The Girl He Needs (19 page)

“You look fine,” he says before nibbling on my lip.

“Fine?” Is that a veiled insult? Fine sounds boring.

“I like the skirts with the slits in them better.” He rubs his hand down my thigh.

“Is that why you wanted to know if I have clothes? You planning on making this dirty?” I fist his shirt in my hands and pull him against me.

“Man, I love where your mind goes. But no, I wanted to know if you had clothes because I’m going to Fort Lauderdale and I thought you’d like to come with me. It’s an overnighter for business. You ever been down there?”

“Once, to catch a cruise with my parents, but I was just a kid. I can’t go. What about work?”

“You’re not even supposed to be here. Why are you here?”

My smile wavers and try as I might I can’t keep the stupid ass tears from springing to my eyes.

“Hey.” He strokes his thumb down my cheek. “What happened?”

I drop my head forward, my forehead resting on his shoulder. “I was supposed to meet my brother. We were going to hang out this weekend. But he stood me up.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. All he said was sorry. I even took the weekend off from the bar.” Which will cost me handsomely in tips.

“Not knowing your brother, I can only guess, but maybe he needs more time?” He wraps his long arms around me and snuggles me against him.

“Time for what?” I say in his throat. “What did I ever do to him? He’s the one who left and didn’t look back. I’m really trying here and one moment he gives a little and the next he takes it back.”

“A trip to Ft. Lauderdale is just what you need. You can practice letting it go. Tell yourself you’re giving him the space he needs if that’s what it takes. But don’t stay getting all worked up over something you can’t control. Tomorrow’s the weekend and the expense is on Mark.” He strokes my back.

I step away with a shake of my head, crossing my arms over her chest. “You can’t fix this, Brinn. Don’t even try. No stupid-ass trip is going to make this better.”

He tucks his hands into the front pocket of his jeans. They ride even lower with the weight of his hands pulling them down and see the top of his tighty-whiteys. I strain to ignore the stirring of my girly parts. It’d be easier to ignore a gorilla tossing hundred dollar bills at me. He’s the perfect remedy for my disappointment.

“I’m not trying to fix it. That has to happen with Will, but I am trying to make you smile.” He leans toward me. “I’m trying to distract you, even just a tiny bit.” His smile is small and crooked, and I want to lick him from head to toe he’s so freaking adorable.

“Why are you going to Fort Lauderdale?” Moving back into his space so I can touch him, I play with the zipper on his flight vest, my shoulders relaxing while I visualize the schedule. This trip isn’t on it.

“Because of Mark’s new ‘business partner,’ Erik.” He rips his hands from his jeans to do the air quotes.

“That’s the dude that was in last week when Mark came back. The real estate investor?” I remember him as being harmless and wardrobe challenged.

Brinn rolls his eyes. “He’s convinced Mark there’s some land down there that would be a good spot for a school. I’m to check it out and decide if it’s a go or not. I really think it’s because he couldn’t get a charter out. Gave me some sob story about how terrible it is he can’t find a charter when he needs one and how he refuses to take a commercial flight because of their little bags of nuts and minuscule bottles of booze.”

I pause my zipping, one hand still on his vest. His entire body tenses under my fingers as he talks. There’s no need to mention how this shafts Brinn, who is desperate to be Mark’s business partner. He’s good enough to have the final say in this deal, yet he’s not good enough to sell part of the business too. Today has shit on both Brinn and me, and in his defense, I want to go inside and stomp on Mark’s white-sock-and-Croc-wearing foot before I deliver a knee to the belly.

“This Erik dude—”

“Is an annoying piece of work. When he laughs I want to peel my ears from my head.” Brinn’s hands are on his waist and the anger he’s experiencing is barely tethered. It pulses off him.

“Isn’t it a crazy long drive?”

“Yeah, that’s why we’re flying.”

My fingers still.

“I love this piercing in your mouth,” he whispers and bends to kiss it, his tongue teasing the area, his hands going to my waist.

But it doesn’t help. I shake my head, drop my hand from his flight vest, and step away. “Uh, flying? No, thanks.”

He searches my face before snaking his arms around my waist, pulling me against him. “You’re awfully pale under that sun-kissed skin. Wait. Are you telling me you’re afraid of flying?”

“I’m telling you I don’t want to go.” I try to push out of his arms.

He lets me go but keeps me from walking, maybe running, back to my car by holding me at the elbow. “Seriously? You made me go to a psychic. You called me...what was the word—”

“Unexciting,” I whisper and look at the small coffin that he calls a plane sitting in the hangar. I shake my head.

“Yeah, unexciting. You gave me this whole speech on adventure and you won’t get into a plane with me. You’re a hypocrite.”

That does it. I laser focus my attention back on him and point my finger toward his face. “I’m
not
a hypocrite. You weren’t going to die if I took you to see a psychic.”

“I might have. You don’t know.” He crosses his arms over his chest and lifts a brow.

“What? She was gonna read your palm too hard? Cut you with the tarot card?” I hope he recognizes my you’re-an-idiot face.

“Maybe she was gonna tell me something so devastating I would take my own life.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” I roll my eyes and turn to leave.

“No you don’t.” He jumps in front of me. “You can’t call me boring and chicken and not have your helping of crow.”

“There’s nothing you can say to make me get into a tiny tube of steel and go hurtling over the earth. Nothing.”

“First, it’s not hurtling. It’s flying. We aren’t taking a rocket. And second, I never figured you for a scaredy-cat. So much for all that talk about adventure and experiencing life. Guess everyone has their scaredy-cat limits.”

I gasp, not caring my mouth hangs open. “I’m not scared.”

“Yeah, I believe that.” He laughs in my face. Right up in there, taunting me like a playground bully. “Scaredy-cat. Scaredy-cat,” he sings.

“Shut up.” I narrow my eyes.

“Bauk, bauk, bauk,” he adds.

“That’s a chicken.” I cross my arms and stick out my hip, smug.

“That’s you,” he says. “A scaredy-cat chicken.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He continues making noises. But it’s his laughing that gets me. “Look who’s not so tough.”

“Oh, all right. I’ll go. Shut up already.” I bite my lower lip and bend over at the waist. “I think I might be sick.” I hate being a coward.

“Hey.” He takes me in his arms. “It’s gonna be OK. Trust me. I’m a pretty good pilot.”

“You better be fucking awesome.” I bury my head in his shirt, my breath on his chest.

“I’m the guy who showed awesome how to be better.” He kisses my forehead. “Now go home, pack, and be back here in forty-five minutes.”

“We’re leaving that soon?”

“Yup.”

“But Mark.” I motion to the hangar as if it’ll throw me a lifeline.

“You’re not even supposed to be here. Go.” He spins me around, swats me on the ass, and gives me a gentle shove toward my car.

“I just won’t come back,” I mumble.

He stops me with a hand on my arm. “You’re right. You won’t come back. We’ll just pick you up some things down there. We can expense it or something. Why don’t you go wait in the office? I’ll come get you when the pre-flight checklist is done.”

I flip him a bird over my shoulder as I hustle into the hangar. I’d seen Zach’s scooter alongside the building, and I figure I can slip out the other door and zoom away before Brinn clues in. I can hide at the mall or something.

I hate flying that much.

I find Zach by the water cooler filling a bottle.

“Give me the keys to your scooter,” I say and look over my shoulder.

With one hand he digs in his pocket, pulls out a silver skull keychain, and drops it onto my palm.

“I promise to bring it back. I’ll take good care of it,” I whisper and scan the space for Brinn. He’s likely almost done with his checklist.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but that scooter’s not going anywhere.”

I roll my eyes. Boys and their toys. “If I crash it I’ll replace it.”

He flips off the cooler’s tab and replaces the lid on the bottle. “It won’t start. The engine’s flooded. I’m about to work on it now.”

“Then why did you give me your keys?” My fear has been replaced with frustration.

“Because you asked for them.” He shrugs as if to say ‘duh.’

I roll my shoulders back and force a deep, hopefully calming breath before I say, “I need a way outta here, Zach. Fast.”

“I’m giving you a way out. My plane,” Brinn says from behind me, his hand coming to rest of the small of my back. “Trying to escape, were you?” he whispers in my ear.

I should tell him that I’m not going. He can’t make me and even though he’ll see me for the coward I really am, at least I’ll be alive. Never mind all those times he’s been out in the plane and come back unscathed.

“I can’t do it,” I say. Then bite my lower lip.

With his free hand, Brinn pries open mine and removes Zach’s keys, tossing them to the kid.

With his other hand, he gently rubs my back. “Babe, it’s gonna be OK. I’m gonna be right there and you’re gonna love it.”

I shake my head.

“Don’t let fear get you, Josie. You can beat this.”

“Not if I’m dead.” It’s sound reasoning. Who can argue with that?

“Come on,” he says and takes my hand, leading me to the plane.

“Tell the world my story, Zach,” I yell over my shoulder while reaching one hand toward him in a last ditch effort to cease this madness.

Brinn traps me between the fuselage and his body. “Here, start chewing this.”

He hands me cinnamon gum and I take two pieces.

After he practically carries me to my seat in the cockpit and straps me in, he hands me headphones, which I can’t get on as my hands are trembling too much. Brinn takes them, lowers them on with ease, then kisses my nose.

“Wowza. Hello sweet Josie,” Erik says, standing outside my door. His hands are in his pockets and he continually pulls them up, forcing the pant material to bunch up at his crotch. If that’s not bad enough, I see he’s wearing dress shoes with no socks.

I ignore him, focusing on the steady chewing of my gum, smacking it loudly with the occasional popping of bubbles.

Hey,” Brinn says to Erik while pointing his finger at me. “She’s off limits to you. You understand?”

Erik puts up his hands. “Territorial much? Hey, where are my headphones?” He looks around.

“Broken.” Brinn climbs in and goes through the checklist before we taxi to the runway.

I stare out the window; my gum smacking comes to a halt as we’re cleared for takeoff. I pop another piece into my mouth.

“Trust me,” Brinn says and pulls back on the throttle. I nod but as the plane increases in speed so does my chewing. When we lift off I involuntarily slam my eyes shut and reach out to grip Brinn’s forearm.

We clear the airport air space. I know this because I can hear the communication over the headset speaker.

“Josie,” Brinn says over the speaker. “Babe, look out to your right. There’s a pod of dolphins.”

I peek out from under my lids. Brinn nods with his head to look out my window.

I make slow work of turning to the window. Erik’s face is pressed against his and he glances at me before manically gesturing to the beach below us. Peering over the edge of the sill, I catch sight of the jumping mammals and lean closer.

“There’s a baby.” I bang my head against the glass, hoping for a better view.

OK, so the scenery
is
fascinating from this height. In one direction, there’s a vast blue canvas with puffy white clouds. From another I can pick out landmarks and stores. I see people swimming in their pools. It’s a mesmerizing perspective. The lack of turbulence goes a long way toward easing my angst. Twenty minutes into the flight, Erik tips back a flask and follows it up by slumping into his seat, drool sliding from the corner of his mouth.

Following a grimace and an eye roll, I nudge Brinn to look at Erik. In turn, he leans toward me and even draws my attention to my right.

“Kennedy Space Center,” he says in a husky-makes-me-horny voice.

“Want to try?” he asks, indicating the yoke.

“OK.” I tuck my gum into my cheek, which makes it protrude like I’m storing a wad of tobacco.

“Jeez, you’re adorable,” Brinn says and launches into the dynamics of aviation.

This fool, Erik, is sticking to us like unwanted body odor. First, he manipulated us into driving him around, starting with the supposed site of the new school, which Brinn pointed out would not function because of the non-existent access to a runway. Sort of a necessity for the business.

“I should have scoped it out with Google Earth first,” Brinn mumbles before he explains to Erik that, yes, a school in helicopter instruction would be good but not as profitable as one that offered a variety of aircraft instruction. Therefore, his backup plan of helicopters only wasn’t the most fiscally smart.

“You should stop drinking,” I say and take Erik’s double scotch on the rocks the waitress just delivered.

“Hey, fun police, give that back.” He gives a half-hearted lurch toward the drink but I have the advantage seeing as how I’m sober and he’s not.

The hotel we managed to find is definitely high end. The city, hosting a Brazilian jiu-jitsu national conference, is overrun with tourists, limiting our choices, but since Brinn is expensing the trip, he set no limits for the hotel. Funny enough, I stayed here when I was a kid and we’d all flown down to catch the cruise. I’d taken a muscle relaxer for that trip. Funny, how I’m staying here again. If memory serves, they have a pool that’s beautifully landscaped and a swim might be a prelude to events planned for later tonight.