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“What did you expect her to do, Boomer? She’s allowed to move on. I know you’re a little fucked up right now, but you do remember the part where you up and moved three thousand fucking miles away?”
My eyes slammed shut. They were heavy and I didn’t want to argue with Player. Hell, I didn’t feel like anything right then.
A warm, soft light greeted me when my eyes opened the following morning. It took me a minute to realize where I was. The front passenger seat of Aaron’s Jeep. Flickers of the night before came back to me—along with a pounding headache—and I grimaced. I hadn’t made that much of an ass of myself since my twenties. Early twenties. I was too old for this shit. And I felt it, every one of my thirty-five years, as I moved to get out of the Jeep. My mouth was dry, leaving my tongue feeling like sandpaper, and the tension in my neck told me I’d likely slept with my head propped back, mouth hanging open.
“Shit,” I grumbled, slamming the door behind me before stalking up to the house.
The rich scent of coffee floated to me as soon as I stepped into the entryway, but I bypassed the kitchen and went straight to the bathroom. I splashed water on my face, ran my fingers through my hair, and swallowed two cupped handfuls before going back to the kitchen. Gemma was sitting at the table, her tablet in one hand, a mug of steaming coffee in the other. Without looking up, she pointed her chin at the coffee pot. “Help yourself to whatever is left. Aaron’s already at work.”
“Thanks.”
I fixed a cup and chugged down half of it with a couple pain killers, not caring that it scorched my tongue.
“Jack, can I be honest with you?” Gemma asked.
I turned around, already knowing what she was going to say. I didn’t want to hear it, but I was crashing on her couch, drinking her coffee. What choice did I have?
She set down the tablet and leveled me with a firm stare.
“Go ahead,” I said begrudgingly.
“You need to get over yourself.”
I waited, ready for her next point, but she picked up her tablet again and then stood from the table.
“That’s it?” I asked as she breezed to the sink.
She rinsed her cup and put it into the dishwasher. “That’s it. Fresh towels are in the upstairs bathroom if you wanna grab a shower. Have a good day.”
Then she was gone.
I stared at the empty doorway for a long minute, marveling. Aaron had found himself his perfect match.
After showering, I shaved off all the overgrown scruff on my face, then kept on going and gave myself a close-cropped buzz cut. It was still longer than my early navy days but fell in regulation. The face staring back at me in the steam-edged mirror was both familiar and strange.
Feeling like a new man, I got dressed and then went next door to the air museum. Aaron was in the hangar, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Nick, his lead mechanic, checking out an old Cessna. They both looked my way when I walked in and Aaron grinned. “There he is!”
“Nice haircut,” Nick added with a smirk. He’d tossed some shit my way the day before for my caveman chic look.
I gave him a sarcastic grin. “Don’t you have some bolts to tighten?”
Nick flipped me off—grinning widely—and then sauntered off to get back to work. Aaron laughed and slapped me on the shoulder. “Someone’s feeling better.”
I reached up and rubbed my neck. “I’d be better if you’d woken me up and let me sleep on the couch instead of the passenger seat of that damn Jeep.”
Aaron chuckled. “Like I said, Boomer, you’re getting fat.” He popped me in the stomach—which, for the record, was still flat and, despite the excess drinking I’d been partaking in, was still segmented enough to show my six-pack.
“Fucker,” I growled.
Aaron waved a hand. “Come on. I got a lot of shit to do today.”
We went to his command center—a long table littered with papers and a laptop. He was midway through telling me about his expansion plans when a message broke through on the radio. A plane was ready to land.
I arched a brow. “You have a new pilot?”
Aaron nodded. “I figured you’d come back, but I couldn’t count on it. So I hired someone.”
“I’m not back, Aaron.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure. Anyway, her name’s Kourtney, and she’s fantastic. Very skilled pilot and great with the customers. Especially the, uh, gentlemen.”
I frowned, not quite sure what he meant, but the answer was obvious once the plane landed and the woman hopped out of the cockpit. She wore a pair of black slacks, a Rosen Air Museum polo shirt, but even in the casual attire, it was apparent she was concealing one hell of a body. She wore her long, dark hair pulled into a ponytail slung over her shoulder, which she tossed behind her as she strutted into the hangar. A wide smile flashed in my direction when Aaron called her over.
