When Sparks Fly (78 page)

Where do we go from here…

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Where it all comes back around…

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Acknowledgements

Other Books by Anne L. Parks

by
Anne L. Parks

Photography: Visual Concepts Photography

Model: Keith Cotton

Copyright © 2015 Anne L. Parks (Leanne Sparks)

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced and/or distributed in any manner without the author’s written permission. Not for distribution or resale.

The most dedicated young men I know.

It has been an honor being your “mom.”

And for my very own Fly Boy –

I am so proud to be your wife.

Go Navy!

‡
Chapter One

Grant

This totally sucks.

I sigh, tossing the remnants of my beer back. As soon as the glass makes contact with the table, Rabbit’s refilling it from one of the many pitchers strewn across the four or five rounds we’ve pushed together. I have no idea why I thought a guy’s weekend was going to make me feel better. Even if it is Fourth of July in Lake Tahoe. I guess it’s better than being stuck on the ship.

“Drink up, little buddy. It’ll be okay,” Beavis says in that condescending tone I hate. He’s such an asshole.

“Listen, if Rachel couldn’t see what a catch you are, then her loss,” my buddy, P-LOC, adds, elbowing me in the side. P-LOC stands for Pussy Induced Loss of Consciousness because he once took off with a woman he met in a bar when we pulled into port in Italy. Getting laid wasn’t the issue – taking off with the keys to the rental vehicle and leaving us all stranded – that’s what earned him the call sign.

I shrug. “I’m over it.” There’s a hell of a lot more conviction in the statement than I feel. My entire relationship is on a constant loop through my head.
What went wrong? What could I’ve done to make her stay?

“That’s the attitude, my young Padawan,” Bait says. “There are other women out there just dying to get laid by a man with a schlong down to his knees, a tongue that never stops, and the stamina of a bull. A man like me. And since I can’t bed all these women in one weekend, I’m sure some will be satisfied with the likes of you.” He tips the rim of his glass against mine, and downs half his beer.

I give him a head nod. “Thanks. I’ll remember you in my will.”

“Well, it’s a damn sight better than getting Rooster’s sloppy seconds,” he says, pointing to a guy who’s happy to take over for a woman giving him a hand job because he can do it better. A shiver runs down my spine.
God, please don’t ever let me be desperate enough to bed one of Rooster’s throw-aways.
I down my beer, and try to get the horrid mental vision out of my mind’s eye.

A group of women walk into the bar, stalling just inside the doorway to get a feel for the room. The two leading the way seem to be in charge. Their skin-tight dresses and sky-high stilettos are dead giveaways to why they’re here and what they’re looking for. About the only question is which one of my guys is going to get them first. Two other women wearing similar outfits appear to be less confident, but just as eager.

It’s the woman at the back that catches my attention. She’s wearing a nice summer dress, not so tight that things are falling out, but enough that it shows off her athletic build. She’s more into her phone than her friends, apparently completely disinterested in the chatter from the other women. In fact, she looks bored, like she’d rather get out of here as soon as possible.

I sit back and watch as a group from my table descends on the fresh meat. The women all seem receptive, even excited, to have Naval aviators buying them drinks and telling them how beautiful they are.

All except
her
. The one with the attitude. I don’t know what the hell Beavis said to her, but it pisses her off enough that she’s sitting at the bar by herself. Not that it bothers Beavis. He simply scoots his chair closer to the woman Oinker’s working on.

I eyeball the woman at the bar. She’s pretty, brown hair that’s all silky and shiny. Great body. She orders a scotch or something, which is in stark contrast to the fruity drinks with umbrellas littering her friends’ table.

She acts like she wants to be left alone. Not at all interested in sitting in a bar getting hit on by a bunch of horny jet pilots.

That’s my cue. The absolute wrong woman is always the one I go after. It’s an illness – or a death wish – not sure which.

I lean against the bar a seat or two away from her and catch the bartender’s attention. “Can I get a Jack Daniels? And another of whatever the lady is drinking?” I gesture towards my mark.

“Macallum 25,” she says, and I choke.
Fuck me! That’s like a two hundred dollar glass of hooch!
She lets out a little laugh and shakes her head. “Breathe, stud. I’m just kidding. Jameson,” she reminds the bartender.

I slide my glass down the bar and sit in the stool next to her. “Well, that wasn’t very nice. You nearly gave me a heart attack. And here I was, trying to be generous.”

“Ha! Or trying to get me liquored up so you can talk me out of my panties.”

My mouth drops open. “How could you disparage me in that way? You don’t even know me.”

Her eyes slide over to mine. Jesus H, they’re gorgeous. They look like fine Belgian chocolates.

“Are you male?” She asks.

“Through and through.” I wink at her.

“Straight?”

“Absolutely.”

She lifts her glass, letting it linger just a hair’s breath away from her very kissable lips. “No straight man buys a woman he doesn’t know a drink in a bar unless he hopes to get her into bed.”

“You make it sound like a bad thing when it’s quite practical. I buy you drinks. During the course of the drinking, we get to know each other better. This gives you time to – A, see if I’m a whack job, and B, make a determination on how drunk you will need to be to want to have sex with me. At the end of the night, you don’t pay for your liquor and I get sex. Win-win.”

Her eyebrows scrunch together and she just stares at me for a minute. I pop a mini pretzel into my mouth and wait for her response. I hope I look all cool and confident, because internally, I’m a trembling mess. This isn’t me. But I’m trying to avoid getting shit on by women, so I’m developing an
I don’t fucking give a damn
attitude. Tonight’s its debut.

Still too early to predict an outcome.

She looks back at her drink, and swirls it around in her glass. “Well, you make a compelling argument.” She tosses her drink back and tips her glass towards me. “Hit me.”

I smile and wave the bartender over, pointing to our glasses for a refill.

“So, what is it you and your merry band of misfits do? Besides sitting in bars getting women drunk enough to sleep with you?”

“I fly jets for the Navy.” A wide grin crosses my face. It still makes me stupid happy to be a pilot.

“You’re not going to sing that song to me, are you?” She pokes her finger into my chest, sending an electric shot straight to my groin.

“I hope it won’t have to come to that.”

A smile breaks across her face and she lets out a laugh. For some reason, it makes me want to puff out my chest. I get the feeling she doesn’t let go of her disinterested façade very often.

Beavis comes up next to me and slaps me on the back. “How’s it going over here? You need some pointers, Cary?” He looks over at –
damn, I don’t even know her name
 – and winks.

“Got it covered, thanks,” I say. I want to kick his ass right now. He picks up his beer, though, and saunters back over to the table.

She turns in her seat so she is fully facing me. “So, your name is Cary?”

“It’s my call sign.”

“Ahh. What’s his call sign?”

“Beavis.”

“Wait… I can figure this out,” she says. Her chocolate eyes narrow and a hint of a smile plays across her face. “Because he’s a butthead. Right?”

“Ding, ding,” I answer, clinking my glass against hers.

“Yes.” She does a quick arm pump. “Thought so. But yours has me stumped.”

“My first name is Grant.”

“Cary Grant,” she says – no
purrs
, and I swear my dick just popped up and took notice. “So, um, why?”

I lean back in my chair and let out a noisy breath. Do I really want to get into this when my
I don’t give a fuck
attitude is starting to work? This could potentially make me look like the pathetic lovesick puppy I’m trying to leave behind.

Nope. Gonna have to come up with something else.

“Because I always get the ladies, just like Cary Grant.” I grin at her and take a drink.

“Huh,” she says and finishes her drink. “Well, Cary ‘Always gets the Girl’ Grant, I think I will turn in. But because you bought me a couple of drinks, I don’t want you to go back to your room empty-handed. My friend, Carly, the blonde with the fake boobs? She loves Fireball. Buy her a few and her clothes will start falling off. Hell, you may not even need to actually take her to your room to have sex. She may do you in one of the dark corners.”

She stands, grabs her purse, and walks away. I’m left wondering what the hell just happened.

A round of laughter comes from my buddies. “Looks like Cary will have to settle for his hand tonight,” Beavis bellows. I shoot him the bird, down my drink and head out of the bar.

The woman is just getting on the elevator. I make it between the doors before they close. It’s just the two of us.

“So that wasn’t really fair. You got my name, but leave before I can get yours.”

She smiles and shakes her head a bit.
Damn, she’s gorgeous
.

“Jordyn.”

I step in front of her and press the button for my floor. When I turn my head back to her, we are only inches apart. “That’s a nice name.”

I watch as her chest rises and falls heavily. Her eyes are locked onto mine. Her tongue licks along her lips and I swear, I just about groan out loud.

“Long cruise, fly boy?”

“Maybe I just recognize perfection when I see it and I’m hoping to spend one perfect night with you.”

The elevator dings and the doors open. She stares at me for another second and then closes the distance between us.

“This is my floor,” she says, and pushes me away. She stops just off the elevator, glancing back at me. “Are you coming?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am.” I practically run after her, falling into step as we walk down the hallway to her room.

*

Jordyn