“Roger that, Oakland Center,” I respond, adjusting the GPS and confirming their instructions.“Climbing up to and then maintaining three-niner-zero, and right to two-niner-zero, resume own-nav in four minutes, Phenom six-niner-Whiskey-Tango-Foxtrot.”
I end my exchange with the tower and turn to find that Bryttni’s eyes have popped wide with wonder.She sweeps her tongue across her bottom lip.“All that pilot talk is superhot.I like it when you talk like that.Can you say something else a pilot might say?”
“Sure.”I double-check that my radio isn’t live because this is the kind of bullshit that turns a pilot into a legend, and not in a good way.
I tell Bryttni all about some of my favorite toys.I start with my Bell Long Ranger helicopter, which features a C30 engine, a rotor diameter of thirty-three feet and four inches, room for five passengers and a pilot, a double wire-strike system, skid floats for emergency water landings, and a maximum air speed of 110 to 120 knots.
“It’s fully kitted out for rescue operations,” I add.“In fact, I just rescued one of my brothers and his girlfriend a few days ago.They got caught in the blizzard.”
“No shit!You’re a hero, Declan!”
“Stop.You’re making me blush.”
Next, I tell her about my vintage World War II–era Navy seaplane and my super-rare 1948 single-engine Aeronca Chief taildragger.But I notice her eyes have started to glaze over.I recognize the look because it happens to all my brothers when I talk about aviation history.
I decide to pivot.
“And of course, we’re sitting in the epitome of single-pilot private luxury jets.”I reach over and gently rest my palm on her bare thigh.It may be New Year’s Eve in the Sierra Nevadas, but she was thoughtful enough to wear a miniskirt for our flight to paradise.
I don’t bore her with all the specs of this sleek, single-engine sex kitten of a private jet.I just focus on the fact that less than six hundred of the Embraer Phenom 300s have been made.Why I chose it.What it’s capable of.Where I’ve flown it and how I trained to be a pilot in the Navy.
That last part catches her attention.It usually does.
“Like Tom Cruise?”
I smile mysteriously, because the answer is no.
I wasn’t a Top Gun fighter pilot.I wasn’t any kind of fighter pilot.I either flew transport planes or helicopters, and usually in support of top secret Special Forces insertions and extractions in the cover of darkness, the kind of crazy shit that rarely gets acknowledged in the light of day.
But Bryttni doesn’t want to hear that.She’d rather see me as Tom Cruise.And what kind of asshole would I be to disappoint her with cumbersome facts?
It’s true.This is not my first mid-air seduction.And I’ve learned two things.One is that even women who don’t care about planes start to care about planes with the right guidance.Two is that any man who can conquer the skies can conquer a woman.
I verify the autopilot settings and squeeze out of my seat so that I can stretch, which is impossible, since my six-foot-five frame barely fits in the cockpit when I’m sitting, let alone when trying to lift my arms overhead.I unsnap Bryttni’s seat belt and offer her my hand.
“Is this safe?”she asks, as I stoop and pull her out into the main cabin.“Nobody’s flying the plane.”
“I’m flying the plane, sweetheart.I’m so good that I can fly it with my mind.”
Her eyes grow wide.I can just make out the green color of her irises from behind the long, thick eyelashes glued to her lids.“Like a Jedi?”she breathes.Her voice almost sounds seductive when she whispers in awe like that.
Note to self—make sure Bryttni experiences a steady stream of awe on this trip.
“Just a pilot,” I tell her.
“A hot pilot.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
The truth is, I’m also a rancher, a tech wizard, and a former Navy SEAL.But I don’t mention any of that.I get the impression that Bryttni is happy with a one-dimensional hot pilot.
But it makes me wonder.With all the ways I could define myself these days, is pilot even at the top anymore?Especially with the success of StellaR Tech.A few years ago, I could not have imagined that the cyber-surveillance technology my older brother Finn and I created would become a billion-dollar business, with the help of my other brothers, Cal, Evander, and Special K.
I slip an arm around Bryttni’s waist, then palm her ass and tug her close.She giggles when she feels my hard-on press against her belly and raises her face to mine for a kiss.I feel her fingers unbuckle my belt.Unzip my fly.She’s shoving my pants to my knees.
Fine.Maybe if I stay within arm’s reach of the radio…
“I’m about to hurl!”
