Double Down (12 page)

“That seems appropriately vague enough for me to accept.”

“I’m trying to be serious here. Vainly, it seems like.”

She smoothed her features into mock seriousness. “Okay. What do you need?”

Rocking forward, he pressed his knees against the open car door. “Will you do something bold? Before Friday? Take a risk.”

He wasn’t even sure why he was asking it of her. Their time together had been great, but part of the magic was because they’d shut out the rest of reality. He hated to see anyone so mired down by life. Cassandra of all people had the energy to take more for herself.

She stared at him for a quiet moment. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll do it, but only if you tell me something about yourself first. It’s not fair if I’m the only one taking risks.”

He shifted backwards a few inches. The air seemed extra steamy in his lungs, even with the cool wash of her A/C. “About me?”

“Something true. That not many people know.”

Her lush mouth quirked, as if she was nervous about asking. If anything, that made him more determined to level with her. She wasn’t asking for that much.

“When I was in high school, I was the varsity quarterback.”

“I bet everyone knows that.” She grinned wide. “I bet you were the star of the school. All the girls loved you.”

“Hush, you.” He curled a lock of her hair around his fingers, grounding himself. “There was an assistant coach, Dan Mackles. He probably saved my life by letting me crash on his couch whenever I wanted.”

Her eyes turned dark blue. Her mouth formed an “oh” but no sound came out.

Ryan had to shift his gaze down to her legs, bared by her new jeans shorts. This would be easier to say without seeing that sympathy in her face. He’d gotten his fill of that as a kid.

“Whenever my mom was drunk…Dan let me come over. We didn’t tell anyone because it would’ve sounded skeevy. People would’ve thought something bad was going on. But he was a good guy. He was there for me.”

Her fingers made a tentative foray into his hair, then petted and stroked with more assurance. “I’m glad you had someone.”

“Me too. It was because of him that I ended up in the Air Force. He was prior service. Tried to fly, but it didn’t work out for him. Medical stuff.”

She curled her hands around his jaw and tugged until he was forced to look up at her. “Thank you for telling me.”

He made himself smile, since that was how she liked him. “So you’ll do it then? Take a risk?”

“I promise.” She sealed it with a kiss. “I’m not sure what it is yet, but I’ll think of something.”

“Good. You’re braver than you think, Miss Whitman.”

“We’ll see, won’t we?”

After a few more goodbyes that involved two really lingering kisses, Ryan watched her car pull away. With his flight bag slung over his shoulder, he made his way to his truck.

He drove out of the garage as if on autopilot, not ready to head back to his empty apartment. Instead he wound up on the back forty of Nellis, directly under the flight path. Few planes would be taking off on a Sunday afternoon, but Ryan thought best when he was there. He dropped the tailgate and sat looking up at the sky.

The flight path at Langley was the first place he’d visited on an Air Force base, with a slick recruiter in tow. A C-130 had flown directly overhead. He’d taken a couple flights in Dan’s Cessna, but it was then, at that moment, when Ryan had been sure. There was nothing like flying. It was what he’d been born to do.

He’d discovered the same feeling of rightness when he gripped Cassandra’s hips.

Once he made decisions, he stuck to them. He picked a road and stayed on it. End of story. With personal decisions, however… He’d never moved so damn fast before. A single weekend seemed so little to spark an obsession. The best he could do was make sure he didn’t screw it up by letting his stupid fetish get the better of being with a real woman.

His phone chirped, and he dug it out of his pocket. “Yeah?”

“You come up for air yet?” Jon’s voice carried a laugh.

Ryan looked up at the sky. The clear, deepening blue was nice, but he couldn’t help wishing for a plane or two. “Yeah. How’s Leah?”

“Sleeping off the weekend, last I saw her. Where are you?”

“On the flight line.”

Dead air hissed for a few seconds. “I’ll be right there.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Don’t move.”

Jon’s fancy-assed convertible pulled up bare minutes later. He must have pushed the glossy black Aston Martin to its full capabilities.

“How do you not get a ticket every week?”

The wiry younger man pushed up to sit beside him. “Because I’m the bomb.”

“And a jackass.”

“That too.”

They sat in silence for a good long while, until the chain-link fence circling the flight line threw a long shadow across the ground. It was enough that Jon had showed up. He always did. He might act like he didn’t give a crap about anything, but when his friends needed something, he was right there. In an
instant
.

Still, that didn’t mean they needed to dissect everything as if they were chicks.

Finally Jon slanted a look at Ryan out the corners of his eyes. “So I guess the weekend with the waitress ended badly?”

“Her name’s Cassandra, remember?”

“Ah, I see.”

Ryan crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means the waitress has a name.”

“Everyone does.”

“Yeah, and you want to make sure I use it.” Jon grinned. “I’ve changed my mind. The weekend ended well.”

“Damn well,” Ryan said with a laugh. “So well that we’re hooking up again Friday.”

Jon clapped him on the back with surprising force. “Good for you. You could use a steady lay.”

Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, Ryan glanced toward the empty flight line. He wasn’t sure what to focus on first: the fact that Cassandra was becoming way more than a fuck, or the implication that his relatively calm sex life had meant he was a freak.

“Don’t take it like a bitch,” Jon said. The kid—relative only to the age of most members of the Aggressor Squadron—was annoyingly perceptive. “You’re wound too tight sometimes. If this Cassandra chick helps you unwind, she must be pretty cool.”

Ryan laughed again. Saying Cassandra was pretty cool was one hell of an understatement. What he knew about her was verging on downright perfect.

That was part of the problem. No one was perfect.

Everyone had secrets. Seedy things they kept hidden from the world. People like his mom had one advantage on the rest of the world. Sure they were trashy, but they threw the doors open wide—with very few secrets. One of the first things he’d done when trying to put together a real life was to lock down all his shit. Keep his business to himself.

There had to be something Cassandra hadn’t told him yet. Something that would break the spell. Hell, maybe she’d be the one who got sick of him—or he’d give away too many clues about what really turned him on and she’d lose all respect. Ashleigh had, and she’d loved him enough to accept his marriage proposal.

Jon gave his shoulder a shake. “Look, Fang, I’m gonna say this once. Get the hell out of your own head. You think too fucking much. Fuck too much instead.”

“Let’s get the hell out of here.” Ryan slid down off the tailgate. “We’ve got work tomorrow.”

“Any day flying is a good day, my friend.”

“Amen.”

Ryan rubbed the spot on his chest that was still bruised from her teeth. He wouldn’t mind taking Jon’s advice, especially if Cassandra was still willing.

Chapter Fourteen

After pulling into the parking lot behind the Hungerford Gallery, Cass killed the ignition. The switch from a blaring Tears for Fears track to complete silence jolted her into focusing. She swiped her damp hands along the driver’s seat upholstery. Her dark blue merino wool suit, with its tailored blazer and A-line skirt, was her absolute best set of clothes. No way did she want it ruined by sweaty streaks.

Take a risk, he’d said.

Agreeing to Ryan’s request had been much easier in the sweltering parking garage. She’d been high on the excess of their weekend. High on
him
. The realities of the rest of the week had seemed so far off.

He’d phoned on Tuesday afternoon while she got ready for her shift at Blakely’s, his timing perfect. Just the right combination of interest and not seeming like a crazy eager stalker. However, to say their conversation had been stilted was generous. Lots of giggles on her part. Tons of silence. They’d managed, even if Cass had needed to close the bathroom door and flip off the light. The darkness had helped her give voice to what she wanted.

They’d made plans for Friday night—her bold plans, actually. Even there in her Honda in the shadow of the gallery, she found breathing more difficult, anticipating what she had finally managed to propose. Ryan’s curiosity still made her smile. Wiles and charm had gotten him nowhere as he pried for more detail, but she really liked that he made the attempt. Repeatedly.

There were lunch plans too. It was Thursday now, with about four hours until she’d make her first trip to Nellis. She needed to have good news by the time she saw Ryan again, or at least an affirmation that she’d tried. No matter their new relationship, Cass didn’t want to let him down. The idea of his disappointment made her feel like a cowardly speck.

She fiddled with the Bellagio casino chip she’d kept from Friday night, having knotted it on a silk cord to carry in her purse as a good-luck charm. Surely she could do this. It was what she wanted, after all. What she’d wanted for so long.

She pushed in through the rear employee entrance, her knees unsteady. The slender portfolio she carried had been a gift from her parents when she graduated from college. Its leather was warm and soft, and she fought the urge to score its surface with her nails. She’d only ruin it and her fresh manicure.

Get it over with.

Her manager, Pat Talbert, was in his mid-sixties, having taught art history at various universities before turning to private work after his retirement. Though only slightly younger than Mr. Hungerford, the gallery’s owner, he carried himself with a sprightly air.

Cass knocked on the open door to his tiny office. “Morning.” Instantly she disliked the forced chipper note to her greeting.

He glanced away from his monitor for only a second, still typing something. “Morning, Miss Whitman.”

“Could I speak to you, sir?”

“Sure. Now’s fine.” After pushing his wire rims up his nose, he swiveled his chair to face her wholly. “What’s up?”

“Any word on Lisa?”

“I spoke to her yesterday evening,” he said, his voice taking on a haggard edge. “The baby’s fine, but he’ll be in the NICU for at least three weeks—maybe longer. She hasn’t left the hospital yet, as far as I can tell.”

The gallery’s head event planner, Lisa Moyet, had been scheduled to take maternity leave in another six weeks. An expert in photography, she’d been slated to head the July exhibit of E. J. Bellocq’s famous nudes. After her preparation, the rest of the staff would’ve pitched in for the event itself, had she been unable to attend. The premature arrival of her son some ten days earlier had derailed all plans.

Cass sat on the chair facing Mr. Talbert’s desk, the portfolio like a shield in her lap. It contained a neatly typed list of all she’d accomplished across her two years at Hungerford, as well as copies of her annual evaluations. If he needed a reminder that she was able and hard-working, he’d have one.

A wild pulse beat in her ears. She swallowed tightly. Then she dove in. “Sir, I wonder if it might be possible for me to take over Lisa’s work on the Bellocq exhibit.” He lifted his bushy white brows but she pressed on. “I was her assistant for the last two shows. I’ve worked with her caterers and have fledgling relationships with her best contacts among the patrons. With a lot of work and her assistance, I could step in. I know I can do this.”

He leaned back in his chair, which had almost identical wear marks in the cloth armrests. Cass endured his scrutiny. Sweat had gathered under her arms and along the soles of her feet. She forced her bouncy heels to be still.

“I know you can too,” he said at last.

She blinked. Her mouth opened. “Sir?”

“You heard me, Miss Whitman. Have at it. Frankly, I’m relieved. I was tearing out what’s left of my hair trying to figure how we’d delegate her responsibilities. Now that can be your job.” He sat up straighter, hands back on the keyboard. “Let me know if anyone gives you trouble—especially the museums. You know how prickly they can get.”

“Yes,” she said with a giddy titter. She forced her knees to function as she stood. A really dumb smile made her cheeks hurt, but she couldn’t help it. “Thank you, sir. You won’t regret this.”

As she spun away from his desk, she thought of Ryan. Just like that, she wanted to tell him as soon as possible. Elated wasn’t the right word. Her success had transformed her into a divine being. Thoughts of feeling that good sucked her right back to their weekend together.

She’d done it. Not only would she helm her first opening gala, but the subject matter was classic nude photography. If that wasn’t the definition of bold, then she needed a remedial session in sex-shop dressing-room misbehavior. Either way, Ryan was the man to see.

Between now and their one o’clock lunch date, she had a
lot
of work to do.

“I’m meeting Major Ryan Haverty,” she said to the guard at Nellis. “He’s expecting me.”

“Pull your car into the secured lot and sign in.”

Cass parked and came around to the squat office building beside the guard’s station. After handing over her ID, recording her license and answering a couple official-sounding questions, she waited as the blunt young man behind the plexiglass window phoned Ryan.

“Ma’am, he’s wrapping up his a.m. operation, but he’s sending Captain Girardi to sign for you.”

“Who?”

The airman didn’t provide any additional information. Cass sat on a bench to wait. Ten minutes later, her nerves growing tighter, she was amazed by how different Nellis seemed from the whole rest of Vegas. There were townies and tourists. That’s all she’d ever imagined of her famous birthplace. The air base proved the existence of a whole separate contingent in Sin City.