Their Boy (The Game 2)

What was his problem? This was a sore topic for me. We all had our hobbies, and he’d just kicked the door into mine.

“Doesn’t erase the fact that it’s the king of the sky,” I replied.

He had his back to me where he stood, so I couldn’t see his expression. I heard his snort, though. “King of the sky,” he muttered, seemingly to himself. “Maybe not the best thing to say around F-16 pilots—you know, the real kings up there.”

I sucked in a breath. The F-16 was my favorite plane in the whole world, but this wasn’t the best place to have that conversation. I was in the way. He was relieving himself. If he wanted to chat about fighter jets anywhere else, I’d be happy to. Perhaps he was a fellow military nerd like me. I could talk about planes and tanks for ages in my online community.

“I didn’t say the Raptor was my favorite plane,” I said stubbornly. “Have a good day.”

My hand was on the door when he spoke up again.

“Which one would that be?”

I suppressed a sigh, flustered and uncomfortable. “The F-16.”

“Now that is a great thing to say around F-16 pilots.”

Okay, now he was irritating me. I was not having a discussion about fighter jets in the men’s bathroom with a man who could probably crush me like a bug.

“I’ll make sure to do that if I meet one,” I replied curtly and walked out the door.

I heard his chuckle right before the door closed behind me.

“You just did, kid.”

I froze in place and widened my eyes. Oh God. He was a fighter pilot? Oh God, oh God. Mortification flooded my face, and I felt my cheeks flame. I’d just been rude to a pilot. Last time I met one, when I was ten years old, I’d asked for an autograph. My dad had taken me to an air show. I’d stuttered like an imbecile.

“Oh God, oh God,” I whispered under my breath, hurrying up the stairs.

How had I not known Colt Carter was in the Air Force? Or so I assumed; it was the only military branch that still flew the F-16. Oh, God… How had I not known?

Should I leave? Perhaps that was best. One thing was certain—I could not face that man again. I was a fucking fool. A moron. A bumbling idiot who’d seriously tried to come off as someone who knew more than he did. An actual pilot.

I’d gained my knowledge from articles online and books and building model planes and listening to Dad’s stories. Colt Carter had been through years of training, and then, well, he’d flown the planes.

I couldn’t believe myself.

Someone had joined my table when I got back to—motherfucker! It was Lucas West. He sat right there next to Cameron. Across from my seat.

I almost turned around right away, but Cameron called my name.

Fuck my life.

I sat down again, mumbled a hey, and gulped some more Coke. I felt Lucas’s eyes on me, which I studiously ignored; it was as if he could sense I’d just offended his husband. Thankfully, Ivy and Gretchen asked for our attention, giving me an excuse to look the other way.

They stood between the two long tables and explained that the restaurant was launching their summer menu before the next munch.

I scrunched my nose. I very much liked the menu they had now, and I preordered the same meal before every munch.

On the other hand, given what I’d just done, I shouldn’t come next time. Or the one after that.

“Hey, Kit, didn’t your dad work in real estate?” Cameron asked.

Don’t make me face you, I whined internally.

“Sort of?” It was the short answer.

Cameron nodded at Lucas, and I had no choice anymore. I had to act cool.

Lucas had removed his suit jacket from the last time I’d gawked at him and Colt. He’d folded up the sleeves of his pristine button-down too and put on his shades.

Anxiousness flowed freely in my veins, and I swallowed nervously and glanced toward the stairs. It was only a matter of seconds or minutes before Colt returned, I was sure of it.

Damn it, I was missing out on what Cameron was saying. Something about pulling strings. I furrowed my brow in confusion. He knew my dad was dead.

“I’m sorry.” I interrupted his explanation. “I’m not sure what it is you need…? My dad dealt primarily with companies.”

Companies wasn’t entirely accurate, unless you counted the ones contracted by the military.

“Not me—Mr. West.” Cameron gestured at Lucas again. “I could’ve sworn you told me about your dad renting out apartments for short-term leases…”

“For private contractors, sorry,” I answered. I gave Lucas an apologetic look. “Are you looking for housing?”

“Temporarily. We’re doing renovations at home over the summer.” He extended a hand across the table. “I’m Lucas West.”

Yeah, I know.