A youthful giggle drew Chad's attention from his thoughts and back to the boy in the seat next to him.
"This is coo', Major Monroe!” Jackson shouted to be heard over the rushing wind with the convertible top down. Up to this point, conversation had been at a bare minimum. Fine with him, since he wasn't sure what constituted appropriate topics for discussion.
"How about you call me Chad?"
"Oh no!” The boy's irises almost eclipsed his blue-gray pupils. “I'm not ayowed to ca’ grown-ups by their first name. Mommy said so.” His solemn nod indicated that mommies were always right. Sort of like baby sisters.
"Well...” He paused thoughtfully. “I don't want to make your mom mad at you or me.” Oh, no, getting on Casey's bad side was not in his best interest. “Do you think she'd let you call me Major Chad?” For some unfathomable reason, he didn't want this boy calling him anything so formal as “Major Monroe."
Jackson screwed up his face as he pondered the situation, and then he beamed. “I'm rea-y having fun, Major Chad."
"Me, too, kiddo, me too.” He surprised himself with the knowledge that he really meant it.
The late morning sun beat down on them, warming the supple leather seats and the air whooshing across their exposed skin. Jackson had yelped for joy when given the option of driving with the top down and enjoying the mid-October warmth. Chad was unsure if the boy would enjoy the sting of the air as it attacked the eyes or the feeling of having the skin on his face being blown off. But he honored the boy's wish and it appeared he'd made the correct decision. He intentionally hit the hills hard, causing their stomachs to leap up and then jolt back down. Jackson's giggle indicated he enjoyed the cheap thrill as much as Chad.
"I could feew that aw the way to my penis.” The boy laughed. And so did Chad.
He kept a careful eye on the time as he navigated the roads west of Las Vegas to take a quick spin around Red Rock Canyon. They were due back in town at eleven thirty. It wouldn't do to show up late at McDonald's for their lunch date, no matter how much fun they were having, and he hadn't thought to get Casey's cell phone number. He'd bet mommies were funny about punctuality, too.
The thought of having a date of any type with the curvaceous Casey sent Little Chad on immediate alert. Dates led to sex, and his cock wanted nothing more than to get into this particular woman's pants.
Damn his stupid cock all to hell. It hadn't wanted anything at all to do with the luscious duo who'd been interested in a ménage a trois last night. But the second Casey appeared in the hallway, sucking the air out of the area and electrifying their surroundings, Little Chad jumped straight to attention faster than a doolie—a freshman at the Air Force Academy—at inspection. Oh, yeah, he'd known she was back there, even thought she never announced her presence. He'd had a hell of a time concentrating on the idiot airman when all his senses honed in on her.
His brain argued vehemently with the male appendage in question. Under no circumstances was Little Chad to be thinking about Casey in sexual terms. Those were dangerous thoughts, regardless of their appeal. Too much rested on his relationship with this particular woman. The relationship had to remain platonic for reasons that bore repeating every minute of every day if necessary. The big head would win over the little one in this instance.
Remember Braedon, remember Braedon.
He chanted to himself, thinking about his buddy Braedon. The man had been the best damn helicopter pilot in the military, hell, the world, until he did the mattress tango with the wrong woman, the daughter of some general or colonel or some big shot muckity-muck who thought his little girl's shit didn't stink. Unfortunately for Braedon, she stank to high heaven and went crying to daddy when Braedon wouldn't bow to her matrimonial wishes. Not even Braedon's brigadier general buddy had been able to save his ass from being forced to resign, a supposed victim of a “reduction in force.” The sorry bastard got RIFd.
A definite lesson for him to remember. Don't fuck the general's daughter.
Then there was the woman herself, even if she wasn't his CO's baby girl. His first impression of Casey as a woman who deserved a forever type of man solidified the more he got to know her. He didn't have forever to offer, it wasn't available to him, not now and maybe not ever. Even if he was willing to play Russian roulette with the general and his career, he wasn't willing to do anything to hurt Casey.
And didn't that just speak volumes he chose not to listen to.
The little boy sitting beside him deserved a stable man in his life every bit as much as his mother. The relationship had to stay on the up and up and out of the bedroom.
He turned his thoughts back to Jackson and their ride.
After flying low through the dips and curves of the Canyon's recreational area, he turned the ‘Vette back toward the neon lights of the Las Vegas strip and the fast food restaurant where Casey waited for her son. Judging by the nervousness in her voice earlier in the morning when Jackson climbed into the car with his booster seat and strapped on his seat belt, he doubted she had done anything short of pacing and had probably been waiting in the restaurant parking lot since shortly after they left. He couldn't really blame her, he reasoned. After all, he'd nearly mowed the poor kid down with the very car they now both sat in.
She claimed it was because children under twelve shouldn't be in the front seat of a car. Not like the ‘Vette had a back seat for the kiddo. He didn't buy that longer than it took to hit supersonic and break the sound barrier.
Part of him still bristled with the lack of trust, however. The US government trusted him with not one, but two, multi-million dollar jets. It trusted him to help bring down a looming terrorist threat. Her own father trusted him to watch over her and keep her safe. Dammit, this woman would trust him if it killed him.
Jackson began a steady nonstop stream of conversation as the car slowed down crossing the streets of town. At first, he worried about answering correctly. He soon realized that a simple yes, or really kept the boy quite happy. Eventually, Jackson turned the conversation to the topic of flying. He didn't need any help making the discussion two way when it came to his favorite subject.
"My daddy flies F-16's. Is that what you fly?"
That piece of shit? Not likely. “No, I fly the F-15. I'm an Eagle Driver.” He'd never knock down his father in Jackson's eyes, not even with the typical fighter pilot one-up rivalry.
"What's that look like?"
Like the biggest, baddest, piece of air superiority ever built. “Didn't your dad ever take you out to see his jet?” He didn't need a direct glance to feel the deflated energy where there had been heightened exuberance not seconds before.
"No, I never got to."
"Then I guess I'll have to see what I can do about taking you out on the flight line to see both jets some time. Would you like that?” If General Covington couldn't get them out on the flight line after the completion of the training exercises, no one could.
"Aw, man! That would be coo'!” Jackson sat straight in his seat again, back to bouncing with that endless supply of youthful enthusiasm. It was enough to tire a person out.
Every McDonald's they passed elicited a, “Is this the Mickey Dee's where we're meeting my mommy?” The question was asked with a combination of excitement and dread that drew a chuckle from him each and every time. Jackson was ready to bolt out the door when he finally answered in the affirmative, excitement over seeing his mother winning out over disappointment that the ride ended. He pointed and waved and called out when he caught the first glimpse of his mother's minivan. Chad had a difficult job keeping him in the car until they came to a complete stop.
Powerless to stop it, a goofy grin spread across his face when he saw Casey climb out of the driver's door and approach the ‘Vette. A look of unadulterated relief lodged on her face as she braced for Jackson's running assault. While hugging his mother, words tumbled out of his mouth in a breathless recap of the trip.
"Shall we grab some lunch?” He couldn't remember the last
time he ate at this particular fast food chain.
"I think we'll—"
Jackson cut his mother off with, “I yike cheeseburger Happy Meaws.” He darted across the parking lot.
"Jackson Wilkes.” The stern maternal voice startled him. Drill sergeants had nothing on mommies. “You know you're supposed to hold a grown-up's hand in a parking lot."
Duly chastened, the boy waited for Chad to catch up and latched on to his fingers. The sweaty little hand reached right out and grabbed his heart.
"I guess you're outvoted, Mom.” Outmaneuvered was more like it. He had to hand one to the kiddo.
"So it would appear.” She shot what could only be described as a chagrined glance at her son.
A few minutes and an argument over who would pay the bill—which he won—later, he slid a food-laden try onto a small round table and divvied up the contents. Jackson bounced up and down on the hard plastic seat, chattering as he stuffed enough food in his mouth to qualify as eating. Once that chore had been accomplished, he darted off to play.
Leaving Chad alone with the all too desirable Casey. He couldn't help but take notice of her attire, or lack thereof. Her well-worn denim shorts clung to her bottom, taunting him as she walked in front of them on their way to the table. They were perfectly respectable, not at all revealing, denim shorts that had him panting. He choked on his aboveboard thoughts. And then there was the sleeveless number worn in deference to the climbing thermometer. It goaded him by clinging to her high full breasts.
He sucked on the straw of his cup to draw some much-needed moisture into his mouth. Only then did he realize that Casey had been speaking to him. “I'm sorry. I was watching Jackson play with that other little boy and didn't hear you.” If she realized his gaze was on her chest and not on the playground equipment, she was too polite to call him on it. Which meant she must not have noticed because she most definitely would have boxed his ears if she'd caught him ogling.
"I asked if you have weekends off."
"Oh. Yes, I do for now. That's the nice thing about being with the training squadron."
"That makes sense. It's tough on a family, those ten and twelve hour days, the alert rotations, the TDYs."
She shuttered her gaze as she spoke, piquing his curiosity. Had TDY done a job on her marriage? Her comment reminded the brain sitting on his shoulders of the prime reason he needed to enforce a no fly zone around this woman.
"I'd never really given it much thought,” he admitted.
She shot him a glance that said, Yes, and that's one of the reasons why you're still single.
He chuckled at the comment until the moment his knee brushed hers. All thought and feeling immediately shifted to his cock. The tingling sensation leapt across the nerve synapses from his kneecap to his lap with supersonic speed. Little Chad immediately stood at attention and refused the order to stand down. He couldn't help but notice as Casey's skin paled briefly then flushed to a becoming shade of red. Did she feel it too?
* * * *
The sensation of the brief contact sent shivers racing from her knee all along her spine to tweak at her nipples and tease between her legs. How can such an innocent touch cause such reactions?
"Boy, it's certainly getting warm this afternoon, don't you think?” She flapped the napkin in front of her face ineffectually. She'd have to hurt him if he made so much as a flip comment about where the heat really came from.
But then he wouldn't, would he? Sure he had come on strong during their first couple of meetings, but he finally seemed to have backed off. Not that she blamed him, of course. She lacked a certain quality or two that she imagined he required in a woman—the first being a tendency toward anorexia and the second being a willingness to wind up flat on her back within minutes of meeting him.
The reality of the situation leapt to her mind, taunting her in Brian's voice. Her own husband had found her sexually unattractive and boring in bed, to be brutal. She had nothing to offer him and even less to offer a man like Chad, a man who ran circles around Brian.
Which brought up another interesting question. Why on earth was the man sitting here with her at a fast food restaurant? And being nice to her without trying to get into her pants? She already established she wasn't his type.
Her pragmatic side insisted that he was merely keeping his promise to Jackson.
She didn't like her pragmatic side very much. In reminding her of that simple fact, it drummed home the message that he was a man of his word. At least for now and at least as far as Jackson was concerned. Still, it was a very dangerous and appealing trait.
Sheesh. Sitting outside on a lovely day, eating cheap greasy food, watching her son have a grand old time, and psycho-analyzing the situation to death instead of just enjoying the day and the company. One more legacy left behind compliments of the idiot soon-to-be-ex. Thanks a hell of a freakin’ lot, Brian.
"Mommy!"
Her head jerked up to locate her son only to realize that she wasn't the “mommy” being hailed. She noticed Chad looking uncomfortable across from her as she brought her gaze back to the table. He had endured as much of this “family stuff” as a single man ever could. He prepared to bail. She really had to give him credit for lasting as long as he did.
"Do you need to go?” She'd give him a graceful out.
"How'd you guess?” He seemed genuinely puzzled and she tried not to laugh.
"It's that sixth sense we women are blessed with upon childbirth. That and the fact that it's written all over your face."
"That obvious, huh?"
"Only to the trained observer. I'm surprised you made it this long, actually. Please, don't feel obliged to stay on our account."
"It's just that have some things to do. The landlord is coming today to fix my shower."
Some “thing” to do or some “one?"
She pushed away the uncharitable thought. But she knew an excuse when she heard one.
"That's great that you don't have to stay at the hotel anymore. Where did you move to?"
She thought she had to be hearing things when he gave her his address. He lived right around the corner from her. Oh Lord. Why couldn't he live on base or anywhere but in the same apartment complex? Somewhere where she wouldn't run the risk of seeing him all the time. Las Vegas was a thriving metropolis, for Pete's sake.
"So, I'll just say goodbye to the kiddo and be going."
"Thank you again for taking Jackson out for a ride this morning. It meant a lot to him.” And me.
"It really was my pleasure."
Did she imagine the look of genuine happiness shining in Chad's eyes? Was it even possible that he enjoyed the time he spent keeping his word to a four-year-old? Nope, couldn't be possible. She refused to wrap her brain around it.
She watched as Chad walked over to the base of the climbing pit and called out for Jackson. His shorts accentuated his tight, well-formed butt. She felt her cheeks flush with a heat that had nothing to do with the blazing sun as she admired the view. Hey. If he could check out her assets, she could most certainly return the favor. And he had most definitely had difficulty raising his eyes past her chest for a period while they ate.
Not that it meant anything, of course. Men just liked boobs.
Jackson shot out of the tube at the side of the climbing pit and bolted to Chad, who caught him in a big bear hug. The thought crossed her mind once again that the man just might have actually enjoyed himself.
She shot the wayward notion loose. Chad had already done damage to her initial assessment of him as a fun loving jet jockey. She forced herself to remember the truth lurking behind the human façade. A man that good looking, that talented an aviator—or so she had heard—had to be on the lookout for number one. Didn't he?
Not that it really mattered, one way or the other. Her top priority would always be her son. That was the reason for the crazy hours and missed sleep necessitated by the job at The Cockpit.
Her volunteer job at the hospital nurtured her soul.
She knew the pain of losing a loved one to cancer. She understood the grief and helplessness that came with standing by and watching death claim someone. She took comfort in guiding and supporting other families through the rough stretch. It made her feel as if something good came out of the senselessness of her mother's losing battle with breast cancer.
As Jackson continued his romp through the playground, her thoughts drifted back to her mother's illness. She fingered the pink enamel ribbon she wore to honor her mother's memory and make others aware of the insidious disease. The days of gut-wrenching sobs decreased in frequency as time marched forward, but tears still filled her eyes and leaked down her cheeks on a regular basis.
"It's okay, Mommy."
She hadn't even heard Jackson's approach. “Yes, sweetie, it is.” She stroked his sweaty head, smoothing the damp hair off his face.
"Were you thinking of Grandma?"
She nodded, pulling her son close as he climbed on her lap. The kid was way more perceptive than any four-year-old had a reason to be.
"I miss Grandma, too."
"We all do, sweetie.” It was time to go place more flowers on the grave.
"I yove you, Mommy."
Oh yeah, he was definitely her number one priority.
* * * *
Luz stared petulantly at the bright red sports car as it pulled out of the parking lot of the wretched place that sold mostly inedible food. American parents should be shot for filling their children's bellies full of such garbage. It was no small wonder why so many Americans looked the way they did, with their bellies hanging over their belts.
She couldn't wait to leave this country with its gaudy lights and peace-shattering noises and perpetually obnoxious people. And the smells. She yearned to return to her homeland, to the unspoiled beauty of the Cancuen rainforest. She'd hated it when her mother moved to the United States after her father had been imprisoned. But this place, this city, was horrid. She'd wanted nothing more than to return to her homeland with her father. But then he'd been murdered by that puerco and his puta.
Call of Duty [Class of '93 Trilogy Book 3] Page 12
