Page 43 of Gross Misconduct

“That’s great! I’m really excited about this role,” I say, my eyes darting back outside.

Just as I regain my breath, I lose it all over again when Griffin pulls up his undershirt, using it to wipe his brow.

Holy mother of gay Jesus. I get a full, glorious, there-is-a-God view of his hairy torso, a torso I’m silently begging to rub my face all over. His pecs are rugged and cut, mostly muscle with a little heft of fat. He is all man. He has ensured that I could never be attracted to a man under thirty again.

I would not be opposed to him bending me over that airplane wing.

I shift my gaze down to under his belly where the band of his boxers is visible. Boxer waistbands are sexier than boxers themselves. They are the ultimate tease.

I realize that my dream job isn’t to be office manager; it’s to be Griffin’s full-time cocksucker.

And just as quickly, the fantasy ends. Griffin drops his shirt and buttons up his jumpsuit.

“Jack.” Darlene spins around in her chair to look out the window, but all she sees is a mechanic diligently working on aircraft.

“Sorry. Planes are just so cool!” I laugh it off as the lower half of my body cools off.

Her mood shifts to a cooler temperature, or maybe it had already shifted and it’s the first I’m noticing. She stands up and signals for me to join her. “Well, it was so great of you to come in, Jack. We’re seeing a few more candidates, but we’ll let you know when we make a decision.” Her hand is essentially guiding me out the door before I can protest.

She leads me to the lobby and gives me a quick wave before whooshing back to her office.

14

GRIFFIN

Working on airplanes is a much more peaceful existence than working on cars. The high ceilings and open air of the hangar makes things quieter. I can listen to music and zone out. I don’t have to talk to people, sit in meetings with people, basically do anything that involves interfacing with another human being.

It’s a good life.

That is, until someone decides to disturb my peace.

“What the hell was that?”

I look up from the landing gear that I’m tightening up to find Jack glaring down at me. Jack in a suit that is one size too small for his thick arms and legs.

I give the gear one final twist of the bolt before standing up. The owner of this Cessna 150 claimed he wanted to keep flying his plane until the wheels came off, and he pretty much got his wish.

“Excuse me?” I ask. Jack’s blue eyes are so filled with fire that they’re nearly aqua.

“That little show you were putting on outside.”

“I don’t follow…” Oh shit. Did I fuck up his plane? I remember him saying he owned one. Rich people loved nothing more than toying with people who worked for them, like we were mice in a cat’s mouth. “Was that your plane on the tarmac? The wingtip was already damaged, probably from flying through one too many storms. I noted in my report that you need to order a new part.”

“What? No. I…you…out there…with your jumpsuit…and you whipping your shirt off…” Jack paces in the space between the Cessna and my tools. “You were messing with me.”

“Now I really don’t follow.” Was this what it looked like for someone to be having a panic attack?

“I prepared so hard for this interview. I did a mock interview with my friends for Chrissakes. It’s the only one I’ve gotten and now it’s fucked because of your hot body.”

I’m not sure whether to feel offended, guilty, or turned on by the compliment. Jack seems equally confused, rubbing at his head and mussing up his neatly combed hair. Damn him for looking even cuter with shaggy hair.

“I’m sorry?” I’ve never had to apologize for being good looking, but I suppose there’s a first for everything. Wait, why the hell am I apologizing to him for anything? “Actually, I’m not sorry. If you have a problem with the way your plane was serviced, you can speak to my manager. Otherwise, get the hell out of my hangar.”

“Dammit.” He plunks down on my stool and lets out a grandiose exhale. He wipes at his eyes, a nuclear mushroom cloud of stress wafting off him.

Fuck. What is it about Jack that makes it impossible to tell him to truly fuck off. I let out a groan and pull up another stool. “We will get your plane fixed. Don’t worry. I can see if I have a replacement part here.”

“I don’t have a plane! I don’t even have a job!” He yells, his voice echoing through the hangar. Valentina, the other mechanic on duty, glances up from the helicopter propeller she’s working on. I give her the signal that everything’s okay.

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