able to tell him everything.

  She’s pretty, but I don’t know. I didn’t feel a connection, you know? Like, I’m not looking to get married, but I wish I could meet someone who didn’t lo
ok at me like I have three heads. I don’t think she gets the car stuff at all.

  What does she do? Oh, no, don’t tell me. I want to guess. She sells Clinique.

  Nope.

  Uh, okay. Hold on. Lemme think.

  He thinks for a long time. Long enough for me to set the laptop down and get a beer from the fridge. When I get back, his next guess is waiting for me.

  Paralegal.

  I shake my head, grinning, even though he can’t see me. Nope.

  Is she a clown? Like, how big are her feet? Are you into feet?

  This time I can’t hold back my laughter. I clap my hand over my mouth.

  She’s a camera operator. On a TV show.

  Huh. Failed actress. Never would have guessed you’d meet one of those in Royal. Sorry the sex was bad.

  Tears are rolling down my face now. You’re terrible. The sex was fine. Good. The sex was good.

  You don’t sound convinced.

  I blow out a breath. I don’t know how to explain this to Cal. It’s not about the sex. The sex was fine, good, whatever. Call me a stereotype of the clingy lesbian, but I want more. I watch Tanner and Duke banter and make doe eyes at each other over the dinner table, and I get jealous.

  The sex was good. But I’m still lonely.

  Me too.

  And yeah, that’s why we’re both online in the middle of the night, talking to the only person in the world who seems to really get the other. His next message isn’t a surprise, he says it all the time. It makes me smile like it always does.

  You just need a wingman to look out for you. Make sure you go to the right places, meet the right girls. Come to California. We’ll pick up girls together.

  I can’t. It’s not a lie, not exactly. I could—but something about this friendship is too special. What if we met face-to-face and hated each other? I don’t want to fuck this up.

  Someday, Tegan Ellis. Someday I’ll make you laugh in person.

  “Tegan?” Elspeth’s sleepy voice comes from the doorway.

  Gotta go. I type fast, then slam the laptop shut.

  “Hey.” I stand and turn to face her. “Sorry, I don’t sleep well. Did I wake you?”

  She shakes her head and holds out her hand. She’s truly gorgeous, in that way girls like her, girls who won the lottery of cultural expectations of beauty, are. Her hair is tangled from my bed, but in a rumpled, sexy way. Her lips are full and symmetrical. Her body is long and lean, everything mine isn’t. I take her hand and let her pull me close. She presses me back against the door frame and kisses me.

  It’s a nice kiss. It’s everything a kiss is supposed to be. But it doesn’t rev me up.

  “Come back to bed,” she purrs into my ear. “I know how to tire you out.”

  With a final look at the laptop on my recliner, I let her pull me into the darkened bedroom and do her best.

  Cal

  I stare at my phone, at the last words she sent in the chat. Gotta go.

  No brb. Just that sign off and her avatar turned gray. Did she and her blonde go back to bed?

  The thought sours my stomach. I’ve been listening to Tegan’s stories of conquest with growing irritation for years. Not at Tegan—it’s not her fault I’m a chicken shit—but at myself. When she met Katie and fell in love, I fell too—into the kind of heartsick I didn’t know I would ever climb out of.

  I wished I’d never sent her the visor for her GTO, the one that kicked off our friendship. I wished I’d never signed onto the forums where we met. I was so sick with jealousy, I wished I’d never met her. Which is ironic, because we’ve never met in person. I don’t even know what she looks like.

  When they broke up, just after her dad passed away, I was a complete jerk to her about it. I told her she needed someone like Katie to take care of her, that she was acting out of grief, not being rational.

  I was the one not being rational.

  I’m in love with Tegan Ellis, and I don’t know if I can live through watching her fall in love with someone else again. And just like I did with everyone else on those damned macho car forums, I let her think I was a dude.

  I swallow back that tangle of helpless laugh-sob that our conversations always seem to evoke, and I cross the trailer to the tiny fridge that holds the few perishable foods I keep on hand. I pull a beer out of the six-pack and crack it open.

  If you like tall, blonde, and skinny. Oh, the irony. She could have been describing me. I’m only five foot nine, but that’s tall for a woman. My hair started out brown, but it bleaches pale over the summer, and it’s been years since I’ve cut it. Skinny? I hate the word, hurled at me too long in insult, but it fits. I’ve never gained weight easily. Between a natural slim build and Grave’s Disease, I’m more angular than curvy, even into my twenties, even after thyroid surgery.

  What is she doing with her camera operator now? The one who doesn’t get her, but gets to be with her?

  I hate imagining her with her lovers, but I’m weak. I imagine hands, the same hands that send me the messages that make me laugh. The same hands that are strong enough and clever enough to dismantle cars in salvage yards. The same hands that clean engines, order parts, take notes in her delicate handwriting. I’ve seen that—on the Christmas card she sends every year. It’s dainty, girly handwriting, and it makes me wonder if she dotted her i’s with hearts as a kid like I did.

  In my mind, I can be her camera operator hookup, and those hands can run down my body, can tease me open and make me shake with need. I can be the one who stretches out in her bed afterward; I can be the one who holds her when she sleeps.

  It’s not real, because she’s thousands of miles away and thinks I’m a man.

  It’s not real, because if I tell her the truth now, she’ll hate me.

  It’s not real, because I’m just a car on her computer screen.

  A car that gets a Christmas card.

  I take a long pull on the beer, and I step out of the airstream into the chill of a spring night, and tug my cardigan close around my shoulders. I can just barely see the ocean from my front porch, and I know without seeing that the lights of San Francisco sparkle in the distance, but it might as well be a different world out there. Like Tegan, I live out past suburbia into the parts of the countryside where salvage yards can sprawl with the scraps of a motor-driven society. I look out over my field of chrome and rust. These rows of metal and mess gave mobility to thousands of people, only to end up here, trapping me under the responsibility of watching them disintegrate into history one picked-over shell after the next.

  This land, this yard, this harvest of parts, has been in my family for generations. And now it’s mine. A dead end for the cars, a dead end for me, the dead end of my family.

  I drink down the rest of the beer and crush the can, tossing it into the recycling container.

  Tegan makes me want more than dead ends. And I made that impossible before I ever knew her.

  Copyright © 2018 by Vanessa North

  Also available from Vanessa North,

  Summer Stock

  Tabloid scandals have driven TV star Ryan Hertzog to North Carolina’s Outer Banks, where he’s hiding out doing summer stock at his cousin’s seaside theater. When a hookup with local handyman Trey Donovan results in Ryan being photographed butt naked, he vows to keep his pants on and his hands off Trey. How was he supposed to know Trey would turn out to be the summer stock set builder?

  Trey isn’t looking for a relationship; he’s still recovering from the emotional fallout of an abusive marriage. But Ryan’s laughter draws him in again and again, and he’s not about to say no to fooling around.

  As the summer heats up, the paparazzi catch Ryan in increasingly compromising situations. Ryan might be too much drama for a summer fling—and Trey might be just an intermission from Ryan’s Hollywood life. But if they take their cues from Shakespe
are, all’s well that ends well.

  Catch the show at vanessanorth.com/summer-stock.

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