Page 83 of Fly Boy
My eyes narrow, my voice dangerously low as I ask, “Do you have the paperwork?”
I reach for his clipboard, but he snatches it back out of reach. “Yeah, it’s ready, but I’m more interested in what that was.” He gestures behind me with his chin.
A rumble sounds from the back of my throat as annoyance burns my stomach. “You’re mistaken,” I tell him, not wantinghim to know about Pippa and me. Wanting toprotecther, to keep her out of his disgusting thoughts.
Colin’s lips twitch into a sneer. “Are you tapping that?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows. “Fuck, I’d give anything to have justonenight with her.”
White noise fills my ears as I watch his mouth move, each word somehow managing to filter through, landing like bombs of rage by my feet, transferring the animosity they carry straight to me.
“Do you think it’s the pilot thing? Do you think she’d only be interested in a quick fuck if I flew a plane too?”
“At what point did your brain think it was a good idea to voice that out loud?” I snarl. “Especially to me?”
“What?” He shrugs like he’s doing nothing wrong, then peers over my shoulder at the plane doors like he’s searching Pippa out. “C’mon, man, even you can admit she’s smoking hot. I bet you’ve at least thought about all the dirty things you’d do to her in the air. Bet she’s flexible as fuck too, could twist her like a pretzel, sink into her tight little body anywhere in that plane and she’d still take it like a champ.” This man has a death wish as he ignores my murderous glare and my hands balling into fists. “I can only imagine the noises she’d make. I bet she’d sound like a porn—”
My knuckles slam into his face, the punch sending him backward into the plane steps. Grabbing his shirt, I pull him so we’re nose to nose, his features blurring as I stare at him intently. “Say one more word about her and it will be your last.”
“Y—you punched me, you fucking bastard,” he splutters.
“That’s not all I’ll do if I even catch youlookingin her direction again,” I snarl, spit landing on his face. “Do I make myself clear?”
“I’m going to report you,” he threatens, as his bravado slips slightly.
“Go for it. I doubt I’m the first one you’ve made vulgar comments to, and I doubt I’d be the first who’s put in a complaint about your conduct, Colin.” Even up this close, I can see his face pale. I huff derisively, pushing him hard into the metal rails as I step away from him.
“Wyatt?” Pippa’s small voice has me jerking my head toward her, regret and shame jumping onto my shoulders, weighing me down. “Is everything okay?”
“Go back inside the plane,” I demand. Returning my attention to the sniveling sack of shit in front of me, he’s wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve, grimacing when he sees his blood. “Colin and I were just finishing up.”
I snatch the clipboard and scribble my initials without reading the data, then throw it back to him. He misses, the plastic falling to the ground with a clang, and I don’t say a word as I leave him bending down to pick it up.
He’s still touching his nose, even though the small amount of blood’s gone as I press the button for the stairs, the door slowly lifting to close. I can feel a vein in the side of my neck pulse as I’m cast in shadows, my eyes burning as I stare unblinking at the inside of the jet. A throbbing in my knuckles pulls my attention to my hand, and I lift it, noticing the faint red mark on my skin. Flexing my fingers, I loosen out the tension, my blood still surging with a volatile energy.
“Wyatt?” Pippa’s hand lands on my back, pressing gently and leaning her head against me. “What the hell was that? Are you okay?”
The image is similar to the night I found out about Fiona, the way she touched me, comforted me, and like that night, I try to brush her off, ashamed by how I acted. I should be in better control of my emotions.
Guys like Colin bear no weight on the world, they’re big mouths with small dicks, saying anything to make themselves feel good.
“I’m fine,” I mutter, trying to move past her. But she grabs my arm and pulls me away from the cockpit, guiding me into a seat in the cabin. Shoving me down, she walks toward the bar, spreading out a linen napkin before pulling out an ice tray and lining it with the cubes.
“Pippa, I need to get ready to fly,” I tell her as she kneels in front of me, cupping my hand in hers and resting the ice on my knuckles.
“Ssh,” she whispers, her fingers brushing over the pulse point in my wrist.
“We’ll miss our slot.”
“Then we’ll wait for the next one.” The look she gives me holds no room for arguments. I sigh, sagging back and closing my eyes. “What did he say?”
I release a humorless laugh. “What makes you think he said something?”
“I know you, Wyatt,” she says pointedly. “You’re not the type of man to fly off the handle, unless seriously provoked. Which leads me to believe he said something about me.”
“You’re too clever for your own good,” I mutter.
Her hand lands on my knee, rubbing circles against it. “Tell me.”
Opening my eyes, I shake my head and lean forward. Taking the makeshift ice pack from her and setting it aside, I cup her cheek, loving the way she leans into my touch.
