Not latch onto the first man I slept with in the desperate hope that he would be The One.
“Yeah,” I replied. “I think Mikey had a blast. Thank you for reaching out to him. I know it’s not easy to get past his tough shell.”
Wingman shrugged.
“Don’t mention it. I’m not afraid of a bloodcurdling look. I was a Prospect under Ironside’s tyrannical thumb, and that man is downright shit-your-pants scary.”
I laughed softly, trying to stay quiet so I didn’t wake Mikey.
“So, what happened?” I asked. “You didn’t join the Order. You don’t wear their patch.”
Wingman sighed, studying his cider.
“I fucked up. Like I usually do.”
I frowned. He was usually so cocky and charming, with a witty remark at hand. This self-deprecation was a surprise and seemed to come out of nowhere.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” I said gently.
Wingman stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankles.
“It’s sweet of you to say that. But my father was a big bully. And I grew up into a man who bites the hand that feeds him when it comes to authority figures. I don’t like being told what to do. I just…I get this itch. Like I’ll lose my mind if I don’t make a run for it and escape.”
“What about your mom?” I asked.
Wingman huffed, draining the last of his cider.
“She left when I was two years old. She fell in love with another man who promised her bigger and better things. Dad said she couldn’t get out fast enough.”
What a terrible thing to say to a child. I couldn’t imagine leaving Mikey behind, for any reason.
“I think that’s why I became obsessed with airplanes,” Wingman continued. “The idea that I could just hop into a little jet and fly off to anywhere in the world was exciting for a trapped little boy like me.”
Mikey stirred in my lap and blinked sleepily. I tugged the coat tighter around him, smoothing his tousled curls.
“I don’t blame him for being pissed off at the world, by the way,” Wingman said, gesturing to Mikey. “It’s perfectly understandable to be a little guarded. Wary. Those instincts will protect him, keep him safe. And…” Wingman paused, setting his cup aside with a sigh. “I know what it’s like to grow up without a father who doesn’t want you. It eats you up inside like nothing else.”
My heart ached for him. I reached out and took his hand with a comforting squeeze. When I started to pull away, he caught my hand again and brought my knuckles to his lips with a kiss. My throat went dry and my breath hitched.
“Can I see you again tomorrow?” he asked, so faintly that I almost missed it. As if he was afraid to speak the words too loudly in case they shattered, fragile as a soap bubble.
I opened my mouth to respond then faltered. My shoulders sagged because I knew there would be no way to soften the blow.
“Oh, that’s clearly a no,” Wingman said with a flat tone of disappointment.
“I’m sorry. It’s just…it wouldn’t be a good idea. You’re probably leaving in a few days, and Mikey might become attached.”
I scolded myself for hiding behind Mikey like a shield. I was the one catching feelings when I wasn’t supposed to. I was the one quickly becoming infatuated with this biker who gave me butterflies and made me feel sexy again.
“It’s okay, I get it,” Wingman replied. “Some good things aren’t meant to last. And you’re right. I booked a motel room for the week, and my time is up in three days. So…”
He trailed off. Neither of us spoke, with a weighted silence settling between us. The agonizing stretch of longing. The ache of desire tasted, yet unfulfilled.
“We should head home,” I whispered apologetically. “It’s late. Mikey is exhausted.”
I gathered Mikey into my arms and removed Wingman’s coat, handing it back to him. Our fingers brushed for an electric moment. I remembered what those fingers could do. The way they felt on my skin. The way they touched me.
Mikey lifted his head with a disgruntled noise and a sleepy squint.
