Goose bumps race over my skin as the temperature around us seems to drop dramatically.
“The same deal?” George’s voice cracks with the chill.
Vernon huffs, annoyance stealing his humor, obviously not used to having to explain his off-color comments.
“Everyone knows you weren’t charging her and were covering the cost of fuel for your flights,” he mutters. “I’m just asking, is she paying Aden or trying for the same discount?”
George turns to me, his face completely blank. “It was him.”
Not a question. I want to stick with my honest streak, but I don’t want to be the one making George choose between important people in his life. It’s like the Shawn conversation all over again.
But apparently the answer was clear on my face because next thing I know, George has the collar of Vernon’s shirt in his fist and the older man’s face is turning purple as the fabric tightens around his neck.
I wonder if that’s George’s go-to battle move, like Grumps with his headbutting.
“Do you know what kind of shit she has to put up with every day to support herself? And then you’re here trying to make her feel cheap.” George’s voice is a rumbling growl of fury. “DidIpay you for my flight lessons? No. My dad did. But you took his money and never said shit.” George gives him a shake, then drops him. Vernon stumbles back a step and splutters but doesn’t get a response in before George is looming over him. “No wonder our club is one hundred percent male. It’s not because women aren’t pilots. It’s because they don’t want to associate with pricks that call them ‘pretty miss’ and insinuate they ‘fuck for flying lessons.’ ” George grits his teeth so hard I can see the muscle in his jaw pop. He sucks in a deep breath through his nose, walks away, then stalks back. Vernon trips backward, hands held up in true surrender now. “Two of the four aircraft the club leases are mine. You can say good-fucking-bye to ever using them again.”
The color drains from Vernon’s face.
In addition to being club president, Vernon is also an instructorand making money off the members who are student pilots. The club might fold if there aren’t enough aircraft. Vernon would lose his audience and his money.
“You can’t—” Vernon’s affronted response cuts off with a yelp as he flinches back from George’s intimidating step.
Then my boyfriend turns his attention on me. “Can I walk out with you? Please?”
“Uh, yeah. Okay.” I turn to Aden and find my new instructor giving Vernon a disgusted grimace. “Thank you for instructing me today. I’ll pay you what I owe.”
He turns away from the glowering man. “I never doubted you would. And I hope you know not everyone in the club thinks the way he does.”
I manage a half smile and nod, then start walking to my car, George falling in step beside me, feeling kind of like a bodyguard.
When we reach the parking lot, I open my car door but don’t immediately get in, wanting to speak to George first. But I’m surprised to watch him stalk up to the passenger side and climb in. Still too shocked by the turn of events to question him and wanting to get away from the airport, I slip in, start the car, and pull out of the lot. Silently, we drive back to my house, but I keep going down the road until I reach the semiprivacy of the dead end. There, I pull the keys from the ignition, suck in a bracing breath, and face George, still not completely sure what I want to say.
“Hey—”
“I’m sorry,” he cuts me off. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
Chapter
41
“What are yousorry for?”
As far as I’m concerned, he just defended my honor. Against his friend, no less.
“For not seeing how Vernon truly was.” George clenches and unclenches his fist, then shoves out of my car before I can think of a way to reply. He leaves the door open, so I can hear his muttering as he paces. “Half the students we get are funded by their parents. He fucking knows that. Giving you a hard time just because he can.” He drags his hands over his buzz cut while he emits a noise very much like a growl.
At a more sedate pace, I also climb out of the car.
“George, you don’t need to apologize.” Circling around to his side of the car, I still keep my distance because he seems intent on furious pacing. “You can’t control how people treat me.”
He pauses mid-step, turning a harried gaze on me. “This is my fault.”
“What is? No, it’s not.”
“You didn’t think you could tell me.” His big hand grips the back of his neck.
“I…” Well, he’s not wrong. But he’s also not entirely to blame. “I have a habit of doing that,” I admit. “Not telling people things.”
