Devious Wingman: A Cocky Hero Club Novel by Hagen Casey & Club Hero

Author:Hagen, Casey & Club, Hero
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cocky Hero Club, Inc.
Published: 2021-01-02T16:00:00+00:00

15

The problem with flying a business jet and not an F-22?

Autopilot.

You know what autopilot left a lot of time for? Feeling the fucking stare of the woman you were buried in the night before as she jackhammered through the back of your skull with her aquamarine eyes.

I said goodbye.

And karma promptly kicked me in the fucking teeth and called me ugly.

So I didn’t say it out loud, but I’d made the decision to walk away and stay away this time. Especially after the ongoing performance from her the night before. I’d even left my shirt behind because I’d never be able to see it or touch it without thinking about it wrapped around her body, and life was goddamned hard enough without taking on a four-hundred and seventy-eighth way to torture myself.

Yeah, I pulled that number out of thin air. If I were really to take a hard look at it, I probably had thousands of torture devices in my arsenal when it came to crucifying myself for the past.

Done racking up betrayals, I hit the road last night. Especially after the way she rejected everything from me but my body, shutting me out, and erected impenetrable steel walls between us even as she fucked me.

Yeah, that’s a lot of me, me, me.

Believe me, I’m sick of myself at this point. As much as I hated what she did to me, I hate more what each impersonal thrust did to her. She deserved better than being some woman I got a nut off in. I couldn’t live with letting her reduce herself to a casual fuck.

I’d tainted her enough.

“You’re quiet, man. Are you still pissed that I locked us in on this trip?” Hawk asked, casting me a quick glance before sweeping through to check all the gauges again.

Hyperaware from our days in the Air Force, we eyed our controls far more than the average pilot, but the habit was so damned ingrained in us, to change it would be asking us to relearn how to fly.

Our way was safer.

After all, there was no autopilot in a fighter jet. It was all under our control… all the time.

I slid the cuff of my headphones back on my ear, obliterating the dull roar of the Cessna as we glided through the sky, piercing the occasional thin cluster of clouds.

Hawk needed to scan the instrument panel a thousand times per flight, but me, I needed to covet the smooth whir of a fully-functioning, efficient engine. That hum served as constant reassurance that my ass would be staying firmly in the air. We all had our security blankets in the sky, and the reassurance provided by the smooth thrum of the plane was mine.

“You know how I feel about surprises, but I get why you did it. Morgan doesn’t look like the kind of guy who’d take no for an answer,” I said into the microphone brushing my bottom lip.

Morgan had been formidable and shrewd when dealing with us, an attitude I imagined he wielded in business with great success.

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