Page 17 of Fly Boy
Evan rummages around in his backpack and digs out his tablet and notebook. Pushing them onto my table, he moves to sit in front of me.
“If you say so,” he singsongs, pulling up footage from our competition last week. He flicks to a blank page and clicks his pen. “Right, we’ve got just under three hours until we land, and I need to head to my sister’s kid’s first birthday, which, by the way, thanks for letting me hitch a ride back home.”
I stare at him, deadpan. “Like you gave me a choice.”
He beams. “Shall we start making notes like Coach asked?”
I groan and dig out my own notepad. As I’m about to click play on his tablet, Evan covers my hands with his.
“Just so you know,” he says, eyes twinkling. “I think if you were to pursue that, Mr. Sexy Pilot Man wouldn’t say no.”
Chapter Seven
You couldn’t handle myhands on you.
I groan and bang my head against the back of my seat. Since landing in Westchester two nights ago, my conversation with Phillipa—no,Miss Cartwright—has been circulating in my mind. Particularlymypart of the conversation.
One slip, one stumble, one second of insanity, and I let myself taunt her the same way she always teases me. I can still hear the hitch in her breathing, picture the way her cheeks flushed, see how her eyes darkened.
Temptation isn’t a strong enough word to describe what it’s like when I’m around Phillipa.
A knock on my car window has me turning my head, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“What are you doing?” The muffled sound of Bowie’s voice filters through the pane. Unbuckling my belt, I open the door,and he steps back, giving me space to get out. His eyebrows furrow as he looks at me. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” I reply, locking the car and walking to our parents’ porch.
“Doesn’t look like nothing.”
Ignoring him, I knock on the front door before trying the handle. It turns, and the warmth from inside greets us as we enter. The smell of a home-cooked dinner is a comfort as we walk into the kitchen, finding Sadie by the stove stirring something in a pot.
“Hey, Mom,” Bowie says. She squeals in delight, a huge smile taking over her entire face.
“My boys are home,” she coos, dropping the spoon on the counter and throwing her arms around my brother. Her eyes close as he hugs her tight. “I’ve missed you. How are you, darling?”
She draws back to look at her son, pride and love radiating from them as they fill each other in on what they’ve been up to since they last saw each other. An ache forms in my throat, an ache I know I shouldn’t feel, unable to take my eyes off them. Sadie never treats me any differently from Teddy or Bowie, but standing here now and watching the interaction, I feel like an interloper.
Somehow, I manage to force my feet to move, and I go to the fridge to grab two beers before popping off the caps, leaving one for Bowie on the counter. When he’s finished talking, Sadie comes over to me, pulling me into her arms, making me stiffen at the contact. But like the good stepson I always try to be, I hug her back, patting my hand between her shoulder blades before breaking away.
“Hey, Sadie, good to see you.”
She smiles, the light in her eyes when we first walked in dimming slightly. I hate that I’m the reason for that. Her handfinds my cheek, brushing her thumb over it as she says, “You are looking more and more like your father every time I see you.”
“Don’t tell him that,” I tease, and she laughs. “We don’t need that man’s ego to get any bigger than it already is.”
“Too late, I already heard it,” Dad calls from somewhere else in the house before appearing in the kitchen doorway. “My sons are the most handsome men on the planet, so if they look like me… Well, what can I say?”
Sadie tsks and tries to swat him with the towel slung over her shoulder. He catches it and tugs her toward him, snaking his arm around her and dropping a lingering kiss on her lips. “No one looks as good as you do, though, babe.”
“Can there be a day that we can come home and you two don’t act like horny teenagers?” Bowie asks, taking a gulp of his beer. “Honestly, you’re too old to be acting like that.”
“You’re only as old as the woman in your bed,” Dad replies, exaggeratedly grabbing Sadie’s ass and squeezing hard.
“For fuck’s sake,” Bowie groans.
“Miles!” She chastises with a laugh, trying to wriggle away. “No wonder your children act the way they do.”
She returns to the stove, and I wander over, looking into the pan of Bolognese sauce, the smell of oregano and garlic flooding my nose and making my mouth water. “Need any help?”
