Page 34 of Fly Boy
I snap upright, a tension headache forming between my eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“Think about it, babe. From what you’ve told me, he’s this big, professional-as-hell guy, and you’re…you.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” I huff.
Evan groans. “You’re the daughter of one of the richest men in America and, by default, theheirto that fortune. You’re also a star athlete with her sights set on the Olympics. And you’re drop-dead gorgeous, to boot.”
“Thanks for the recap. If I ever need someone to ghostwrite my autobiography, I’ll let you know,” I deadpan, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“I forget how clueless you are,” he mumbles. While I should be offended, I don’t have the energy. “Pippa, that man lives and breathes aviation, if that tattoo you said he has is anything to go by. And he’s employed by your father. He’s probably thinking if you two do the no-pants dance and get caught…”
My jaw grinds together as the residual frustration in my blood starts to bubble. “Evan, you were the one who saidwhat daddy doesn’t know won’t hurt him, and now you’re allif your dad found out…” I say, lowering my voice to sound more masculine.
He snorts, and I swear I can see him wave his hand dismissively. “I’m fickle. You know this about me.”
“You have been no help,” I whine, hanging my head.
“Oh, I beg to differ,” he says. “Listen, there’s clearly something there. I told you I could feel it, and I’m hardly ever wrong when it comes to sexual tension. So I don’t think you should give up.” Hepauses. “And I don’t thinkyouwant to give up on it either. Give him an incentive.”
“I’m not pimping myself out to him, Evan.”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” he says, his voice tight. “I mean, if he’s going to cross the line with you, give him a reason to. Right now, I bet he thinks you’re bored or something, stuck in a hotel with nothing around for miles… Make him see that the Pippa he flies every weekend isn’t the Pippa you really are. Show him the Pippa few people get to see, the one I’ve come to know and love. Show him you’re not the spoiled brat willing to jeopardize his career for a quick fuck.” He chuckles to himself. “Or don’t. If you just want no strings attached, tell him that. Maybe a one-and-done is what you both need to get over this little infatuation you have.”
I chew on my lower lip, staring at a rug on the floor. Evan yawns, long and loud in my ear. “And with my new words of wisdom, I’m going back to sleep. See you tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah,” I whisper before hanging up and tossing my phone to the bed. The glow from the fire has dimmed since my call, so standing, I walk toward it and bend down to open the latch, reaching for a log before throwing it inside. Embers scatter around it, the fire coming back to life as I stand and dust off my hands.
Rounding the bed, I sit on the end, eyes going back to the door, willing Wyatt to walk through. One and done. Maybe that’s all we need. It’s not like I want a relationship with the man. I find him interesting and want to get to know him more, but that doesn’t mean I want to be tied to him.
Besides, I have the U.S. Championship and the Olympics to focus on, not relationship drama. But a girl has needs, and unfortunately, it appears thoseneedsonly want him.
My eyes get heavier with each blink until, eventually, they close completely. When I wake, the sun is shining, and the sideof the duvet is folded over me, but I’m still alone. Sitting up, my gaze darts around the room, landing on the sofa at the bottom of the bed. The blanket that was draped over the back is now folded and sitting on top of a pillow. The new shirt and underwear the concierge brought for me are missing, and in their place is a folded piece of paper.
Scrambling, I grab it and tear it open, my heart thrashing as I read,Miss Cartwright. I’ll meet you on the plane. Wyatt.
Chapter Thirteen
My fingers hesitate onthe last few buttons of my shirt, the ink on my chest taunting me in the mirror as I see it in a new light.
In only a couple of days, things have changed. Granted, I only saw her for a few hours when she arrived at the plane, ready to finish the journey to Colorado, but instead of acting like a grown man, I hid in the cockpit as soon as I knew she was on board.
Door closed, locked from the inside, out of reach.
I never fly with the door closed—one of the perks of flying private jets—apart from when herpartnerturned up for the flight. A partner I had no right to feel jealous of when now jealousy is what I wish I still felt. The relief that washed over me when Phillipa said she and Evan were strictly business was unexpected and unwarranted.
It shouldn’t matter to me if she has a boyfriend. She and I will never happen.
Besides, what would I have said to her that morning anyway? Sorry for being evasive, but I didn’t trust myself after I left the pool, so I sat in a pair of sweats—thankful that the spa staff were so accommodating and had a spare uniform after telling me she’d taken my discarded clothes for me—in the hotel bar, nursing a single glass of whiskey until I knew she’d gone to bed. Or tell her that when I did return to the lodge, I stood like a man possessed watching her sleep? Or that after I found the brand-new shirt and boxer briefs she’d bought me made me feel like a dickhead?
Phillipa doesn’t make sense to me anymore. When I first met her, I assumed she was a typical rich girl with opportunities most could only imagine. A pretty face with little substance, only interested in herself. Not just because her father is the leading oil salesman in the U.S. but also because she’s an athlete on Team fucking USA.
Yet the way she shut down, terrified after the flight, shaking and close to tears, was not how I expected her to react. Adrenaline does funny things to the body, fight-or-flight and all that. Surely, as someone used to performing in front of judges, spectators, and TV cameras, her fighting mentality would have dominated. But there was a woman, a shell of the girl I am used to flying, sitting before me, anxiously clutching at her seat.
Then the total one-eighty when we reached the hotel. The way she took control of booking the lodge, ordering the massages, and defying me when I explicitly told her to sleep upstairs, where it was safe. It shouldn’t have been as sexy as it was.
And then there’s the flirting. I’m used to it, have been for a while. She uses suggestive comments and cheeky innuendos like some people hide behind sarcasm and wit. But she was toeing a fine line in the pool. The two of us alone. Her proximity. Theway she looked under the moonlight…wet…seductive…needy. It pushed me toward my breaking point, leaving me with no option but to flip it around. Try to prove that she’s all bark with no bite.
But what if it backfired?What if I got it wrong? What if I’d misread her reactions, and where I thought she was freaked out, she wasn’t? Everything I’ve thought I knew about her until now has been tossed out of the window. The rulebook has been rewritten, and I don’t have the updates.
