Page 30 of Come Fly with Me

“When I was seventeen, I knocked our neighbor’s mailbox out of the ground backing out of our driveway. Instead of telling them, I just picked it up and shoved it back in the ground and then I colored the bumper on my mom’s car with a Sharpie marker to hide the marks.”

“Taylor,” Jake spits out, his tone fraught with mock surprise. “And to think I had this vision of you as this perfect angel.”

“Stop making fun of me!”

“I’m not,” he teases back, and I love the playfulness in his voice. “So what happened?”

“The next day over dinner, my dad was talking about how when our neighbor went to open the mailbox, the whole damn thing fell over. He went on and on about the ‘asshole’ who didn’t have the balls to own up to knocking it over. Everyone in the neighborhood blamed the mailman.”

“You let the poor mailman take the blame?”

“I did,” I say, letting my faux shame slip through.

“Oh Taylor, you naughty girl.”

Just hearing him call me naughty conjures up images of Jake in my head—images that are far naughtier than a busted-up mailbox, and I need to change the subject.

“Now it’s your turn.”

Ten

Jake

I laugh. “My turn, huh?”

“Yes,” she breathes through the phone, and I can tell she’s smiling.

I really wish she was here in my room right now, but I know that won’t be happening tonight. Despite her earlier intentions, the moment was lost the second she went downstairs and was reminded of her past.

I wish she’d had the courage to just come here without needing that drink first. I could only imagine what we’d be doing right now. God, just the thought of her, here in my bed, is making me hard.

But at the same time, I know she’s feeling lost, trapped in a past she thinks defines her while trying to find a future that makes her happy. I want to be the one who shows her that path, but I know I can’t do that until she’s willing to take the first step.

“Well, I did get into a shitload of trouble at the academy, obviously,” I say. “But none of that is really a secret.”

Taylor laughs. “I can only imagine.”

“Alright,” I say, grabbing another pillow to prop behind my head as I sit up in bed. “I do have something, but promise me you won’t laugh?”

“Okay,” she says, giggling.

“Taylor!”

She laughs harder now. “Sorry, sorry, I won’t laugh, promise.”

“Hmmm,” I say, even though I’m the one smiling now because despite my request, I actually do want her laughing. “So, you know I have two older sisters,” I start, chuckling a little as she giggles again. “And obviously it’s going to be something to do with them.”

“Did they dress you up like a girl?” she asks.

“Oh god, of course,” I tell her. “But that’s not the secret. The cheeky bitches paraded me all over the neighborhood, so everyone saw me wearing a dress, trust me.”

She stifles a laugh as she asks, “So what is it?”

“Well,” I say, shuffling in bed a little, “being the youngest, I had no say in anything, including what we watched on TV.” I pause, scrubbing a hand across my jaw. “Which means I was forced to watch a lot of shit.”

“Such as?”

“You know, Neighbours, Home & Away. They’re cheesy soap operas, you don’t get them in America,” I tell her. “Which is a good thing. But I was also forced to watch a lot of chick flicks.”

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