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I swiped to end the call as my phone buzzed with an incoming text.
Georgia: Hey. I wanted to say thank you again for last night. It was really thoughtful of you to bring me everything you did.
I typed back.
Max: My pleasure. How are you feeling today?
Georgia: A lot better. My fever is gone, and my throat is almost back to normal. My energy is coming back, so I might even run out to Home Depot to get a cock gun to fix my tub.
My brows shot up. A cock gun?
Before I could ask, another text came in.
Georgia: Oh my God. Autocorrect. A caulk gun. I meant a caulk gun. LOL.
I chuckled and typed back.
Max: That’s too bad. I was going to offer to come over and bring my cock gun to help with whatever you need.
Georgia: LOL. Anyway, I’m feeling a lot better. Thank you.
Max: Glad to hear it.
Georgia: I feel bad about ruining your birthday.
That gave me an idea.
Max: How bad? Want to make it up to me?
The circles started to jump around as she typed. Then they stopped for a full minute before they finally started again.
Georgia: I don’t think it’s smart for me to answer yes to that question, without knowing what you have in mind.
I smiled. Smart woman.
Max: Nothing too devious. But I could use some company tomorrow night. I have a birthday dinner at my brother’s. You coming will ward off my sister-in-law spending half the night telling me about her friends and trying to set me up.
Georgia: LOL. Birthday dinner at your brother’s. That sounds harmless enough. Sure, I’ll come. It’s the least I can do for ruining your birthday.
Max: Can you cut out of work at four? It will take us an hour or so to get there.
Georgia: I think I can arrange that. My boss is pretty cool.
Max: She also has a great ass. ;) I’ll see you tomorrow.
And here I thought my day couldn’t get any better.
CHAPTER 7
* * *
Georgia
“So how did things go with your cock gun?” Max flashed a grin before returning his eyes to the road.
I chuckled. “It went well. But I guess I have a confession to make. My texts sometimes get mangled because I use Siri to read them to me and voice text to respond. It’s quicker because of my dyslexia. I guess I should be more careful.”
Max shrugged. “Nah, not with me. Do whatever is easiest for you. I figured it was autocorrect. Though if you ever do need a cock gun, I’m your man.”
I smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“What’s it like, anyway? Having dyslexia.”
“It’s frustrating at times. Have you ever gotten really drunk and tried to read something? You can’t quite make out the words, so you’re squinting at the paper, but you’re also rocking back and forth so you just can’t grasp the letters with your focus? It kind of looks like a bunch of symbols that don’t make too much sense.”
“Is this a trick question to assess my character?”
My brows drew together. “No.”
“Then the answer is yes.”
I laughed. “Well, that’s sort of what reading can be like for me.”
“Doesn’t seem like it’s stopped you from doing much.”
I shook my head. “In some ways, I think it actually helped me. It taught me a work ethic at a young age.”
Max put on his blinker and got off at the next exit—the Van Wyck Expressway.
“Umm… Where are we going?”
He grinned. “I told you. My brother’s for dinner.”
I looked around. “Does your brother live at the airport?”
Max had arrived at my apartment in a sleek, black convertible Porsche with Four in a small travel caddy in the backseat. He’d said it took about an hour to get to his brother’s, so I’d assumed he lived in Westchester or Long Island.
“I have practice at eight AM tomorrow. I promise I won’t have you out too late.”
“But where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
We passed a dozen color-coded signs for all the different terminals at JFK, yet Max never turned. Instead, he exited onto an area that looked industrial, a combination of airplane hangars and office buildings. A few blocks down, he pulled into a parking lot.
“Are we here?” I looked at the sign hanging from the building. “What’s Empire?”
He smirked. “It’s driving you crazy, isn’t it?”
A guy in Dockers and a polo walked out from the building. He strolled directly to Max’s car and opened the driver’s side door.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Yearwood. We’re all ready for you.”
Max shut off the ignition and tossed the keys to the guy. “Thanks, Joe.” He got out of the car, jogged around to my side, and opened my door, extending a hand to help me out. Then he grabbed the dog from the backseat.
“Did I forget to mention that my brother lives in Boston? Empire is a private jet company.”
“You have a private jet?”
