Page 16 of Fly Boy
“Maybe if you’re nice, I’ll let you have a shot.” Reaching into the box next to me, I lift out the pump and turn it on, programming in the settings for the thirty-minute recovery mode. The boots start to rumble, the sound similar to that of a blood pressure machine, and at the same time, the plane engines roar. They tighten around my legs, the compression nice against my aching muscles, and I sit back with a sigh.
Evan’s quiet as we take off, but I can feel his stare on the side of my head until we level and start the cruise to Westchester.
“What?” I finally ask, my head rolling to the side to face him.
“I thought we were friends.”
“I already said you could have a turn with the boots, Evan. Chill.”
“No,” he says, and my eyebrows knit together. Evan thrusts his finger toward the cockpit door. “Is there a reason you’ve been hiding that hunk of man meat all to yourself?”
I stiffen. “Excuse me?”
“Mr. Sexy Pilot Man?” Evan fans his face, and I bristle at the nickname I wish I’d come up with for him. “He is something else, Pippa. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”
I have from the very second he introduced himself, and every damn day I need to see his beautiful face.
“If I were you, I’d be all over that.” He continues, unaware that my entire body is flushing with the same jealousy I had before. Only now, it’s because I don’t like the way my friend slash partner is ogling my pilot. Leaning closer, he whispers conspiratorially. “Any chance he’s into guys?”
Sliding my hands under my legs, I dig my nails painfully into the leather as my throat constricts. I swallow, my mouth feeling like cotton as I say, “Not that I’m aware.”
Evan groans and sags into his chair. “Bummer.” Then he knocks my arm playfully with his fist. “But you should totally go for it.”
“He’s employed by my dad,” I grind out through gritted teeth.
“So? What daddy doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
“He’s nearly forty.”
“Ooh,age gap. I like it.”
I glare at him. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And so are you if you’re not going to do a thing about…” He holds up his hands, shaking his head as he corrects, “Sorry, I meantothat man.”
“He doesn’t think of me that way.” Even though sometimes I think there’s a small chance he might. Not that I’m going to tell Evan. Staring at the closed door in front of me, I sigh. “Besides, I can’t. We’ve got the Grand Prix final coming up, the U.S. Championships, and then Worlds.” A timer goes off, signaling the end of the recovery program. Unzipping the boots, I wriggle my legs. “I don’t have the time.”
Evan huffs. “All work and no play makes Pippa a dull girl.” I stare at him unimpressed as he leans in closer; he might as well be sitting on my lap. “And babe, you’re wrong. That man woulddefinitelyplay with you.”
“What?” I narrow my eyes to hide my curiosity.
His grin is wicked as he unbuckles his belt and starts to help me put the boots back in their box. “When I came on board, the tension in here was so thick I could have suffocated.”
I snort. “Whatever.”
“It’s true. You didn’t see the glare he gave me when I introduced myself as your”—he air quotes—“partner.”
“You don’t think—” My hands falter, the boot springing back out of the box.
Evan nods. “If the way he gripped my hand says anything, I think Mr. Sexy Pilot Man thinks we’re together.”
My head whips to the side, mouth gaping. “Really?”
“Mmhmm.”
Closing the lid, I risk a glance at the cockpit again, thankful for the separation between us as I try to replay his interaction with Evan. Is he right? Did Wyatt misinterpret what Evan meant by calling himself my partner?
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” I say, kicking the box under the table and shifting in my seat. “It’s not like anything is going to happen.”
