Page 8 of Come Fly with Me

He walks over to one of the gates, and punches in a code and the gate clicks before he pulls it open. Waiting for me, he holds the gate, and I shuffle through, dragging my bag behind me. I stop, unsure of where to go next. Stepping aside, I let Jake lead.

We come to another door with a keypad, and he enters a second code, the door unlocking. And just like before, he holds the door open for me.

This is all starting to feel very Willy Wonka as we walk down a long hallway, making turns every so often, and I giggle a little.

Jake turns around, his eyes intense as he looks me up and down.

“Did I just hear you laugh?” he asks, feigning shock, his mouth falling open.

“It just reminds me of Willy Wonka. All these doors and hallways, turning and walking with no idea where I’m going.”

“Willy Wonka?”

“Yeah, remember when they get to the factory, and they’re walking, and they turn right and then left, and it keeps going? Then that creepy boat appears out of nowhere. No one questions a damn thing; they just get in the boat. But it turns out the boat is out of control, and everyone is screaming that Wonka’s crazy. That’s me right now.”

“Remember when Charlie wins the whole fucking thing?” he asks, and I nod my head, wondering where he’s going with this. “This is going to be even better.”

He pulls a set of keys from his pocket and stops in front of a door. Unlocking it, he reaches in and flips on a light switch.

I push up on my toes to see around him as his muscled frame blocks most of my view, and what I see is just about as crazy as a giant pink boat.

“Whose car is that?” I ask, pushing closer to him until my chest is practically touching his back.

“Yes or no questions only.”

“Is this your car?”

“Yes.”

It’s a beautiful, pristine bright red 1960s Corvette convertible and it damn near takes my breath away. Growing up with an auto mechanic father, I know he’d be losing his shit right now if he could see this. I’m practically losing it too. But like hell if I’m going to let Jake know he’s shocked me.

“Small penis, Jake?” I question, cocking an eyebrow up and giving him a pout of my lips.

“You’re good, but you know that already,” he replies, chuckling a little. He runs a finger over the hood of the car as he walks through the garage toward the back.

“Can I put my bag in your trunk?”

“I’d like to put something in your trunk.”

I burst out laughing, my hand running down my face as I shake my head at his horrible pick-up line.

“Does that really work?” I ask. “Girls falling at your feet in response to your horrendous pick-up lines?”

“I’m not hurting, but right now, I’m thinking there’s only one woman I want.”

“Well, you know what they say, you always want what you can’t have.”

“I’ll take that as a challenge.”

I roll my eyes and toss my bag into the now open trunk before I open the door to the car. I catch myself just as I’m about to sit down, remembering where we are and realizing I’m on the wrong side of the car.

“Damn it,” I mutter, remembering all the times I’ve gotten into the wrong side of the car on my layovers in foreign countries. But when I bend down, I notice the steering wheel is on the left side of the car.

“This is an American car.”

“It is,” Jake confirms, climbing in and starting the engine as he hits a button that opens the large garage door behind us. He lowers the top and I get a good look at the inside as I climb in next to him.

“Fifty-nine? Sixty?” I ask, my hand running over the smooth surface of the dashboard.

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