Page 4 of Dirty Roxie
Ronan
I turn the controls over to the pilots after we reach our cruising altitude of forty-one thousand feet and make my way to the main cabin to join Roxie, who had since left the cockpit to make room for the co-pilot.
I enjoy flying, finding it to be almost meditative by nature. There’s literally nothing else you could do while flying an aircraft other than exactly that. So even though I wish to continue piloting my beautiful new toy, I have other things that require my immediate attention.
And I need not be tempted by anything else that may get in my way. Namely, the redhead reclining in my favorite captain’s chair, head bobbing to whatever she’s blasting into her ears via those little buds, and a bottle of craft beer dangling from the crook of her index finger.
“Hey!” she yells when she sees me.
I wave in return and take a seat at the table across the aisle from her, where I have my laptop set up already, along with some paperwork I’d like to review.
“Did you know you have killer Wi-Fi on the plane?” Her voice still too loud for the space and our proximity.
I look at her, ready to say something sharp, but she’s not looking at me. Her eyes are closed as she mouths the words to whatever song is playing. Her free hand waving in the air like a conductor on crack. It gives me a chance to watch her while she’s unaware.
She’s gorgeous, though I’m certain she knows it. But it’s not just her appearance. She has this casual confidence about her that is enticing. Intoxicating. Seductive. Even lounging somewhat slovenly in jeans, casual tank top, and sneakers, she’s magnetic. Her long legs crossed on the seat in front of her, hair tousled, tight tank top showing off her toned arms and round breasts.
I wager I could put her up against some of the world’s most beautiful women and she would emerge the winner, every time. If for no other reason than because she’s a combination of woman that every man dreams of: Independent. Loyal to her friends. Easy smile. Pragmatic. Beautiful. And she’s a fighter. It’s obvious she will fight for what she believes in until her dying breath.
It’s then that I finally notice that her tank top has something written across the front. And it makes me laugh.
I Wear Heels Bigger Than Your Dick
I watch her with a smile on my face until she notices, then motion for her to remove the earbuds. She takes one out from inside her right ear.
“What?”
“Yes, I knew that.”
“Know what?”
“That myjethas killer Wi-Fi.”
She rolls her eyes. “That was a rhetorical question, fancy-pants.”
“Don’t call me that.” I motion to my laptop. “I have work to do.”
“You going online?”
“I’m going to get some work done, yes. Some of which requires going online.”
“What kind of work?”
“I’m in the middle of negotiating a deal to purchase a building in downtown Moscow.”
“What kind of building?”
“A big building.”
“Cool.” She nods with a slight frown on her face as though she’s considering my decision. “What for?”
“What for?” My brow furrows as I try to decipher what she means by that. “Do you mean what I am buying the building for?”
She nods again.
“So I can tear it down.” I power on my laptop and turn my attention to the screen, hoping she’ll get the hint and stop talking. Instead, she gets up from her chair and settles into the one across the table from me, placing her beer bottle on the tabletop with a thunk. Ear buds now hanging around her neck, the music tinny and brash even from where I’m sitting. Her scent, a combination of spice and vanilla, drifts across the space between us tickling my nose as it travels up to poke at my brain.
“Is it a dump?” she asks.
