His Brother's Wife

by Mia Ford

  “Is it about the thing you’re thinking about?” Emma asked.

  “It is.”

  "Okie dokie. What's up?"

  “It’s about going to Aunt Sophie’s house.”

  “Alrighty.”

  “I’ve just been wondering, Emma. Does it bother you?”

  “I love Aunt Sophie. I like her, too, so I like being with her.”

  “I know you do, baby, but does it bother you how often I have to leave you with her? Does it bother you how often I’m away?”

  She was quiet for a minute. The light turned green, and my foot pressed down on the gas pedal. Her silence made me nervous about what her answer might be, but at the same time, it made me proud. My baby girl wasn't the kind of kid to deliver an answer without thinking it through, and that was something any parent should be proud of. It was something I would always be impressed by, even when the answers she gave me weren't precisely what I wanted to hear.

  “Yes and no,” she said finally.

  “That sounds like a true answer. Want to explain it a little?”

  “Well,” she said thoughtfully, her voice sounding adult enough that it gave me a little pang of anticipation of her growing up. “You like your job, right?”

  “I do, sweetie. I really do.”

  “That’s what I thought. I like that. I think everyone should like what they do.”

  “I think so, too.”

  “Right, so that part makes me really happy,” she said. “But I miss you sometimes, and that part is hard.”

  “I’m sorry, baby. I miss you, too. I miss you so much when I’m not at home. Every time I’m in a new place, I think about what it would be like to be there with you instead of on my own.”

  "But you aren't gone too much," Emma consoled, sounding even more adult than ever. "So you don't need to feel bad. And in a couple of years, I won't even have to go to Aunt Sophie's when you go away."

  “Is that so?” I laughed, trying to look at both my daughter and the road at the same time. “How do you figure?”

  “Cause I’ll be old enough to stay at home by myself, then. I won’t have to go anywhere. I’ll just be able to stay at home.”

  “Oh no. No way, little lady. I don’t know who put that idea into your head, but a couple of years are not going to be enough for you to stay home on your own overnight.”

  "Then how long?" she whined, the first giveaway in this particular conversation that she was still only a ten-year-old girl. "A couple of years is so long already!"

  “Not long enough. You won’t be able to stay on your own overnight for a lot more years than a couple. Not until you’re thirty-five, at least.”

  “Thirty-five?! No way!”

  “Thirty-five at least, little lady. Maybe even longer.”

  “Um, but that makes no sense.”

  “How do you figure?”

  "Because, Mama, you're only thirty! If you can go out by yourself on a plane, I can be by myself by the time I'm thirty. Right?"

  "I don't know, sugar, we'll see. As far as I'm concerned, there's nothing wrong with keeping you safe for longer than I was kept safe myself. Nothing wrong with that at all."

  We drove in silence for a while then, and my mind went back ten years, back to when I was only twenty and getting married, while already three months pregnant. Twenty had seemed so old to me then, but now that I was ten years older, I understood how young it really was.

  Emma would be there herself in only ten years’ time, and it would fly by in the blink of an eye. It was a joke, the idea of keeping her locked up in the house until thirty-five, but that didn't mean there wasn't a part of me that wished I could make it true. I wanted to protect her. I wanted to keep her safe from all of the hardships and pitfalls I'd experienced for myself, even if I wasn't quite sure how to manage it.

  “Hey, Mama?”

  “Hm?”

  “Can I ask you something else?”

  “Of course, you can, Emma, always. You can ask me anything you like.”

  “It’s about boys.”

  “Oh goodness, is it? Why, do you have a crush?”

  “Nope, not me. I was just wondering about you.”

  “What about me?” I asked.

  “I was wondering if you’re seeing anybody cute?”

  “Emma! What on earth would make you ask me a thing like that? Is it because you’re getting crushes of your own?”

  It was one of those things I had to ask, but in my head, all I could think was, Please God, not yet. I looked at her in the rearview mirror again and saw her nose totally wrinkled, which flooded me with a sense of total relief. It was still a conversational topic I hadn't been expecting, but I was a hell of a lot happier with it being about me, than it being about her.

  “Ew, gross! No, not for me. I mean you, Mama.”

  “But why would you ask about something like that?”

  “I dunno,” she said. “Because.”

  “Because why?”

  “Because you’re alone too much. And when you do go on dates, they aren’t good. The guys you go out with, Mama. I don’t think they’re any good.”

  Sometimes a child said something that completely floored you, and this was one of those times. I hadn’t ever really considered what Emma might think of the very occasional dates I went on. I hadn’t thought she had ever really noticed them. Not only had she noticed, but she also didn’t approve. It made my heart hurt, as did the reason for the slim pickings available to me when it came to men.

  In my experience, few men were interested in dating a woman with a child in tow. They were generally only interested in unattached women. I had no intention of telling Emma that, of course. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings or make her feel like it was her fault. But that didn’t make it any less true.

  The dating prospects for a woman like me were a veritable wasteland. It was something I had all but given up on. Of course, Emma didn’t need to know that, either.

  As I pulled up in front of Sophie’s house and put the car in park, I turned and offered my daughter the biggest, best smile I could muster up.

  “How about I make you a deal?” I asked.

  “Okay! Wait, what? Is it something I’ll hate?”

  “No, silly girl, nothing you’ll hate. You promise me that you’ll be extra good for Aunt Sophie, and I’ll agree to do my best to find somebody better to date. What do you think? Sound like a deal?”

  “Deal!” she said, nodding. “That’s good because you’re gonna have to find a good boyfriend before I ever can, right?”

  “Let’s just deal with one boyfriend at a time, okay sweet girl? One boyfriend at a time is just about all I can take.”

  Chapter 2: Drew

  “Afternoon, sir.” The pretty girl manning the desk in front of me smiled. “Welcome.”

  “Thanks, darling,” I said. “Do you happen to know if Captain Fred is in the Pilots’ Lounge?”

  "I haven't seen him," she answered as she glanced around. "But if he's flying today, I'm certain he's in here somewhere."

  “Certain? How can you be certain?”

  "Because it's just part of what he does,” she said. “You know how pilots are, right? Such creatures of habits. He's always in the lounge before a flight, every time, without fail. Do you know for sure that he flies today?"

  “I do.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  "Because," I smiled at her winningly, a smile that had worked on every woman I ever encountered without fail. "I'm his co-pilot. At least for the next couple of days."

  “Oh! Oh, God, I’m sorry! Somehow, I didn’t think you would be a pilot yourself. I thought maybe. Well, I don’t know what I thought.”

  “I can take a guess,” I said. “You thought I was a flight attendant?”

  "Truthfully?" she asked with a guilty look on her pretty face. "That's exactly what I thought. It's just that you look so young, you know? You look super young for any kind of pilot, even for a co-pilot. I'm sorry. I hope I don't so
und as rude as I feel."

  “Please, don’t worry yourself. You don’t sound rude at all, as far as I’m concerned. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll take it as a compliment.”

  “Good! Good, that’s exactly what it is. And good luck finding Fred. Like I said, I’m sure he’s in here somewhere.”

  I gave the still-flushing girl another nod and turned to make my way into the lounge. There was no lie in what I had told her. I was neither surprised nor offended by the girl's assumption that I was a flight attendant, instead of an actual pilot.

  I was thirty-two years old and looked young for my age. I also made a habit of carrying myself with whatever youth I could project, rejecting the idea that it was necessary for me to act like a pompous jackass just because I was in a job some people saw as prestigious. I took the job seriously, but that didn't mean I wanted to become old before my time. I wanted the opposite of that.

  Being a young pilot came with plenty of perks, including getting pretty women to spread their legs for me wherever I landed. I fully intended to take advantage of that perk for as long as I was able, which would probably be for a good long time. I wasn't being cocky, it was just a fact, and one that made me smile as I continued my search for the elusive pilot Fred.

  I found him all the way in the back of the spacious lounge, sitting in a cloud of cigar smoke with a half a dozen other pilots. I squared my shoulders and put a neutral smile on my face before I made my move to join the fray. There was never any telling when it came to men like these. It was true that I was technically one of them, but that didn't mean I had to like them. Some of the times, I did, and some of the times, I didn't. When it came to the men I had to fly with, it was all luck of the draw.

  "I'm sorry to interrupt, gentleman, but is there a Fred Stevens amongst you? I've been looking for a Fred Stevens, and if ever there was a group of men who looked like pilots, it's you guys."

  There were probably seven men sitting there, all of whom turned to look in my direction when I spoke. Most of them were still laughing, but there was also the question in their eyes of who was interrupting their private get together. Groups of pilots were always that way. They were private clubs wherever they were that most people wouldn't have tried to interrupt. The fact that I had walked right up and done just that gave them pause that was obvious on their faces. Not for the first time, I wondered how I could be part of a profession that was so often unappealing to me in others. It was a conversation I didn't enjoy having with myself, and one I was glad to have put to an end with the answering of my question.

  “Who the hell wants to know?” one of the men asked loudly, still laughing light-heartedly. I assumed he was Fred. “Who are you, kid? Didn’t anyone tell you this was the pilots’ lounge? That girl at the front shouldn’t have even let you in. Somebody ought to let her know she can’t be letting every good-looking guy through our front door.”

  “No sir,” I said. “That’s not what she did.”

  “How do you figure, young man?”

  “Because, I’m not a random guy, although I appreciate the implied compliment.”

  "Well, then who the hell are ya, if you're not some random guy?"

  "I'm your co-pilot, Mr. Stevens. At least for the next couple of days, I am. I've been looking for you."

  “Shit, son!” Fred exclaimed. “You should have let me know that a little earlier. What’s your name, anyway?”

  “It’s Drew, sir. Drew Larson.”

  “Have a seat, Drew, and for Christ’s sake, stop calling me sir. You make me feel like I’m a hundred fucking years old.”

  I nodded that I understood and sat where Fred Stevens indicated. He didn't like being called sir because he felt like it made him old. I got it, but looking at his face, I wondered how old he might be.

  In my mind, there were roughly two different kinds of pilots. There was the buttoned-up kind that took everything almost too seriously, and then there was the kind that pushed everything in life to the edge. Just a perfunctory look at Fred Stevens told me he was probably the latter kind. It was why I couldn't get a handle on how old he was. He had the look of a man who had partied a hell of a lot more than he should have. The only thing I couldn't yet be sure of was whether or not the partying was still happening.

  “So, you’re going to be the new guy now, huh?”

  “For the next couple of flights, at least.”

  “Replacing that last fucker, huh?” he asked, shaking his head. “Thank Christ for that. That one was a stiff, you know? Total stiff. No two ways about it.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” I said. “I never met him.”

  “Don’t have to meet him,” Fred said, taking a puff off his cigar. “You can take my word for it. Guy was a fucking square.”

  Some of the other pilots around the table laughed, but I didn’t.

  “I guess there’s a lot of us, huh?” I asked.

  “Us?” Fred asked with a frown beneath his drooping mustache. “Aw, shit, us? So then, you’re one of them, huh? One of the stiffs, I mean. The squares.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t think of myself as a square, but that’s just me.”

  “I should’ve known you were. Pretty boy pilots like you are always stiffs. You know it, just the same way as I do.”

  Why the hell was he thinking about stiff pretty boys? I kept the question to myself. Things were already off to a rocky enough start.

  “I don’t tend to think of myself as a pretty boy, sir,” I said.

  "I told you! No sir, all right? Stevens. Just call me Stevens, and we'll get along just fine, square or not."

  "All right, Stevens,” I said, nodding. “Whatever you say."

  "Whatever I say, huh? Well, I say you're a pretty boy, and I've got the proof."

  Despite his weird obsession with complimenting my looks, I didn't like this man. I had only spent a short amount of time with him, and already, I knew I didn't like him.

  He represented a shining example of the kind of man I hoped not to become after another dozen or so years on the job. He was a little bit too loud, a little bit too out of control, and a little bit too full of himself.

  I had no patience for men like that. My lack of patience wasn't enough to keep me from looking at his so-called proof, though. When I turned to glance over my shoulder, I smiled a little. The Pilots’ Lounge wasn't just for the pilots; it was for everyone who worked on the flights, including the crew and the flight attendants. At the moment, there was a gaggle of women all dressed for a flight standing several feet behind where I sat with Stevens. Several of them were looking in my direction.

  There was the proof of the pretty boy thing. It wasn't my favorite nickname, but when it got the attention of chicks as good-looking as these, I found myself minding it a lot less.

  There was one, in particular, a little blonde thing with the kind of curves a man could really grab onto. She caught my attention immediately. If this chick was on my flight, things might be looking up. Along with a fantastic set of tits and hips that made me get half hard just looking at them, she had the kind of long, blonde hair I would have loved to pull. Her eyes were wide, blue, and innocent, which only made her hotter, and her smile was enough to make me want to talk to her.

  I had no desire to talk to her for any longer than necessary, not to get into a fucking relationship or anything as stupid as that, but I wouldn't have minded talking to her for long enough to get her into bed. If she was on my flight, and I was starting to pray to God that she was, the two of us were going to be stuck in Dallas that night. Without much of anything to do in Texas, I thought there was a good shot that I might get her up to my hotel room. If I could do that, I could get anything.

  I watched the way she looked as she spoke with a couple of other flight attendants. She looked sexy as hell in her flight attendant uniform. I would bet money that she was wearing a sexy little thong.

  I imagined walking over to her. Grabbing her and turning her to meet my gaze. I took her mouth to mine, our tongues i
ntertwining. She tasted amazing, sweet from the lip gloss she was wearing. I put my hands in her hair and pulled the pins out, causing her hair to fall. I wanted to be able to pull it whenever I could.

  “I want you.” I said.

  “Then fuck me.” She said.

  She removed her clothes, slowly. Drawing me in and captivating me. Her body was absolutely gorgeous. Her curves were perfect. Her breasts were large and her nipples were small and perfect. I started sucking on one nipple while I rolled the other between my thumb and forefinger.

  “Mmm.” She moaned softly, arching her back from the pleasure.

  My hand slid down to her warm, wet pussy and began to rub her clit through the lace on her panties. She moved her hips along with my hand.

  I backed up, ready to feel her around my dick.

  She removed her panties and bent over. She looked perfect like that. Her wet, hole opening and ready for me to enter.

  I took a step toward her and then another and was close enough that the tip of my dick was brushing up against her pussy. I controlled the urge to come already.

  “Mmm.” She moaned again, pushing back just a little bit. As she did so, I leaned back. I wanted to drive her a little more crazy.

  I grabbed her hair in both of my hands.

  “I’m going to fuck your tight pussy now.” I said through clenched teeth.

  A shiver ran through her body and I pushed myself into her tight pussy. It squeezed around my throbbing hard cock. I pushed myself in so I was all the way into her. I pulled myself out slowly and slid back inside of her.

  I began to pick up the pace, grabbing her hair with one hand and holding onto her hip with my other hand. I slammed my dick into her, hard. Her head was titled back some from the way I was pulling her hair.

  “Oh shit!” She cried.

  “You like that?” I asked.

  She nodded her head. “I love your hard cock.” She moaned as she pushed back on me some. My cock slid in and out of her, faster and faster and I could tell she was getting close and suddenly she was moaning, her body trembling.

  “I’m coming.” She said.

  Then I pulled out of her. “I want to come in your mouth.” I said as she got onto her knees in front of me.