“Nice. If you’re thinking you want to keep going—get your commercial license—a few airlines have partnership programs. Like, they’ll reimburse some of your tuition.” He tosses his sponge in the bucket. “That’s my plan anyway.”
“Oh. Wow. I didn’t realize that was a thing.” Suds dry on my hands as I pause to think over the idea. “I’m not sure about flying for an airline, but maybe. I’ll have to look into that.”
“Definitely think about it. How’s flying with Bunsen?” Tim grabs a hose and waits for me to climb down from my stepladder to rinse the nose of the plane. “On paper, the guy seems cool. You know, leasing his planes to the club and all that. But he’s hella intimidating. And I’ve heard some guys are harder on women.”
My joints lock up, a visceral reaction to his words. “They’re what?”
Tim grimaces as he aims the water at the closest wing. “Just something a friend said. Like instructors making big deals out of small mistakes they wouldn’t knock a guy for. Or examiners asking tougher questions cause you’re a woman. Like they want you to fail or something.” He huffs, his eyes meeting mine, then flicking away. “It’s fucked up. And I tried to get my friend to say something. But she…”
His brow furrows as he trails off. Still, I know what her answer was without him having to say it.
If she brought up the unfair treatment, she’d be labeled the whiny one. The complainer. The one who can’t hack it.
The bitch.
“Yeah. So, I just wanted to check. George isn’t giving you a hard time, right? Because it’s okay to mess up. Fuck knows I have.” Tim throws me a rueful smile.
I snort. Sure, the dry way George speaks and the general lack of emotion he allows on his face might strike fear into some hearts.
But I think I have too much simmering rage deep in my gut for all BnB-related people to ever be cowed by them. And I can’t think of a time he’s been overly hard on me. When I make a mistake, I’m quick to berate myself, while he gives me a no-nonsense correction.
If anyone is fixated on gender, it’s me, and the fact that George is a hot guy I can’t get out of my horny brain. Meanwhile, I hold all the sexual appeal of a cardboard box to him. A box full of unpleasant reminders of Karl Newton’s infidelity, so let’s keep a lid on that, why don’t we?
My goal is to keep George from thinking he has power over my emotions in any way. That he can affect them.
Even if he does.
“Bunsen is fine,” I say to reassure Tim. “Professional. Knows his stuff. Answers my questions. Flying with him is fine.”
“Glad to hear you think so highly of me.”
I squeak, turning fast at the sound of the wry comment. And for some reason, my body goes into defense mode and I chuck the item I’m holding at the new arrival.
That item? A sudsy sponge.
It whacks into his chest, then splats on the ground. George frowns at the wet spot on his shirt. “What was that for?”
“You snuck up on me!” Maybe before the run-in with Karl Newton I would have apologized, but I’m still salty and absolutely sure that any wrong thing happening around George Bunsen is his fault.
Unfortunately, now the front of his white T-shirt is wet, and thematerial clings to his skin in an indecent way. I swear I can see his nipples.
Of course, my libido wants to snatch the hose out of Tim’s hands and give George a full wet down. But my buddy is backing away quickly. As if he thinks George might blow up. Well, now I at least know Tim is a coward.
George leans over to scoop up the sponge I flung at him and drops it in a nearby bucket. The club has four planes, all currently tied down outside, and the fifteen or so of us who showed up have been working on bringing them to a shine. Well, some of us are working hard. Others are milling around a cooler with beers, chatting about an upcoming air show in Oshkosh.
How I’d love to go to that. A gathering of aircraft lovers all geeking out over the latest flight innovations. Maybe I’ll join them in a decade, if it’s still around and I’ve actually started saving some money.
“Can I talk to you?” George asks, and I realize that with Tim’s abandonment, we’re basically alone over here. Still, he waves toward a grassy area with a picnic table.
Great. He wants to talk.
At least this time, with me actively coming to the club meeting rather than getting ambushed at my job, I knew an interaction with George would happen. I’ve had time to prepare.
But I’ve mainly spent the lead-up having an imaginary argument with him about how he is a pompous asshole who let my father brainwash him into believing I belong locked away in a tower. And in this fictional fight, George is shocked and humbled by the realization that I am right, and he offers to give me his planes as an apology.
So, yeah. Super ready for this real-life confrontation.
I follow him away from the group, trying to keep my body loose and not tensed up like we’re about to brawl.
