Page 30 of Book Boyfriend
I want to scream yes and throw my body at him, but I’m not sure Phil would appreciate that. Could he be any hotter than he is right at this moment? Mother of mercy, if I could I’d go back and rewrite this scene in the book. Kasey should be less nervous and heavily turned on instead. No wonder the mile-high club exists.
Phil starts explaining how to start the aircraft. I had no idea it was so complicated. Next time I fly I’m going to hug my pilot after. I’ve heard people say it’s like driving a car. Umm . . . No, it’s not.
“You always want to make sure you’re lined up on the centerline.” He motions outward to look down the runway.
“Right now you’re going to apply full power. Then, at the same time you’re going to add some right rudder.”
He’s pointing to stuff and I can hear Fisher acknowledging him in my ears. I can’t believe we’re going to do this.
“You want to make sure the engine gauges are normal. That typically means in the green range. Now apply backpressure to the nose. Not fast and not slow. Nice and easy . . .”
I grip the armrests as we leave the ground.
“Woohoo!” Fisher laughs.
After a few minutes, Fisher glances back at me. “Are you enjoying our first date?”
“You could have just bought me ice cream, you know.”
“If you want ice cream, you got it. We’ll have to squeeze it between all the other stuff I have planned.”
There’s more? Mentally I race through the pages of the book. What in hell comes next?
I watch as Fisher takes a picnic basket out of his trunk. It’s a little after seven and the sun is just starting to set. It’s getting a little chilly. I’m glad I brought a coat.
“How about over here?” he asks, pointing to the grass a few feet from his Jeep.
He places the basket on the ground and starts to unfold a blanket. I rush over to help him lay it out on the ground.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, glancing at his phone.
“I’m always hungry. Plus, I’m really curious what you brought.”
He smiles. “In your story, Penn takes her for Italian. I didn’t think it would hold up in a basket very well, so I improvised.” He gazes down at his phone once more.
“Am I keeping you from something?”
“No, I’m just waiting for . . . Oh, there he is.” He dashes off toward an approaching van. I lean back to read the writing on the side. Luigi’s.
He runs up to the driver’s window and hands him some cash. The driver hands him a very large bag.
“Did you buy one of everything?” I ask as he returns.
“I got a variety because I didn’t know what you’d like.” He places the bag next to me on the ground, opens the basket, and removes packs of ice from inside along with a bottle of wine and two glasses. I peek into the paper bag. It smells amazing.
“Go ahead,” he says, motioning with his head as he starts uncorking the bottle.
I pull out three containers and put them on the blanket. The first one is lasagna, the second is mushroom ravioli, and the third is chicken fettucine alfredo. I hear a pop and Fisher hands me a glass of wine. He pours himself a glass and proceeds to take out two plates, silverware, and napkins.
I’m in awe.
“Have anything you want. I hope I chose well.”
“You chose very well, but before we eat, we need to talk.”
“Your nose is doing that little twitching thing it does when you’re serious. Lay it on me.”
I rub my nose. What twitch? He takes a sip of his wine and watches me closely. “You need to stop this.”
