“It’s the mother in me.”
Mother? I was still trying to wrangle her being a mom. She looked too young to have a teenage son.
“Thanks again for coming to my rescue.”
The longer we stared at each other, the more I felt like she was pulling me into her seductive web with each blink of those pretty green eyes.
“You’re lucky you weren’t severely injured or worse.”
“As I said, I have nine lives.”
She giggled, though, on Saturday she had looked and sounded like she’d wanted to tear my head off for rock climbing.
“So, was Ethan interested in the Air Force?” She seemingly held her breath.
“He said he wasn’t. I think he was here because of Sabrina.”
“Ah, yeah. Those two have been together for a year. She’s helped him greatly since his father and I divorced.”
I was silently shouting hallelujah again that she was as free as a bird, or at least I hoped she wasn’t seeing anyone. “And what about you?”
She angled her head, and a blond strand fell from her messy bun. “Are you asking me if I’m with someone?”
I lifted a shoulder. “Maybe.”
She picked up an F-22 brochure, much like Sabrina had. “What made you want to fly jets?”
I was tempted to push her for ignoring my question, but I didn’t want to come off as desperate or needy. Nor did I want to answer her question. I wasn’t ready to share my late brother’s story, afraid I would break down and cry like a baby.
“There’s nothing better than to have the power in your hands as you stream across the sky.”
Her pretty features hardened. “You really do have a death wish. But it makes sense. Rock climbing and flying planes.”
“Jets,” I corrected her. “Planes are the ones you fly in from city to city.”
She rolled her eyes. “Semantics.”
I smirked, digging her smart barbs. “I could say you, too, have a death wish teaching high school students.”
She stuck her hands in the pockets of her dress. “I’m shaping their lives.”
“Semantics,” I volleyed in return.
We both laughed.
“In all seriousness,” she said, “any major injuries from bouncing off that cliff like a basketball?”
“I strained my deltoid.”
She set the brochure onto the pile and fixed them in a neat stack, looking a bit nervous. “You’re lucky it’s just strained.”
Luck wasn’t in my wheelhouse. Pain and suffering was kicking luck’s ass at the moment.
Two big, beefy guys in football jerseys walked up to the table beside mine as a beat of silence stretched between Monroe and me.
“I hear Coach Perry might be looking for help,” I said to Monroe, eyeing the football players.
“Let me guess. You played in high school,” she said.
