Page 3 of Leave Before I Love You
Then, because the universe is cruel, he casually grabs his parachute backpack, strapping it over his black utility pants and long-sleeved shirt.
I blink. Um…Excuse me?Why does he look like a goddamn action hero?
He is giving off gritty,Mission: Impossiblestuntman, or an assassin who also models on the side, vibes. If I didn’t know it was Henry Callahan, I’d think a young Tom Cruise had arrived at this fucking hangar to film an action flick. Hell, even the yellow prop plane out in front of him looks like a Hollywood backdrop.
My brain misfires.
And his back.Holy shit, his back.The broad, muscular ridges flex as he tightens his straps, the whole “badass against a golden sun” aesthetic making my knees weak in protest.
Five-years-ago Avery would have already been sprinting toward him. Hell, three-years-ago Avery would have probably thrown herself at his feet and asked him to sweep her into some ridiculous adrenaline-fueled adventure.
And then there’s current Avery.
Avery, whose best friend is laid up puking her guts out. Whose parents are in Key West. Whose second-tier friends are all conveniently unavailable on New Years’ trips of their own.
Avery, who would be sitting alone in her apartment for days, doing absolutely nothing except regretting her ten-grand investment in this trip.And probably spending her late nights stalking Henry’s adrenaline-junkie thirst traps on Instagram like an idiot.
Ugh.
“Wait!” I yell impulsively, shoving two bikinis, my toothbrush, deodorant, and a hairbrush into the stupid fanny pack and abandoning my suitcase like it’s a corpse I no longer wish to claim.
Henry stops at the opening of the big garage-style door, the light of the sun backing him like he’s a freaking Marvel character.
“I’m coming,” I say begrudgingly. “Just let me go throw this bag back in my car.”
“Hell yeah, Ave.” Henry smiles, and I can just barely make it out among his features in the shadows.
I ditch my bag, run to leave my keys with the airport office so Idon’t do something stupid like lose them while I’m gone, and rush after my brother’s superhero-looking best friend like a fool.
By the time I get back inside the hangar, Henry is smiling at me like only an insane person would do when they’re about to board a plane to jump out of said plane to get to their destination. “You ready to have the time of your life?” he questions and I snort.
“Trust me, Ave,” he adds with the kind of sexy wink I feel all the way to my toes. “You won’t regret it.”
Famous last words. Fuckingfamous.Last. Words.
Henry
A rush of sound surrounds us as the blades of the single prop engine get going at the front of the banana-colored plane that readsHot Drop Bunson the side, and I slam the door hatch and lock it into place once Avery and I settle inside.
Mario, our pilot, a grizzled, no-nonsense guy with an unlit cigar clenched between his teeth, waves a finger at the side of his head in a tight circle, signaling that we’re about to get moving. I nod, lifting a hand in acknowledgment.
Mario isn’t my usual pilot, but what he’s communicating isn’t exactly rocket science either. I’ve only used this aviation company a couple of times—my regular drop service doesn’t fly as far off the coast as we needed for this trip.
The flight to our private island is just over two hours, meaning a four-hour round trip after we bail. This company runs bigger planes with the fuel capacity and space we needed when we booked for our original group, and at the end of the day, it all functions the same.
The whole point, after all, is that you’re leaving the plane behind.
Avery scurries into the back corner of the mostly bare cargo interior, her movements jittery, her breathing a little shallow. Herfanny pack bounces against her hip as she adjusts the chest buckle of our tandem harness, yanking at it like it’s trying to strangle her.
She lets out a deep, heaving breath—one of those first-jump, holy-shit-I’m-really-doing-this breaths—and I can’t help but glance over at her. For someone so clearly on edge, she looks infuriatingly beautiful. Her dark hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail, cheekbones high, lips full, eyes sharp even as they dart around the cabin.
I pretend to focus on the window instead.
The engine climbs to a roar as Mario floors it down the runway, and I hold on to the handle at the side of the door to steady myself as our wheels leave the ground and we ascend into the air. Clouds trail by and fog rolls water beads over the glass of the windows as we make our way into the sky, and I climb forward on my knees to watch out the windshield as we float out over the ocean.
Boats make white lines of wake in the water below us, and colored flags fly in the wind of the beach as umbrellas and chairs take shape in the sand.
I take a seat behind Mario and watch with avid interest as he flips switches on and off and messes with the whole panel of controls. In the center, I notice the radar screen that marks where other planes are around us, but beyond that, the whole instrumentation panel is pretty much beyond my comprehension.
