Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
“I get it.” This was still a sore topic for me, and it prevented me from using my manners. If he wanted a sweeter or more respectful reply, he’d have to wait.
He finally let go of my chin. “You’re angry with me.”
“No, I’m annoyed, and I don’t want to talk about this here.” I tensed up further and made a move to get off his lap.
He didn’t allow that, and he only tightened an arm around me. His stare was so frustratingly unnerving. “I think I’m gonna have to push you until you quit holdin’ back so much.”
“Oh, here we go,” Lucas muttered.
I scowled. “I’m not holding back. I just told you I’m annoyed.”
The bastard smiled. “Annoyed won’t break down any walls, baby. But we’ll save that for another day.”
Fucking great.
* * *
We were shown to a table somewhere in the middle of the restaurant, and the menu was a good place to hide while I regained my composure. I ordered a Coca-Cola with lots of ice, my favorite, but took more time to decide on my meal.
I didn’t know if I was angry with myself or with Colt, perhaps a little bit of both; either way, it was messing with my appetite.
Tapas, tapas, tapas… I scanned the menu. Two pages of options. I was fucking up this relationship already, wasn’t I? I didn’t know how to stop it. I was sensitive about my issues and didn’t know how to hide them. Chorizo, sure, I’d go with that. Lucas recommended I pick four items to get a full meal. I nodded in thanks and never looked away from the binder. Was Colt staring at me? The tension was back. Or maybe it hadn’t left. God, I was uncomfortable. The olives and artichokes were probably good…
Ugh.
Our drinks arrived, and I thanked the lady for my Coke and placed it right in front of me so I could take sips while settling on what to eat. Mashed potatoes with garlic butter and herbs sounded nice, though I’d been to Spain and never, ever found that on a menu at a tapas bar.
I chewed on my straw in between slow pulls and figured the stuffed peppers would make a decent addition.
“Have you decided, dear?” Lucas asked. “We could always get a platter, otherwise.”
I angled myself closer to him and showed the items on the menu. “Is that one good?” I pointed to the chorizo.
“It’s one of Colt’s favorites,” he replied.
Blah. Colt, Colt, Colt.
The server came back, and I ordered four dishes when it was my turn, but I skipped the chorizo and went with the spicy sliders.
“So, they want me at Langley at the end of October,” Colt said.
“Oh?” Lucas gave him all his attention.
I did too, but I didn’t want it to show. I was still in a mood.
“It’s just a training mission,” Colt went on like it was no big deal. “They want me as one of the aggressors.”
Oh my God. I pinned my stare to a spot on the table and struggled to keep it there. Fuck, was he doing this on purpose? He knew I would have questions! Aggressor meant he’d be the enemy; he’d be the one the other pilots tried to chase down! Oh my God. That was so cool. Back in the day, we actually had trained Aggressor squadrons. Their job was to make our pilots sharper.
“Your favorite,” Lucas said, amused. “You’re still undefeated, aren’t you?”
“I mean…pretty much.” Colt leaned back in his seat and took a swig of his beer. I kept him in my periphery. “If you’ve singlehandedly taken care of four Flankers, you can’t let a bunch of cadets outta Laughlin beat you.”
My gaze shot up. “You did not.”
Colt tilted his head at me, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. “I didn’t what?”
“You didn’t singlehandedly take care of four Flankers in an F-16,” I stated confidently. Christ, I had limits, and even a pilot couldn’t spew out whatever the hell he wanted.
“Were you there?” He raised a brow.
I faltered, struck by a moment of uncertainty, but then…no. I wasn’t particularly fond of Russian aircraft—perhaps it was the stubborn patriot in me—but I’d be an idiot if I didn’t acknowledge that plane’s superiority over our F-16.
“Our F-16 fleet doesn’t even have AESA installed,” I said, referring to a certain radar that some newer multirole fighter jets had. “You can’t compare…” I trailed off when I realized what Colt was doing.
His grin confirmed it. He’d just said all that to get me to talk.
Bastard!
I gnashed my teeth and tightened my hold on the napkin in my lap.
Colt leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table. “It was two MiGs.”
Jesus, that was impressive. And somewhat believable. “I’m still mad at you.”
“Yeah? I guess you won’t be interested in visiting me on base, then.”
A whimper bubbled up, and it took all my strength to push it down again. Fuck! If my napkin hadn’t been made of linen, I would’ve torn it to shreds by now.