Fly With Me

by Chanel Cleeton

  Almost home.

  I stood in the cockpit, swinging myself to the canopy rail to avoid standing on the seat. I climbed down the ladder, unhooking my harness, letting the boys breathe, doing my postflight walk-around, running my hands on my jet, stroking the metal. I finished everything up, an edgy energy filling me as I went back to the squadron and rushed through the debrief, struggling to concentrate with the knowledge of what awaited me on the other side.

  I went home to the girl waiting for me in bed.

  JORDAN

  I heard the sound of the key card sliding into the electronic lock, my heart pounding with anticipation.

  Noah had to wake up early this morning so we’d gone to bed at 10 p.m. last night. Well, he’d gone to bed. I’d lain awake, a million thoughts running through my mind on loop, struggling to get it together, to figure out how I was going to get on a plane and fly back to Florida leaving all this behind me.

  Yeah, I still didn’t have an answer to that one.

  I had to get back. My partner, Sophia, was working the store and watching my dog, Lulu, but it was only a temporary arrangement. It wasn’t like I could duck out on my responsibilities. Even if I wanted to.

  I’d spent the morning packing, waiting for Noah to come back from his flight before I headed to the airport, and now he was here, and holy hell, I was not prepared for the sight in front of me.

  I’d been asleep when he’d gone to work in the morning, so I’d missed the opportunity to see him in a flight suit. Now that I’d made up for that and experienced him in his full glory, I knew it was an image I’d likely never forget.

  Noah opened his mouth to speak, staring at me kneeling on the bed, and I held up a hand in the air, cutting him off.

  “I’m gonna need you to just stand there for a moment.”

  He cocked his head to the side, a gleam entering his gaze.

  “You know how guys get off on pictures of topless girls with their legs spread and like a cherry hanging from their mouth?”

  His eyes went dark, a delicious tension filling the air around us as he nodded slowly.

  “This is my version of a Playboy magazine and you’re basically Miss February.”

  Noah’s lips curved. I wasn’t kidding.

  I came up on my knees, crawling to the edge of the bed, sinking back on my heels, his body close enough that I could reach out and touch it if I wanted to. Which I didn’t. Not yet, at least. Right now I wanted to burn this image into my brain.

  He wore a green flight suit covered in patches and Velcro and all kinds of interesting zippers and pockets that hugged his tall frame in all the right places, his legs seeming longer, his shoulders broader. His sleeves were rolled up to expose tanned, muscular forearms, his wrist adorned with the watch I had previously thought capable of conducting missions to the moon, and now knowing what he did for a living, probably wasn’t that far off.

  His feet were covered in rugged green boots, a blue hat in his hand, which I figured was another part of his ensemble. His flight suit was unzipped a bit, exposing a khaki-colored T-shirt underneath, the zipper that ran down the entire front of his flight suit, from neck to crotch, a temptation I couldn’t ignore.

  His eyes locked on to me like he was devouring me, even as he stood as I’d asked him, his lips firm, his jaw tight, his hair just a bit messy.

  I rose up on my knees, crooking a finger at him, beckoning him closer, my nipples already pebbling with the promise of what was to come.

  Noah stalked toward the bed, his gaze intent on me dressed in his T-shirt, which I’d slept in the night before. He stopped so close that our bodies touched and I swayed a bit toward him, unsteady on my knees as I reached out and stroked the patch on his shoulder, a gold leaf-looking object.

  “What’s that?”

  “Major rank.”

  I trailed my hand down to his chest, tracing the stitching on the patch with his name, Noah Miller, and his call sign, Burn. I moved over to his shoulder, to the patch with the lettering that said “Aces Wild” and had a picture of an F-16 on it.

  “And this one?”

  “Squadron patch. Our squadron is the Wild Aces.”

  I touched the patch on his other shoulder, reading the words there.

  “This one?”

  “It says that I graduated weapons school.” He grinned. “And yes, as much as it pains me to admit it, it is kind of like the Air Force’s version of Top Gun.”

  My eyes gleamed. “So you’re kind of a badass.”

  His hand reached out, skimming under the hem of the T-shirt, palming my ass, squeezing, molding me against his cock.

  A hiss escaped my mouth.

  He quirked a brow at me. “If I said yes, would it help me get laid?”

  I gave him a teasing smile, my eyes smoldering. I leaned in closer, my lips grazing his ear, my words a whisper.

  “You were always going to get laid. The flight suit, and the patches, and your general badassness just mean that later on, when I’m by myself, turned on and needing relief, it’s going to be your face I see when I have my hand between my legs.”

  He groaned, his grip on me tightening, and then the next thing I knew, my back hit the mattress and six feet, two inches of aroused fighter pilot mounted me and took the fantasy to a whole other level.

  He still smelled like Noah, but there was another scent there, too—a combination of gasoline, sweat, and metal that was sexy as hell. His flight suit felt scratchy against my skin, my fingers fumbling for the zipper between us, tugging it down until I had a hand in his boxers, stroking him, and he groaned again, burying his face in my neck.

  There was something different in the way he kissed me this time, how his hands pulled my hair, and he nearly ripped the shirt off me. It was in me, spurring me on as my heels dug into his back, as I gripped the open sides of his flight suit, hauling him toward me so I could feast on his mouth. My fingernails scraped at his skin, my hips seeking his, every part of my body desperate to collide with him.

  There was no foreplay here, no laughter, no sweetness.

  There was desperation.

  Need and want sharpened to a knifepoint that stabbed me over and over again until I ached.

  I wasn’t ready to walk away from this, wasn’t ready to let go. And yet, somehow, I had to get on a plane and leave all of this—him—behind.

  Zippers and Velcro dug into my skin, and I craved the bite, wanted the marks to last on my skin. Wanted to remember every single second of this when I feared it would soon all feel like a dream.

  Noah reared back, leaving me spread open on the bed, chest panting, skin flushed, mouth swollen. He grabbed a condom, sliding it on, his flight suit unzipped, boxers open, gah.

  He pulled me to the edge of the bed, his fingers stroking my clit, dipping into the wetness there, and then he replaced his touch with his cock as he thrust into me, hard, his hands coming to rest on either side of my hips, holding me in place as he began fucking me in earnest.

  I came undone.

  There was nothing to do but hold on for the ride, nothing to do but get swept up in Noah. When I came, I came hard, my arms and legs wrapped around him like I never wanted to let go.

  NOAH

  I stood outside the base hotel, Jordan’s bags on the ground next to us, taxi waiting, staring down at her face, our bodies entwined, my feet lead, every instinct screaming at me not to let go.

  I felt raw inside after the sex we’d had, although “sex” seemed too tame a word for it. I felt scraped, and scratched, and hollowed out. Like I’d gone a round with the centrifuge and lost.

  I ran a finger down her jaw, tracing her face, ending at her mouth, my thumb brushing back and forth against her fuck-me lips.

  “When can I see you again?”

  I wasn’t fucking around. Not after everything, and definitely not after what had just h
appened between us in bed.

  Her lips curved against my fingers.

  “When do you want to see me again?” she asked.

  “What are you doing this weekend?”

  A beat of silence passed and then her smile widened.

  “You?”

  Relief flooded me. God, I adored this girl.

  “Unfortunately, I can’t get leave with such short notice, but if I bought you a plane ticket, could you come out to Oklahoma? For the weekend?”

  She hesitated for a second. “The store’s open, but between Sophia and the staff, we could probably cover it.”

  “So you’ll come?”

  She nodded, her gaze on me. “I’ll come.”

  Yes.

  I captured her mouth, putting everything I had into the kiss, giving her the kind of good-bye that I hoped would keep the memory of us alive until I could see her again. When I couldn’t stall any longer, I pulled back, unable to resist the urge to stroke her hair.

  “I’m sorry I can’t see you off at the airport. Stupid meeting.”

  She smiled. “It’s cool. You more than made up for it with the send-off you gave me.”

  “Let me know you landed safely, okay?” I murmured against her mouth. “I’ll call you tonight.”

  Jordan leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to my cheek, her lips cool against my skin.

  “I will. Be safe, Noah. I’ll see you Friday.”

  I squeezed her hand and then released her fingers, watching as she got into the cab, as the door shut behind her. I stood there as the cab drove away, farther and farther, until it was nothing but a speck on the landscape.

  And then it was gone and the knot in my chest grew, until I reminded myself that even though this felt like good-bye, it was something else entirely. It was the beginning.

  Just four days and then I’d have her back again.

  NINE

  JORDAN

  I felt like a different person getting off the plane in Florida. It was strange—parts of me were still the same and yet they felt so altered. It was like everything was divided into halves—the before and the after. And Noah was somewhere in the center, turning my world upside down.

  I walked into my boutique, The Sassy Seahorse, the next morning, coffee in one hand, a bag of croissants from the bakery next door in the other.

  We had the best location, one Sophia and I had spent weeks searching for. It wasn’t cheap, but it gave us amazing foot traffic from tourists and locals. Our town, Seaspray, wasn’t big, but it had the cutest beach area that drew a crowd during Florida’s nearly nonexistent winters and postcard-like summers. Little shops lined the streets, all locally owned boutiques with colorful awnings and cute names that incorporated alliteration and some form of marine animal and catered to a mix of wealthy locals and tourists who were so filled with gratitude to be out of snow and below-freezing temperatures that they happily parted with seventy dollars for a bathing suit.

  Our boutique sat a block from the beach, so close that you could smell the salty air, sandwiched in between The Coral Cupcake, a bakery known for incorporating cute beach-themed designs on some of the best baked goods in the world, and The Preppy Pelican, a kid’s clothing store that I’d already mentally spent a small fortune at in preparation for Mike and Meg eventually having kids.

  The front door swung closed behind me and the sight of brightly colored dresses, metallic sandals, and bikinis with funky prints hit me full-force. It might have been late February, but it was Florida and the tourists were already coming in droves, flocking toward one part of the country that wasn’t besieged by winter. It was early, but it was already shaping up to be a very good year.

  I set my bag down behind the register, going through the motions of opening the store. Sophia had closed the night before so there wasn’t a ton of straightening up to do. Just turning on the register, flicking on lights, making sure everything was neat and in its proper place.

  We were open six days a week, from ten in the morning until six in the evening. We’d fidgeted with our hours before finding the perfect combination that worked with our sleepy town. This part of the state wasn’t the get-drunk-and-take-your-top-off Florida that you saw on news programs lambasting the debauchery of spring break. No, this was quiet Florida, the home of the early bird special, the kind of town where families moved because it was a good place to raise kids.

  My parents were third generation, and I’d never considered living anywhere else. I’d gone away for college, but my family was here, and I was a Florida girl through and through. I’d figured I’d meet some guy and we’d get engaged and then married, and settle down here, and it would be the perfect place to raise our kids. I just hadn’t planned on how long I’d be searching, or considered the fact that while this was a great place to raise kids, it was a really shitty place to be single. There wasn’t any nightlife to speak of, and more and more of my contemporaries were heading farther south in search of better jobs and a more affordable cost of living.

  Making my dating pool even smaller.

  I finished tidying up minutes before the seahorse-shaped clock on the wall hit ten. I walked over to the entrance, flipping the sign in the front window and propping the door open.

  They came in droves.

  The awesome thing about living in a small town was that it genuinely felt like a family. I’d known most of our customers since I was a kid, and we had a loyal base that came to stock their wardrobes. And everyone knew we’d been to Vegas, so of course, they all came in wanting details.

  I was telling my fifth person about Meg’s bachelorette when Sophia strolled in with my dog, Lulu.

  Best part of owning your own boutique?

  The ability to bring your dog to work whenever you wanted.

  Lulu’s entry was accompanied by the usual noises and exclamations that came whenever anyone saw her. She was quite possibly the cutest dog I’d ever seen, and while I might not have been the most impartial source considering I loved her like a child, the attention she garnered confirmed my feelings.

  She had short legs and a squat body that looked like a cross between a pug and a dachshund. Her face was all beagle, her fur covered in black and white spots that made people ask me if she was a mini-Dalmatian. Her tail was possibly her best feature. It wagged constantly in an enthusiastic thump that had been known to whack you if you got too close. She wore a pink rhinestone collar that gave her a stately look and an air of royalty.

  She was pretty badass.

  I crouched down and she ran toward me, hopping up on her hind legs, her paws on my thighs, covering my face in doggy kisses.

  I seriously loved my dog.

  “I missed you so much,” I crooned, making ridiculous baby noises that had her tail beating even harder.

  I picked her up, wincing a bit at her increased heft. She loved treats, and Sophia definitely had the indulgent aunt role down.

  I hugged Sophia. “Thanks for taking care of her. And for holding down the fort. The store looks amazing.”

  Sophia grinned. “No problem. It was my pleasure.” She leaned forward and gave Lulu a kiss. “Next time, I might not give her back, though. She’s the best sleeping buddy I’ve ever had.”

  “Yes, she is.” I made more kissy noises that had Lulu squirming in my arms trying to give me another few licks. Finally I set her down on the floor, watching as she waddled over to the pink velvet pillow Sophia had bought her for Christmas last year. She plopped down, curling her body up so that she could keep watch on her humans and on the store that had become her domain.

  “So what did I miss?” I asked, heading behind the cash register.

  “We got in that new bathing suit line we ordered. The striped bikinis? They’re cute, right? I grabbed one.”

  They were cute. A little preppier than what I normally wore, but definitely Sophia’s style. I trended towar
d kitsch and she was more elegant, but it gave the store an eclectic feel.

  “Anything else?”

  “I think we might need to hire some extra help before the summer if things keep going the way they are. At least for Saturdays.”

  We’d kept our staff pretty small in the first couple years to minimize expenses. Sophia and I were both single so it hadn’t been that difficult for us to work all the time. Little by little, we’d grown the business to include a manager and five part-timers.

  “I’ll put out some feelers and see if anyone is looking.”

  Sophia grinned. “Okay, enough business talk. Let’s get to the good stuff. How was Vegas?”

  I’d always been that girl. The one who bitched about guys with her friends over drinks. The one who sent frantic texts from the bathroom on dates with messages like, He invited me back to his place, but it’s only our second date, HELP. Sophia knew every single detail of my dating life; nothing was off-limits. So I was shocked when I heard myself respond with—

  “It was good.”

  “That’s it? Good?”

  Good didn’t even begin to cover it, but I didn’t know where to start—although I was going to have to say something soon because I definitely needed her to cover me this weekend.

  “It was a little better than good,” I hedged.

  I didn’t know why I was being so weird about this. I could have just said: I met this really hot guy, and he was amazing in bed, and I think I like him. Like really like him. But I didn’t. I wasn’t ready for the questions; for the first time in my life, I didn’t want to dissect our every conversation or the meaning behind whether he held my hand or not. I just wanted to enjoy it.

  I cleared my throat, ready to come up with some excuse for why I needed the weekend off, when two-dozen pink roses did it for me.