Page 14 of Blue Moon

She grinned a big, fake ass smile. “Hey, guys! I’m here with Captain Sawyer Roberts, the Blue Angel pilot I flew with today. Now we’re going to a gala! Say hi, Sawyer!”

Kill me now. I had definitely made a mistake. Served me right for asking her to the gala. I knew better than to try to go on a date with someone. I needed to stick to late-night booty calls.

Stay in your lane, Sawyer.

“What’s up.”

She rapidly typed on her phone, inserting hashtags, locations, emojis, and gifs, all the bullshit Instagram crap. I was surprised she didn’t put a puppy filter on her face.

Finally, she put her phone away. “Thanks for that. I get that it’s annoying, but my followers loved the posts I did earlier today about the Angels. I’m sorry—I’ll make it up to you. You look really handsome in that uniform, by the way. You have so many medals.” She blushed.

I didn’t bother returning her compliment. She already knew she was hot and used it to her advantage. Otherwise, she wouldn’t spend her entire life posting selfies. Hell, she probably had a man. She was too beautiful to be single. And she was clearly used to getting her way. Everyone probably bent over backward for her because of her looks. I wasn’t going to be one of those guys who fell for her act.

After a few moments in silence, she started talking again.

“Do you like San Francisco?”

I love San Francisco. I just wish I didn’t have to spend one of my only days in this city with you. But that’s my own damn fault. First for the dick flight path, and then for asking you out. I only have myself to blame.

Aloud I said, “Frisco is great.”

She gave me a condescending smile. “Just a tip—no one calls it ‘Frisco.’”

Whatever. I’d planned to open the car door for her, but after her story stunt, I decided against it.

I got back inside, and she climbed in next to me.

Damn, why did she have to smell so incredible though? Like a tropical smoothie I wanted to drink down.

She looked around the car and fidgeted.

I glared at her. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I was just wondering if this car had a top.”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course, it has a top. Do you have something against convertibles? It’s a beautiful night.”

“I don’t, actually. They’re quite fun. But I curled my hair and plan to take more pictures tonight, so if you wouldn’t mind, I’d prefer if you put the top up, please.”

Talk about high maintenance. This woman definitely wouldn’t be up for some wild sex—heaven forbid she got a hair out of place. “Well, lady, if you don’t like the wind blowing in your hair, you’re with the wrong man. During the flight today, you almost passed out from the G-Force. Your hair was one big rat’s nest, and your makeup sweated off, too. Plus, you puked while all your followers watched. Is there a filter for that?”

Her eyes bulged, and she sank into her seat. “It’s okay. I understand.” She looked away, and her bottom lip quivered.

Ah, fuck. I reluctantly pressed the button for the convertible top.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

She looked hesitant for a second, and then said, “I’m just going to add to my story really quick.”

Jesus. She couldn’t be off her phone for a minute. This was definitely a mistake.

After exhaling loudly, she primped her hair and smiled.

“We’re now heading into San Francisco. DM me your questions for Sawyer.”

Who was she? A Kardashian? Who watched this shit anyway?