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“Gotcha. That’s cool, man. He took another drink. “What’s the biz?”
“It’s the Rosen Air Museum, up the coast from here, in a little town called Holiday Cove.”
Bennett didn’t register any recognition. “I’m not from around here.”
“Ah. Well, it’s about a four-hour drive north, so I doubt you’ll get around to it anytime soon.”
He laughed. “Yeah, probably not. Sounds cool though. You still fly a lot?”
“I take up tourists. I also added a couple of flight simulation chambers that people fuckin’ flip for. They get to run missions and feel all badass.” I laughed and shook my head. The simulators were pretty bomb, that was why I’d been willing to part with the chunk of change that it had taken to purchase them, but it was a far cry from the exhilaration of flying an actual mission.
Of course, it was a lot less risky too.
But for adrenaline junkies, like myself, that took out some of the fun.
“What about you?” I asked, tipping my beer in his direction. “Why’d you get out?”
He shrugged. “I needed a change. I’m still a reserve technically, but I’ve got some other stuff going on these days.”
I nodded, not sure why he felt the need to offer such a cryptic answer, but I let it go. It made no difference to me. He struck me as the kind of guy who could handle his own shit.
As Bennett polished off the last of his beer, I turned to scan the room. “Place is pretty crazy tonight, huh?”
“Yeah, I’ve been in L.A. a few weeks now and I think it’s always like this,” he answered with a laugh. “It’s fun, though.”
“What’s your type?” I grinned over at him.
“I’m a sucker for the stacked and smart mouthed ones,” he replied, returning my dark grin.
“Trouble, in other words.”
He howled with laughter but didn’t deny my assessment. “You a tits or ass kinda guy?”
I shrugged. “Depends on the girl.”
“Fair enough.” He set aside his empty glass. “You want another?”
I shook my head. I was still working on my first. “Not yet, but go ahead, I’ll hold it down over here.”
He got up and weaved through the crowd to get to the bar on the other side. I smirked as every woman he passed became magnetized on his ass when he walked by. The guy was built like a fuckin’ machine. He had an inch or two on me, and his shoulders were broader. A little slimmer than some other guys, but I was more cut than most of them. I prided myself on my ripped, chiseled physic and had been putting in some serious hours in my garage, on the bench, to get back to fighting shape after Boomer had hassled me about it during his last visit.
Bennett returned, leaving a trail of horny women in his wake, and I grinned at him as he slipped back into his seat.
“I think you just established a fan club out there on the floor,” I teased, jerking my chin in the direction of a trio of women who were all staring at our table. When they caught us watching them, two of the women turned away, trying their best to act nonchalant and detached, but the third, a short, spinner type, licked her lips as her eyes locked on Bennett.
Bennett chuckled and shrugged it off. He swigged another drink from the bottle in his hand.
The whole night reminded me of when Boomer had been wild and undomesticated. Granted, it had been years ago, but I could still remember some of our wild nights out on the town, catching the eye of every woman in the room. I was enjoying myself and was pleasantly surprised to have run into Bennett—even if he’d stolen the satisfaction of kicking the shit outta the asshole from the auction—but I couldn’t help but be reminded just how much I missed Jack.
“Fuck…” Bennett groaned. “Now, that, right there, might be just the ticket.”
I followed his hungry eyes to a petite redhead who was shaking her plump ass out on the floor. She had some guy trying to grind up on her, and when he tried to get a little too fresh, she reared back and slapped him across the face. Then, went right back to shaking her curvy hips without hardly missing a beat.
“Damn,” Bennett said, grinning across the room at her. “She reminds me of a girl I knew once.”
I didn’t ask. I knew what he meant. I’d had a few like that over the years. Most of the time I was more than content to love ‘em, and leave ‘em, but every now and then, one got under my skin and made me come back around for seconds—or thirds. One summer, there’d been a girl, Kimber Westlake, who had captured my interest for an entire two-week period. And, occasionally, she’d still come to mind, usually when I found myself in the middle of a drunken stupor.
