Page 8 of Shared By the Pilots

Our server arrived and took her drink order. I asked for a refill on my drink, and ordered an appetizer for us to share.

“Whydidyou change your mind?” I asked.

Veronica blinked long eyelashes at me. “Are you surprised that a woman said yes to you?”

“No,” I replied. “But I’m surprisedyousaid yes.”

“You’ve never asked me out before.”

“Because I knew the answer would be no.”

“Then why did you invite me to dinner tonight?” she asked.

I shrugged. “No matter how low the odds, sometimes the roulette wheel lands on your number.”

“Maybe that’s why I came here,” Veronica said coyly. “Because the roulette wheel in my mind landed on your number.”

“Is that the reason?” I asked.

She hesitated as the server returned with our drinks. When he was gone, she admitted, “I have a best friend. We’re usually on the same crew.”

“Dexter? The one who always winks at me?”

“That’s him,” she replied. “He’s gay.”

“I surmised as much based on the winking.”

“Well, he thinks I’m too picky,” she explained. “I’m always finding a reason not to go out with a guy. They have a stupid chin, or a name that sounds similar to someone I dislike. So he convinced me to sayyesto the first three men who ask me out.”

“Huh.” I swirled my bourbon around in the glass. “That’s an interesting situation.”

“You’re not offended, are you?”

“That depends,” I said carefully. “Do you think my chin is stupid?”

Veronica’s laugh was sudden and carefree. “You have a strong jawline. Very attractive.”

“Then what’s your reason for not saying yes to me immediately?”

“I don’t date pilots. And I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but you happen to be a pilot.”

“I am indeed.” I sipped my bourbon, sending a warm burn down my throat. “That’s a good rule. Most pilots are cocky assholes.”

She raised a dark eyebrow. “You’re not cocky?”

“Oh, I’m as cocky as a pilot should be,” I replied. “But I’mnotan asshole. Unless the situation calls for assholery.”

“So you’re not mad I agreed to meet you because of a deal I made with my friend?”

“When I was a teenager, I got a job working for the same hotel as my mom,” I said.

“Do you think this is a situation that calls for assholery?” Veronica asked. “Because ignoring my question and changing the subject is kind of an asshole move.”

“My mom was the regional manager for this hotel chain,” I continued. “She got me an interview with the manager at one of the hotels. I did well in the interview, and was hired to work behind the front desk after school. Checking people in, giving them extra coffee pods, all of that. My supervisor was a tough nut, and hated me from the start. He expected me to slouch off all day. But I worked hard, and got a promotion after a month. A few months later, I was promoted again.

“The point is that I don’t care how I get my foot in the door,” I explained. “It’s how I act once I get there that matters.”

Veronica nodded along. “Except you probably got those promotions because of who your mother was.”

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